“We’ll figure it out soon. One way or the other. All right?” I headed for the door and turned the knob.
“Take care, Monica.” Bernie gave her a business card. “Call if you think of anything else.”
I slid into the driver’s seat of our car and buckled up. “I forgot to tell you what Brad said the other day.” Was that yesterday? It seemed longer.
“Oh? Still seeing him?” His gaze slid my way.
“Why wouldn’t I be? What do you know?”
“Don’t get paranoid. I know nothing. What did he say?” He smirked.
“He knew Vincent. Vincent mentored him somewhat when Brad was in college and Frakes Realty wasn’t yet as big as it is now.”
“Now, that’s interesting. What about Monica?”
“What about her?” I asked, a bit too testily.
“You tell me. Did they have a thing or something?”
“Who is they?” I stopped at a red light and studied the pedestrians strolling past as if they had all day.
“They is whomever you want it to be.” He turned in his seat, staring. “What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?”
“To answer your question, Brad knew Monica, too. He seemed surprised that she was Vincent’s daughter. He basically told me the same thing she did about how she learned from Vincent and how good he was to them.”
“And what was Brad’s impression of Sylvia?” Bernie asked.
“He said she wasn’t in the picture when he met Vincent. She came later. He doesn’t think very highly of her. He told me she wasn’t a nice person.”
“No surprise there. But can you blame her? I mean, her father practically gave the company to someone who wasn’t born into the family. Why?”
“He didn’t trust her to run it, even though she was the only daughter to go into real estate?” The light changed and a teen sprinted across in front of the car, eyeing me as I nudged forward.
“Maybe he thought a woman couldn’t run the company.”
I shrugged. “That might be it.”
When Bernie and I arrived at the Simons’ house, they were pulling out of their driveway. I rolled up to the curb, and Bernie jumped from the car to flag them down. I parked then followed.
Carl stopped his car and got out. “Hey, you trying to get yourself killed or something?” His face was flushed.
Bernie flashed his badge and smiled. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Simon, but we came across some new information we wanted to discuss with you.”
“Oh, it’s you. I didn’t recognize you. Sorry ’bout that.” He went around the passenger side of his car and opened his wife’s door. I didn’t often see that type of chivalry. He reached for her hand to help her out. “Linda, it’s the detectives.”
We all gathered in the driveway near their car.
“What new information do you have?” Carl asked.
“Do you know who Sharon Carter is?” I asked.
Carl and Linda looked at each other and frowned. Carl rubbed his stubble, and Linda pursed her lips.
“The name sounds familiar. It does.” Linda shook her head. “I just can’t say for sure.”
“How well did you know Vincent Frakes?” Bernie asked.
“He was married to her sister.” Carl pointed to Linda.
“Did you know him well?” I asked.
The couple looked at one another but remained quiet.
“Linda, how is your relationship with Sylvia?” Bernie asked.
“We don’t see each other often.”
Carl scoffed. Bernie and I gazed at him. Linda glared. Carl looked away.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.
Linda didn’t respond. Carl stared at his feet.
“Did you go to Vincent Frakes’s funeral?” I asked.
“We did not,” Carl said.
Linda gasped.
“Now, honey. We need to tell them. I’m sure they’ve seen these situations before.” He glanced our way. “When their daddy didn’t help me and Linda when we were struggling, we had some animosity toward him. We did. We got over it some after a while. But then when Sylvia married Vincent, her daddy let him run the company.” He touched Linda’s elbow. “Go on. Tell them.”
“And that’s when things got worse between Sylvia and me.” Linda’s eyes had moistened. “I mean, we were never close, but we certainly aren’t now. If she had at least stood up for us, things might be different now.”
“What about your other sister? Joan Moore? Are you close?” I asked.
“Closer than Sylvia and her, that’s for sure,” Carl said. “Joan stops by here on Thanksgiving and sees Sylvia on Christmas.”
“I used to babysit Jennifer when she was younger. I was home with Shelly anyway.”
Carl shook his head. “It’s no wonder Jennifer turned out the way she did. Nobody home to pay attention to her. They were too busy building their careers instead of their family. We felt sorry for Jennifer. She was a good kid.”
“Do you know Monica Stewart?” I asked.
They shook their heads. “Should we?” Carl asked.
“She’s Joan’s real estate agent. She worked for Sylvia,” I said.
“Oh. We don’t know anything about the business,” Carl said.
I thought after our previous conversation, these two would’ve found out more about Shelly’s search for a place to live. Even with their apparent lack of interest, I gave it another shot. “Has Shelly rented another house yet?”
They looked at one another and shrugged. Good grief. Did they even care? I looked at Bernie, who was putting away his notebook. It was a done deal for me, too.
“Well, we won’t keep you any longer. Thanks.” I turned to leave. Back in the car, I slid into the passenger seat. I didn’t feel like driving.
“I’m not sure I know what to think about their lack of concern or knowledge,” Bernie said. “I don’t want to be that kind of parent.”
“No worries. You won’t be.” I wrote in my notebook. Something had clicked as the conversation ended with the Simons. “I’m going to run a DMV check on Sharon Carter.”
