“I’m sorry for your loss.” Bernie set the recorder on the coffee table in front of Sylvia and switched it on.
Sylvia eyed the recorder, raised an eyebrow, and frowned. “What’s that for?” She spat the question at us.
“It’s for your protection and ours.” I slid my notebook out of my pocket and prepared to take notes. We didn’t have a time of death yet, so there was no point in asking her where she’d been at any point in time. “You previously told us your husband was out of town. Correct?”
Nodding, she glared at me then at the recorder. She appeared wary of it, as if it were a dog that wanted to take a bite out of her leg.
“You’ll have to speak up. The recorder can’t register a nod.” Bernie nudged the machine across the table closer to her. He didn’t have to do that. The recorder could have picked up her voice from where she was sitting.
Sylvia leaned toward the machine. “Yes, I told you he went out of town,” she shouted.
“There’s no need to lean or yell. It will pick up your voice from where you are. Talk normally. Where did Mr. Frakes go when he left town?”
She scoffed. “Why does that matter?” I knew everyone handled grief in his or her own way, but Sylvia’s demeanor seemed no different than it had when I’d seen her on other occasions. Could she be a cold-hearted woman, or had she done the dirty deed herself? Time would tell.
I stared her down. “We can do this here or at the station. I’m good either way.” I snapped my notebook shut and continued to eyeball her.
Sylvia sighed then pursed her lips. She turned her back to us, lifted the lid on a carved wooden box, and took out a pack of Salem cigarettes. Watching us, she shook one out and removed a slim gold lighter from the box. She wrapped her lips around the end, closed one eye, then lit up. She leaned her head back, inhaling deeply, and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth, squinting the eye nearest the smoke plume. She took another drag, flicked the tip on a shell-shaped glass ashtray, and laid the cigarette on the shell. We waited while her cigarette smoldered and filled the air with its stench.
“What was the question?” She smirked and crossed her bony legs.
I sighed. “When we came to Frakes Realty several days ago, you told us your husband was out of town. Where did he go?” I tapped my pen on my thigh, my patience wearing thin.
“Well, I can tell you where he told me he was going. There’s no guarantee that that’s where he actually went, if he even went anywhere.” She plucked her cigarette from the ashtray and put it to her lips.
“Please answer the question,” Bernie said. “Where did he say he was going?”
“All right. Fine. He told me he was going to Hawaii to check on the progress of the timeshare resort he was in the process of developing. It’s going to be huge. Two hundred units on prime real estate.”
I hadn’t realized any prime real estate still existed for development there. That goes to show how much I knew.
She looked at me then Bernie and raised her brows. “Either of you in the market?”
Always the salesperson, I supposed. Her sales pitch seemed rather callous, though, considering the circumstances.
“Do you recall when he left and when he returned?” Bernie asked.
She shook her head then glanced at the recorder. “Nope. He didn’t share the details of his travel plans.” She took another puff. “And I didn’t ask. Didn’t care, you see.”
I’d begun to. She didn’t appear to care about him at all. If so, then why the vindictiveness toward Monica Stewart? Was Monica blowing it out of proportion, or had she just flat-out lied?
“Has your business, Frakes Realty, closed?” I asked.
“No. It’s quite the opposite. We’re expanding, in fact.” Another long drag on the cig was followed by a round of hacking.
I was going to be joining her if I didn’t get out of there soon. The smoke drifted through the air like a morning fog. I looked around at the yellowed ceiling and drab curtains, imagining what her lungs must look like. This room was too small to handle her habit. There seemed to be very little ventilation, if any. Time to wrap this up for now.
“In what ways are you expanding?” I leaned in, interested in the answer. Expansion meant money. Money could equal motive. That possibility worked for me. She seemed like the type, and she talked more about her business goals than her dead spouse. No wonder he paid attention to Monica.
