“You don’t understand!” She hopped up and began to pace. “Sylvia said she’d take everything he had and then some.”
“Was Frakes Realty his company or hers now?” Maybe she’d already started the taking.
“His. He started it before they met, but she runs it. She always said they were partners. I don’t know if that’s true. Like I said, he runs Portrero Meyer Homes.” She stopped pacing and stared at me.
“What?” I was ready to get out of there and talk to Sylvia—if I could find her. They probably owned property nobody knew about. I needed to do more digging.
“She always resented him for that. For being the one to call the shots at Portrero.”
I couldn’t blame her. She was entitled to feel that way, in my opinion. Her father had started the company then let her husband run it? Not good. “Do you know where I can find Sylvia? I need an address.”
“I sure do.” She hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a Gucci crocodile tote bag from a bar stool. She rifled through it, tossing candy wrappers and tissues on the counter. “Here.” She shoved a slip of paper at me.
I took it, read what it said. I didn’t know the street. “Is this her residence or is it another business address?”
“It’s their house. She’d been talking about selling it, though.”
I slid the paper into my purse and packed away my notebook. “Does Vincent have any other family? Maybe he’s visiting them.”
“His parents died a long time ago. He had a sister, but she died, too.”
“When did she die?” It might be something useful for the case, but I was mostly just curious. I got out my notebook and pen.
“Freda died in a car accident. Vincent told me a truck ran a red light and T-boned her on the driver’s side. She died instantly. Her daughter was in the car, too. She was hurt but survived.”
I wrote it all down. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“No. I think that’s it.”
We both stood and went to the door. She opened it. I handed her another business card I’d removed from my pocket. I assumed she’d misplaced the other one if she’d called Dispatch to get in touch with me.
I headed to my car, wondering if she hoped I wouldn’t find Vincent at home—with his wife. In my car, I called Bernie to update him. I didn’t plan to see Sylvia right away. It could wait. Vincent was not a missing person. No threats of physical harm had been made. I believed I’d just left Monica, the worried mistress—nothing more. Still, she’d provided me with a bit of new information. I decided to stop by my apartment to pick up a few things and check on the renovation progress.
Chapter Sixteen
I arrived at my apartment building in no time. I walked around the back before going in. I wanted to see the sliding-glass door that had been manipulated in order to gain entry to the adjoining apartment. I rounded the corner and stopped at my bedroom window, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I saw nothing. It appeared secure; the screen was back in place. I continued my journey to my own slider. It looked fine, other than the smudges. Next, I strolled to the empty apartment’s glass door. It was crystal clear with not a smudge in sight. In fact, from inside, someone watched me. An African-American man in his early thirties approached the door. I waved, smiled, and hoped he didn’t call the cops. I flashed my badge. That did it. He came to the door and offered a smile. He had a cropped haircut and a wiry build.
He slid the door open a crack. “Is there a problem, Officer?” His gaze followed mine to the door’s track. It appeared new.
I didn’t correct him on my job title, deciding to keep it friendly—and unofficial, even though I’d flashed my badge. The badge opened doors, literally. That was why so many evildoers posed as law enforcement.
“Hi, I’m Sydney, and I live next door.” I jerked a thumb toward my apartment. “I don’t know if you knew there was a fire here and it affected my apartment, too.”
He pushed the door aside a bit more and stepped outside, holding out his hand. “I’m Craig.” His dark-brown eyes smiled.
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. May I ask when you moved in?”
“Yesterday. I’d already looked at the apartment and signed the lease two weeks ago. Before I could move in, there was a fire. I had to crash at a friend’s until it was ready.” He leaned into the apartment and pointed to the wall and the spot on the carpet where the fire had burned. “They did a decent job on the repairs. I can’t tell where the damage was. I even got new carpeting.”
I couldn’t see the damage, either. “Did they tell you anything about the cause of the fire?”
“Just said it was arson. I don’t know if they caught the person who did it, though.” He frowned. “I hope they don’t come back.”
I nodded. “Me, too. Well, nice meeting you.” I backed away. “Hope you like it here.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He waved and went back inside.
I headed around the front of the building and checked my mail box before going inside. Nothing but junk mail. “What a waste of paper.” I dropped all of the fliers and sales ads in the trash near the entrance and stuffed the bills in my purse. I wondered why the apartment management hadn’t called to tell me the apartment next door had been repaired. I assumed that meant mine was okay, too. I unlocked my door and took a step inside. Everything seemed to be as I’d left it. There was a faint smoke odor, though. I checked the adjoining wall, and it looked new. A portion of my carpet had been replaced. I knew this because there had been a small stain that wouldn’t come out. Plus, I could see a slight seam where the new and old carpet met. It was still beige, but new. I walked through the apartment, which didn’t take long. I grabbed a piece of luggage and rolled it to my car. After tossing it in the trunk, I climbed behind the wheel and called the apartment manager to confirm it was okay to move back in. Before driving off, I got in touch with Brad and invited him to my place for dinner instead of me going to his house. I wanted to be home. I intended to pick his brain about real estate transactions—for my own personal purposes and for the case.