“I bet there are a bunch of them, but I think it’s a good idea. At least you have the address from the will to get you started.”
“And if nothing comes of the DMV, we can just go there, check her out. Maybe we could check her out no matter what happens with the DMV. It can’t hurt.” I called it in to Dispatch. I checked the database for a criminal history and came up empty.
“Let’s get lunch now.” He gazed at me as he cranked the engine. “How about that vegan place we went to when you won that bet a while ago. Remember?”
“Yep. The Vegan Garden. I didn’t think you’d ever eat there again, even though you said you would when we were leaving.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d eat there again. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, though.” He patted his belly. “Khrystal told me I need to stop drinking so much beer and eat better. So, this is me trying… to eat better.” He didn’t mention the beer.
“Are you serious?” I felt myself frowning. Hard.
“Don’t sound so shocked.” He glanced at me. “And don’t look so shocked, either. And close your mouth. I’m not that far gone.”
“If you’re going to the restaurant, you’re going the wrong way.” I pointed over my shoulder. “It’s back there.”
“Well, darn. It says no U-turns.” He pointed at the sign and laughed. “I guess we’ll have to eat somewhere else now.”
I slid my gaze his way. “I’ll tell Khrystal.”
He scowled, pulled into a strip mall, turned around, then waited at the light to go back the other way.
“Good decision. I don’t know what I’ll order. Maybe I’ll have the eggplant parmesan or perhaps some type of vegetable pasta.” I grinned. “Their vegan cheese is pretty good. What will you order?”
He groaned, even though he’d suggested we eat there.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After
we each finished a plate of zucchini pasta with pesto sauce and two large glasses of fresh lemonade, we were back at the station. I made a mental note to talk to Sylvia Frakes and Joan Moore again. We hadn’t spoken to Dr. Moore in a while. Maybe it was time for that, too. He didn’t seem to be involved in whatever transpired within his wife’s family, though. I never knew what would turn up once I started talking to people, so I had to cover all of the bases.
I’d received my DMV reports on Sharon Carter. There were five in Riverside County. But none at the address in Cherry Valley mentioned in Vincent Frakes’s will. Bummer. I’d earned myself more legwork, but I still felt like we’d made progress. I scanned the birthdates and found one person who matched. The address, in San Jacinto, was a fifteen-minute trip by car. The driver’s license photos were horrible. They all looked like mugshots. Nobody smiled, and everyone seemed to be in pain—after waiting for hours at the DMV, no doubt. I stood and looked over my cubicle wall at Bernie’s empty chair.
“Looking for me?” Bernie said from behind me.
I jumped. “Darn it, Bernie!”
He laughed, apparently pleased with my reaction.
“You want to go by this address with me?” I held out the report, pointing to the driver’s license photo. “This one had the same date of birth as the Sharon Carter in Frakes’s will. I thought I’d pay her a visit.” Sharon also had a black 2012 Ford Focus registered in her name at the same address.
“All right.” He went back to his desk and grabbed the recorder and his cell phone from its charging station. “I have to call Khrystal. She said she felt nauseous this morning.”
“You want to call before we go? If you need to take off, I can see if Theresa’s busy.” I sat in my swivel chair and spun while he called.
Moments later, he disconnected, slid his phone in his pocket, and shrugged. “She said she’s okay now.” His brow furrowed.
“But?” I stood and picked up the DMV information for Sharon Carter.
“I got the feeling she was trying not to worry me.” He strolled to the door. “Let’s go. She’ll call if there’s a problem.”
“Maybe we should take two cars—just in case.”
He turned, seemed to think about it, then nodded. “You’re right. I’ll drive my car. What’s the address?”
I read it to him, and he scribbled it in his notebook. Then we went to our separate cars.
Somehow, Bernie arrived at the address before me. I pulled up behind him, hopped out, and knocked on his window as he chatted on the phone. He looked up and raised a finger to let me know he would be a moment. I leaned on his car, checking out the neighborhood of older homes. The lawns were mostly well kept; a few sported dry or patchy areas. California had been in a drought situation for a few years and some municipalities encouraged drought-tolerant landscaping. Years ago, I’d heard some cities had implemented green lawn ordinances. I’d looked it up and found that at least eighty percent of the front yard had to be green. That didn’t sound drought-tolerant to me.
Bernie opened his door and stepped out. “That was Khrystal. She’s doing okay. No nausea at all now. It’s funny how it comes and goes so quickly.”
“Good to know.” I walked toward the small home. Its exterior was done in the variations of tan typical to the region. From the outside, it didn’t look much bigger than my apartment. Water streamed down the sidewalk and driveway near the lush grass. The lawn sparkled with moisture. The sprinklers must’ve just shut off.
Bernie rang the doorbell. “I hope this leads somewhere.”
The door opened a crack. A woman of about fifty or fifty-five peered out at us. She had a slight mustache and dozens of tiny curlers in her hair. Her blue chenille robe had some bald spots and holes. The television blared in the background.