“Oh, we’re… excuse me, I’m combining services with Portrero Meyer Homes. I need to find out if that’s even possible now. My father started that company, you know.” Her energy level perked up, and her eyes brightened. “I’ve been wanting to create some type of joint venture for a long time, and I’m finally getting the chance.” She rubbed her hands together. “I can’t believe it. My dream is finally coming true. I’ll have access to Portrero Meyer resources.” By resources, I assumed she meant money. She smiled, and it reminded me of the shark in Jaws. She seemed like a shark that would go after what she wanted, no matter who got in her way. The difference was that the shark was just trying to survive, doing what came naturally. I was sure Sylvia felt the same way about her strategy, but greed equaled motive. It would get them every time.
Bernie had leaned forward. “Why didn’t you move on the joint venture before now? What’s changed?”
Sylvia turned away while she stabbed out her cigarette. She peered over her shoulder at Bernie. “Oh, nothing has changed. It’s just the right time to do it. That’s all.” She shrugged and smiled, but her eyes showed no humor.
“What made now the right time, instead of last year, last month, or whenever?” I asked.
“Well, it just is.” She glanced at her watch and twisted it. “I have to get going. I don’t think I can be of any additional help to you. Unfortunately, I may have to deal with rebuilding the Portrero Meyer offices because of the fire, and I just don’t have time for this.” She reached for another cigarette then stood and looked at the door. Our clue to get out of Dodge, I supposed. No problem. My lungs would thank me later.
“What’s the address of your new location?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why? I’m beginning to feel harassed. My husband just died, and you seem to be focused on me, the widow.” Now she remembered the dead husband. Convenient.
“The address?” Bernie reached for the recorder.
She gave us the address but grumbled as she scribbled it on scrap paper lying on the table. She practically threw the paper at me. What was the deal? Bernie turned off the recorder then put it away. I slid my notebook in my pocket, and we headed for the door.
I thought of another question and spun around, nearly knocking Bernie over. “What’s the name of your new company?” I pulled my notebook out again.
Sylvia sighed. “Who said the company was new and it had a different name?” She opened the door and stepped aside.
“Did the name change?” I asked.
She shrugged and opened the door wider. “Have a nice day, Detectives.”
I let that go, and we headed out. We could find out if we needed to. On the way to the station, Bernie told me he planned to leave work early to join Khrystal at her obstetrician appointment. While he drove, I gave Theresa a call because I hadn’t heard from her regarding Jake and Shelly Milton. The Miltons hadn’t contacted me for updates about their case, and I wondered if they’d been in touch with her. She told me they hadn’t.
We had found our John Doe, but we still had no identity for the Jane Doe—or her cause of death. Maybe she hadn’t been murdered. Although the death was suspicious, she could’ve passed out from drugs. Toxicology tests would take weeks. I called the ME. Something was going on with her. She was usually more on the ball. I left her a voicemail. Maybe we needed to go down there to get the information. It was beginning to look that way.
Bernie and I had been catching up on our backlog for the past couple of hours since returning from our interview with Sylvia. I’d fallen behind because of Bernie’s absen
ces. I hoped Khrystal didn’t have any more setbacks. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t behind because I didn’t want to do paperwork. We ordered in a quick lunch at our desks while we continued to work. Bernie took off to go to the doctor’s appointment, and that left me with the reports again. I pushed back my resentment. Or was it jealousy? That was something to consider.
“Hey, Sydney. What’s going on?” Theresa plopped down in my rickety visitors’ chair in the corner then rolled it toward my desk with her feet. “Why do you keep moving the chair to the corners?”
I stared at her, blinked, then shrugged.
“So I’ve been in touch with the Miltons. They’re telling me they plan to start looking for another place to live real soon.”
“Wow. From what they said, I didn’t think they had the money to try again. I wonder what happened.” I swiveled my chair toward her and put my feet up on the desk corner.
Theresa shrugged. “That’s what I thought, too. I guess we were wrong. It sure did seem like they were broke, though.”
“I’d like to tag along the next time you talk to them.”