I stopped at the grocery store after picking up my belongings from Mac’s. Then I went home and marinated salmon steaks and portobello mushrooms. I dressed in white cargo capris, a pale-green T-shirt, and white sandals. The color of the top complemented my dark-auburn hair, which I left loose, cascading over my shoulders.
While I waited for Brad, I gave Bernie a call to update him on the case and asked if he had any new information. Also, I wanted to know how Khrystal was doing. So far, so good, he told me. He’d gone in to work that morning and tried to catch up on reports. I promised to stop by to see Khrystal soon. After our conversation, my text message notification buzzed, and I read the display. Brad was a few minutes away. My phone needed charging, so I put it in its charging stand in the living room.
I got a colander from the kitchen cabinet and went outside to my container gardens. I pulled a couple of lemons from the dwarf tree, picked several Roma tomatoes, then tore enough red romaine lettuce for two, plus a bit of fresh basil. Everything went into the colander to be rinsed. I squeezed lemon juice for the salad dressing and set it aside.
The doorbell chimed. I figured it was Brad, and my stomach quivered. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, smoothed my hair from my face, then pulled open the door.
“Hi, Sydney.” My new neighbor stood at my door with a crooked smile plastered on his face and a bottle of red wine in his hand. Oh, no.
“Hi, Craig.” I attempted to look past him for Brad.
Craig held up the bottle. “I thought if you weren’t doing anything, you could join me for a glass of wine.” He flashed a smile again. “If you’re not busy.” His smile twitched.
“Craig, I’m sorry. I’m expecting company.” I was growing nervous. I didn’t think I’d given him the impression that I was interested and available.
“Maybe another time then?” He took a step back but didn’t turn toward his apartment.
A red truck ro
unded the corner down the street and headed toward us. “Maybe, but I have to tell you that I’m seeing someone.” The truck got closer. It was an F-150. Brad.
“Well, it wouldn’t have to be a date. Just two people hanging out, enjoying a glass of wine.” And there was that smile again. He must’ve bathed in cologne, too. I didn’t recall feeling the overwhelming urge to turn my head and take a breath when I met him.
I pointed to Brad’s truck pulling up to the curb. “Here he comes now.” I hoped Craig would get the hint and get moving. I wasn’t one to juggle men. I could barely make time for one.
I was sure Brad’s long strides weren’t the sole reason he’d gotten there quickly. His jaw pulsed. Uh-oh. We hadn’t exactly established our relationship as exclusive. Maybe it was time we had that conversation.
Still grinning, Craig stretched out a hand toward Brad in greeting. “Hi, I’m Craig. I just moved in next door.” He pointed the wine bottle in the direction of his apartment.
Brad eyed Craig’s hand and the wine then looked at me. He shook Craig’s hand, probably squeezing harder than necessary, because Craig grimaced then quickly squelched it.
Brad moved to stand next to me and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Hey, Sydney.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, claiming me. Men! He turned to Craig. “It was nice meeting you.” He pushed open the door and stepped inside, holding my hand, practically dragging me with him.
“Have a good evening, Craig,” I said.
Craig finally got the hint. “See you later, Sydney.” He shuffled away, head down.
I stumbled inside and closed the door. “Well, that was rude.” I frowned at Brad.
“Yeah, that guy wouldn’t go away. What’s up with that?”
I stood there, hands on my hips, scowling. “Not him. You!” I jabbed him in the chest.
“Huh? Me?” He laid a hand to his chest, acting innocent and holding my finger. He wasn’t fooling me. He knew what he’d done. “I was nice to him. Did you tell him you were dating someone?”
“Don’t change the subject.” I headed to the kitchen. “You were rude to him, and I don’t like it.” I shredded the lettuce for the salad, ripping it as though it had committed a felony.
“Sydney, he was hitting on you. He even had the nerve to bring wine! I’m not going to stand there and let some guy hit on my woman.”
“Hey, caveman, I can make my own choices in friends. I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t talk to. I had the situation handled.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why was he still standing there when I drove up?” He moved closer. He smelled good. “Did you at least tell him you had a date?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. He was just leaving before you bullied him away.”
“Didn’t look like he was leaving to me.” He leaned on the counter, arms folded in front of his chest and ankles crossed, all relaxed as if he owned the place. He wore faded Levi’s and a blue T-shirt. His biceps bulged and I wondered if he was flexing on purpose.
I glared at him, trying not to laugh. I couldn’t believe we were even talking about Craig. “Make the salad, bigshot. I’m going to turn on the grill.” I handed him a salad bowl then headed outside. I glared then grinned at him as I closed the sliding-glass door. I started the grill and watered my patio container gardens. After picking a few more tomatoes and lettuce, I went inside. By that time, Brad had almost finished making the salad. I dropped the additional tomatoes and lettuce in the colander and rinsed them. I ripped the lettuce and gave Brad the tomatoes to slice. He hadn’t said a word. I made the dressing with the lemon juice I’d squeezed.
“The grill should be ready. What are we having?” he asked.
“Salmon steaks and portobello mushrooms.”
“What? Raw or cooked?” He looked as if he were about to get sick.