“We’re Detectives Valentine and Bernard,” Bernie said. We pressed our IDs to the security screen door.
She leaned forward, apparently reading our IDs. “Okay.”
“Are you Sharon Carter?” I knew she couldn’t be. The woman was too old, according to the date of birth on the will and the driver’s license. Sharon was half her age.
“No, I’m not. What’s she done now?” Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the street behind us. Bernie had his notebook out.
“As far as we know, nothing. Do you have reason to believe she’s done something we should be made aware of?” I asked.
“Yeah, maybe.” Her eyes flashed. “It’s always something with that girl. If she hasn’t done anything, why are you here interrupting my show?”
“Ma’am, may we come in to talk to you?” Bernie looked around at the people strolling down the sidewalk. “In private?”
“Say what you got to say here. My neighbors already know all my business anyhow.”
“All right. Can we start with your name?” I asked.
“Nope. You got no business with me if you’re looking for Sharon.” She grinned, and her dental plate slipped. She pushed it in place with her tongue. “Next question.” She glanced over her shoulder as canned laughter from a game show roared behind her. “And make it snappy.”
“Do you own this house, ma’am?” Bernie asked.
No response.
“Ma’am, if you don’t respond, we’ll have to do some checking on whoever lives here, whether it’s you or someone else.” I eyeballed her. “And who knows what we’d dig up or how we’d use that information.”
She glared at me, pursed her lips, then nodded. “Sharon doesn’t live here anymore.” We were finally getting somewhere.
“Do you know where she lives now?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“What is your relationship with her?” I asked.
“She’s my stepdaughter. Her daddy, my fifth husband, died, and I continued to raise Sharon on my own. She became a problem as she got older.”
“What kind of problems did you have with her?”
“She’d steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. Her IQ is on genius level; they told me when she was younger. I thought she’d be an accountant or something because she always did well in math. She went to college for a couple of years but got tired of it. Too much work, she said. Too much partying with her friends, if you ask me. And it was one con after another. Wherever she is, good riddance.”
“Did she have a lot of friends? How about other family in the area?”
She tsked. “Yeah, she had friends all right. Birds of a feather, they were.”
“Do you have their contact information?”
“Now, why would I have that? I don’t want to have anything to do with those kinds of people.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “My show’s almost over. Anything else?”
“Yes, did Sharon leave anything behind? Perhaps something we could use to track her down?” I asked. “Did she have a car?”
She looked to the ceiling, pursed her lips, and nodded. “She had a car. I can’t remember anything about it except it was black. Wait here.” She closed the door in our faces.
I shook my head and looked at Bernie. “What do you think?”
“There’s something here. I don’t know what, but there’s something.”
“I think so, too. It’s just hard to get to it with all the attitude being tossed at us.” The door knob twisted, so I shut my mouth.
The door opened. The lady had something in her hand. “Is it against the law to give you her mail? I don’t want to break any laws.”
“Did Sharon open the mail?” I asked.
She nodded. “Just bills, I think.” She opened the door a crack and shoved them through. “Take ‘em.”
I looked through the credit card transactions. Charges for gas and eating out took up the majority of her five-thousand-dollar credit limit. I jotted down the credit card number, the issuing bank, and cities where she’d used her card. She had a gym membership, too. I gave the lady the envelope and bill. “Did she leave any personal belongings behind? Maybe some clothes or a hair brush?”
She f
rowned. “What do you mean?”
“Did she actually move, take her clothes, toothbrush, or luggage?”
She chewed on her lip. “Wait a minute. Do you think something happened to her? Like she didn’t leave on her own or something?”
“We don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out if she moved or if she had an accident and couldn’t make it back. You seem to think she simply left without a word.”
“Well, she’s done that before. I mean, left without saying anything. She’d show up later as if she was just here that morning, having breakfast with me—not that that ever happened. I mean, she’d take me out to dinner sometimes, but we rarely ate together at home as a family—not since she became a teenager and decided she didn’t need me. That girl thinks she knows everything.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen or spoken to her?”
“Couple of months.” She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“Did she tell you she was leaving?” I kept pulling the string. Something had to come loose, eventually. It always did.
“Well, not exactly. She told me she had a plan that was going to make her rich. I assumed that’s where she went. To get rich. If that ever happened, she sure ain’t sharing it with me.”
I looked up from my writing. “Did she say what the plan was?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you ever filed a missing person’s report on her?” Bernie asked.
“No. She’s never been missing.” Her eyes widened, and she pressed a palm to her chest. Her face seemed to sag and go pale. “Do you think she’s missing?”
“I have no idea. If you have anything she may have used, like a toothbrush or hair brush, we’d like you to get it for us.”
She gazed at me. “Well, all right.” She shut the door on us again but not before her eyes moistened. So, she did care for Sharon after all.
Bernie’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the display then walked toward his car.
She returned and handed me a toothbrush and hairbrush in a plastic Walgreens bag. She reached into her robe pocket and gave me a palm-sized sheet of paper. “I found this stuck in her mirror. You know…” She cleared her throat. “…in case you need it.”
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 37