“No problem. It might be today or tomorrow. Maybe they hit the lottery or her parents gave them some cash to get them out of their house.” She laughed. “You know how it is with some folks.”
“Yeah, that could be tough. I only stayed with Mac for a few days, but the lack of privacy started to get to me.”
“Oh, right! You’re back in your apartment?”
“Finally. My sister and her husband were fine with me being there, but I felt a little weird being there with Brad.”
“Oh, my goodness! Brad!” She slapped my desk and leaned forward. “What’s going on with you two?” she whispered, smiling broadly, like a clown. The expression was kind of creepy.
It was my turn to lean in. I whispered, “Nothing is going on with us.” I sighed, leaned back in my chair, and took my feet off the desk, ready to get to work and not talk about it.
Theresa’s brown eyes widened. “What?” She frowned. “What the heck happened? Did he cheat on you already? Girl, don’t tell me he cheated on you.”
“No.” I thought about it and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if we’re exclusive. We didn’t talk about it. It’s not cheating if we’re not exclusive.” I flicked my hand. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t trust him.”
“Why not? What did he do?”
“He turned my cell phone off.” I scoffed. “Can you believe it?”
She frowned and tilted her head. “And?” She did the rolling-hand motion, urging me on. “What else?”
“Nothing else. That’s enough.” I gazed at Theresa. “Isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, Sydney. It doesn’t sound so bad to me. Did you miss an important call or something?”
“Well, Bernie—” My phone rang, and I glanced at the display for the caller’s identity. “Valentine.” It was Monica, and she’d been crying. She’d heard about Vincent. She asked me to stop by her place as soon as possible—she needed to talk to me. I put my phone in my pocket and asked Theresa if she wanted to take a ride.
Chapter Eighteen
Theresa scanned the paper then nodded before giving it to me. It contained the results of a DNA test for Monica and Vincent. Dated a couple of weeks ago, it confirmed that he was most likely her father. Well, that put another spin on everything.
“Did you know he was getting a DNA test done?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He told me he took some of my hair from my brush in my bathroom a few months ago. He found a company to do the test for him and didn’t want to tell me in case he was wrong.”
“All right. But this isn’t what you wanted to tell me, though.” I handed the document to Theresa, and she passed it to Monica.
“No. I thought I’d already told you about him being my dad. I still called him Vincent and he said he was okay with it.” She slid the test results into her purse. “I wanted to tell you he was planning to change his will. I’d get some of Frakes Realty. I didn’t mention it before because it didn’t matter since he was still alive.”
“Does Sylvia own any part of it? You told me that it was his company, but she runs it.”
“That’s true, but I think she owns a percentage. I think it’s less than half. Maybe forty percent. I’m not sure.” She smiled through the tears. “I might get to be her boss if she’s not in jail for killing Vincent.”
I would have loved to be a fly on the wall if that ever happened. That could throw a kink in Sylvia’s plans to expand the business—that is, if Vincent had changed his will and it was valid. If it was, I wondered how long it would be held up in probate court. Sylvia would certainly fight that.
“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” My cell phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket and peeked at the caller ID. It was Brad. I let it go to voicemail. I caught Theresa’s raised eyebrows. She probably suspected who it was. So what?
“I don’t think there’s anything else I need to tell you. I thought you should know about the will. I also wanted to show you the DNA test results and wondered if maybe Sylvia found out about them.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! Did I just make myself a target of your investigation? I didn’t do it. I didn’t. I think Sylvia did. That’s why I told you.” She shot up and started pacing. “Oh, no. Oh, no. I didn’t do it! Please believe me. Why would I tell you about the will if I killed him?”
“We have to explore every possibility. Thanks for sharing the information.” I stood and headed for the door, with Theresa close behind.
Monica trailed after her. “Detective Valentine?” she whispered.
I turned, with my hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”
“Please find out who did this to him.”