“You got a problem with mushrooms?” I propped my hands on my hips, ready to do battle if necessary.
“Well, they kind of taste like dirt.” He scrunched up his face.
I groaned. “I marinated them, and I’m trying a new recipe.” I opened the fridge and handed him the bags of marinated goodness. “Don’t be a baby. You could at least try them.”
“All right.” He looked at them and shrugged. “Might be good.” He set the bags on the counter as if they were radioactive.
Sheesh, he was as bad as Josh.
“Don’t knock ’em until you try them.” I laid the salmon inside the foil. “I’m going to put them on now.” I went back out and placed the food on the grill. It won’t be long now.
When I returned, I figured it was time to find out more about real estate. “I’m thinking about buying a house.” I wiped down the counter.
“Because of the fire at your apartment?” Brad poured the used marinade from the bags into the sink and dropped the bags in the trash.
“No, I was thinking about it before that. I’m ready to get out of here. All of a sudden, it feels small. I feel like it’s time. You know what I mean?”
“I guess so.” He shrugged.
“What’s wrong? I thought you’d think it was a good idea.”
“No. Don’t get me wrong. I do think it’s a good idea. It’s just that I thought maybe you’d want to be with me. Eventually.”
“I don’t understand. I am with you. My buying a house wouldn’t change that.” I gulped ice water. My mouth suddenly felt dry.
“No, I meant that I thought we’d move in together someday. If you bought a house, what would you do with it when you moved in with me?”
“Whoa! Wait a minute. Back up. Stop.” I shook my head. “When did we get to the point of moving in? We’ve been dating two or three months.”
“Sydney, it’s just time. Some people get married after knowing each other two weeks.” He reached for my hand and covered it with his.
“Yeah. Well, we’re obviously not those people.” I slid my hand out. What had gotten into him? Craig? What the hell? “And why am I the one who has to leave my house and move in? Why can’t you be the one to move?”
He gave me another shrug. “I don’t know. It just came out that way.”
I was dating a chauvinist. I hadn’t seen that coming. “All right. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” I pulled out a platter, tongs, and spatula then looked over my shoulder at him. “I’m going to check on the food.”
Everything looked ready to come off the grill, so I loaded it onto the platter. I pinched off a piece of mushroom and popped it in my mouth. Oh, my. Good. I took everything inside and placed it all on the table, which I’d set earlier.
Brad ate a large helping of salad and said he loved the dressing and grilled salmon. He tried a mushroom and told me he liked it, but I thought he was being polite. His nibbling on a small piece and holding back a grimace was a dead giveaway. We stuffed ourselves then took our plates to the kitchen and washed the dishes.
After we finished the kitchen cleanup, we settled in the living room to watch a movie. While he searched for something, I checked my cell phone to see if it had finished charging and saw that the phone was off. I turned it on. Once it had rebooted, I noticed my voicemail notification blinking. I hadn’t heard the phone ring. Had it been off all of this time?
“I have a message.” I glanced at Brad then looked at the time of the call. I’d been outside at that time, I believed. “Did my phone ring while I was outside?” Of course it had.
“Oh, yeah. I turned it off.” He said it as if it were no big deal.
“What. The. Hell.” I grabbed the TV remote from his hand. “Why did you do that? You should’ve told me I had a call, not try to hide it from me!”
“I wanted us to spend time together. Can you blame me for that?” He leaned back on the sofa.
“Blame you? Brad, I’m a cop! I need to know when I get a call.” I stood and paced in front of him. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that we always get interrupted by some homicide or something.”
“Oh,
no, you did not just say that.” I threw my hands in the air. “Some homicide or something? Brad, I was a homicide detective when you met me. I’m still a homicide detective. Nothing has changed.”
“Don’t you think I know that? Your job is too important to you. It’s your life.”
“So? I have a career, and I like what I do. Don’t jeopardize that.”
“Or you’ll dump me? Is that what you’re saying?”
I marched to the door and opened it. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He jumped up and grabbed my hand. “You’re overreacting.”
I jerked my hand away, moved aside, and opened the door wider. “Good night, Brad. Talk to you tomorrow.” I wanted to punch him.
“Fine.” He stepped through the door and placed his hand on it. “I just thought we needed some us time. That’s all.”
“All right. Let’s talk tomorrow.” I slowly pushed the door. “Good night.”
“Good night, Sydney.” He turned away and jogged toward his truck. If he was trying to make a quick getaway, he was too late for that.
I grabbed my tomato stress ball from the end table and squeezed it as I listened to the voicemail. My heart pounded when I heard Bernie’s voice. I was afraid he’d called about Khrystal or the baby—he hadn’t. The body of the John Doe at the Portrero Meyer Homes lot had been identified as Vincent Frakes through prints he’d given when he applied for his real estate agent’s license. I wondered why our fingerprint technician was unable to get it done sooner. Later that night, Bernie called again and told me the Portrero Meyer Homes building had burned to the ground. There’d been no casualties.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Bernie and I were sitting in Sylvia Frakes’s living room. I guess Monica had been right. Something had been going on where Vincent was concerned.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 32