“I plan to. Take care.” I stepped through the door. I didn’t feel like driving, so I tossed the keys to Theresa. On the way to the station, I called Bernie and gave him an update. He told me Khrystal and the baby were doing fine. I asked him if it would be okay if I stopped by for a few minutes after work. He sounded tired. I knew that I was. I disconnected and glanced at Theresa. She ogled. I pointed toward the windshield. “Eyes on the damn road!”
“Sheesh. You need to go talk to your man. You’re cranky.”
I narrowed my eyes at her then realized she was right. First, I needed to see Khrystal.
We rolled into the station lot soon after that. I reminded her that I wanted to go with her when she went to talk to Shelly and Jake Milton in the morning. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I headed to Bernie’s condo.
I arrived at Bernie’s just as he and Khrystal finished eating dinner. Bernie was doing the dishes when Khrystal answered the door in her bare feet. We hugged, then she led me into the living room and eased herself down onto the sectional. I reached out to help her. She looked fragile. Khrystal was tiny. She told people that she was five feet tall, but I didn’t believe she was even that tall. Before her pregnancy, she’d weighed ninety-five pounds, maybe one hundred if she wore a heavy coat and boots. Her black wavy hair hung to her waist in a French braid down her back. That hair would weigh another couple of pounds. Khrystal’s mother was African American and her father Korean. Her face had filled out; the prominent cheekbones were gone. She wasn’t wearing makeup on her smooth, clear skin the color of peanut butter. She propped her feet up on the coffee table. Her usually slim ankles and feet had swollen. Indentations from her shoes crisscrossed the tops. Her little feet couldn’t fit in her shoes anymore.
I smiled at her and couldn’t believe she looked better than I’d thought she would. “How are you feeling? You look great.” I meant it. My phone buzzed, and I peeked inside my purse to glance at the caller ID. It was Brad. I ignored it.
“Oh, I have my good days and not so good.” She rubbed her belly, which made her look as though she’d swallowed a basketball. She didn’t appear to have gained any weight anywhere except her stomach and face.
“Are you still having the morning sickness?” My phone buzzed again, but I let it go to voicemail without looking.
“You going to get that?” She eyed my purse, raising her brows.
“No. I can call back. Are you eating and keeping it down?”
“The morning sickness isn’t as bad as it was, let me tell you. I’m putting on weight, and the baby is doing well.”
I jerked a thumb toward the kitchen, where Bernie was banging around pots. “How’s he doing?” I’d lowered my voice.
She smiled. “Fine. He’s trying. You know?”
Actually, I didn’t. Trying at what? “Trying?”
“Us. He wants to get married. I just don’t want it to be because of the baby.” She stifled a yawn. “That’s why I waited so long to tell him about the pregnancy after we broke up.”
“I understand.” And I did. I recalled saying that to Bernie when he’d told me about the pregnancy. “You’re tired. I’ll go talk to Bernie, then I’ll get going.” I stood.
“All right. I’m going to go to bed.” She laughed. “I seem to be sleeping a lot.” She slid her feet off the table then stood and gave me another hug. “Syd, I’m so glad you finally had time to stop by. I haven’t seen much of you in months. I know it’s partly my fault because of nursing school and the schedule I kept at work. Don’t be a stranger. Okay?”
“I won’t. The same goes for you. Take care of yourself and that little person you’re carrying.” I headed to the kitchen as she went down the hall. I rounded the corner to the kitchen as Bernie put away the last of the dishes then closed the cupboard. When he saw me, he opened the fridge and pulled out a Corona. “Hi, Syd. Want a beer?” He opened it and took a couple of gulps as he peered at me with glassy eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was tired or had been drinking too much.
“No beer for me. Too tired for it.” I followed him to the living room, and we both sat on the sectional, his beer nearly gone. How could that be?
He plopped his feet on the coffee table with a thud. “So, Monica Stewart is Vincent Frakes’s daughter, and he may have left something for her in his will.”
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 33