I flipped it over. My heart skipped a beat. Oh, my goodness. Bingo!
Chapter Twenty-Five
She’d handed me a photo of the same Sharon on the license and two other teen girls about the same age. The back of the photo, dated five years ago, included two names along with Sharon’s: Jennifer Moore and Shelly Simon. They were all wearing denim shorts, San Sansolita Community College cropped T-shirts, and baseball caps.
“Does that help?” she asked.
“Yes, it does. Thank you.” I gave her my business card. “In case she returns or you think of something else, ma’am.”
She slipped the card in her robe pocket. “Call me Cindy.” She peered at me through the security door. “I’m Cindy Carter.”
“Pleased to meet you, Cindy.”
“Why do you need Sharon’s toothbrush and hair brush? Do you think she’s dead?” She sniffled. “I know about DNA from that show, CSI.” Didn’t they all think that? It wasn’t real, I wanted to tell her.
I sighed. “We’ve been trying to determine the identity of a young woman for several days. She didn’t have ID on her, and nobody has reported anyone fitting her description as missing.”
“What does she look like?” Her chin trembled.
“Blond hair and petite. She was wearing white jeans, white tank top, and black suede boots.”
Cindy gasped. “But that could be anybody. It could even be one of the other girls in that picture.”
I shook my head. “No, they’re both accounted for.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ve spoken to them several times.”
“Oh, no. I still don’t believe it was Sharon. She never wore white jeans.” She wrapped her arms around herself and swayed.
“You might be right. Is there anyone you could call? To stay with you?”
“No. I’ll be all right.” She gazed past me.
I turned. Bernie walked toward us.
“There’s a quicker way to determine if our Jane Doe is Sharon.” I preferred to get an official ID right away since we’d found someone who admitted to knowing Sharon.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t. What if it’s her?”
“If it’s her, it would be her whether you came with us or not.” I showed Bernie the picture.
“We could take you now and have someone bring you back home. At least this way, you’ll know.” Bernie handed the photo to me.
“I’d have to get dressed.” She patted her curlers. “And do my hair.”
“We’ll wait.” I glanced at Bernie, who nodded.
I slipped the photo in my pocket.
She gazed at us. “All right. I won’t be long.” Then she shut the door on us again.
We stood next to Bernie’s car and waited. While we did so, Bernie told me that his phone call was from Khrystal and that she was slightly nauseous again. I told him he should take off. He wanted to stick around, though. We called the morgue to let them know we were on our way and we were bringing someone to possibly identify the body. They’d already cleaned Jane Doe up, but there was only so much they could do.
Cindy didn’t take long. She’d removed her curlers but hadn’t brushed out her hair. A zebra-striped scarf-headband encircled her head, and she wore black stretch pants, a white T-shirt, and fuzzy slippers. She slid into the backseat of my car and buckled up, and we were on our way, with Bernie in the lead.
Cindy didn’t speak much in the car on the way to the morgue. That was to be expected since she probably feared the worst possible scenario. We met Bernie outside about half an hour after we’d left her house, and he led us downstairs, through the ominous hallway. We let the attendant know we’d arrived and waited to enter. Cindy breathed heavily. I sat her down to calm her before entering. I sure didn’t want her hyperventilating and passing out on us. Once she’d regained her composure, we went inside.
In the chilly room, Jane Doe lay on a stainless-steel table, arms to her sides, and covered up to her shoulders. She’d been cleaned up, but her face still showed evidence of injuries. There was nothing we could do about that. The dead didn’t heal. I glanced at Cindy. Her hand trembled as she placed it over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She blinked rapidly, and tears flowed as she shook her head. She reached out to smooth Jane’s hair. We had our answer. I needed to ask the question anyway—one of the most difficult parts of my job.
“Cindy, is this Sharon Carter?” I asked in a soft voice.
She nodded. “Someone hurt her,” she whispered then collapsed onto the table, leaning close to Sharon, grasping her limp pale hand. “It’s Sharon.” She shook her head, staring at the face of the girl she’d seemed to despise a short time ago. “Oh, Sharon. What did you get yourself into this time?”
Bernie offered her a Kleenex. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, still shaking her head. She stood tall, sniffled, then took a deep breath. She sandwiched Sharon’s hand between hers then put the hand to her face. She swallowed and laid Sharon’s hand back on the table gently.
She turned and looked at me. “When can I begin to make arrangements?”
“I’ll let them know you’ve identified her, and someone will be in touch.” I squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I gave her my business card. “Call if you have questions.”
She nodded, looked me in the eyes, then did the same to Bernie, biting her lip. “Thank you,” she whispered, swiping a tear. She took another deep breath. “I’m ready to go now.”
Bernie stepped up and guided her out of the room. “I’ll see to it that you get home. I’m sorry.” Bernie would get her phone number later.
I began the paperwork to have the body—Sharon—released to a funeral home once they’d heard from Cindy. Then I went back to the station and sat at my desk for a while, completing reports on our most recent interviews. I had many unanswered questions.
Why had Sharon Carter been at the Moore house? Next stop, track down Shelly and Jake Milton if it was the last thing I did. Somebody’d better start talking. I had the photo of the trio of teen girls and would use it to get information. Now that we’d identified Jane Doe, I planned to go back to Cindy’s house, search Sharon’s room. We needed to find her car. It might be near the Moore house. I put out a BOLO for any patrol officers to bring it in if they saw it. We should’ve already done that. I’d dropped the ball.
Although I’d had a long work day, it was about to get longer. Bernie and I stood on the Simons’ porch once again, listening to their dogs bark.
Bernie frowned. “Do you know their dogs’ names?”
“I’m not sure if Shelly or Jake ever mentioned their names. Why?”
He shrugged. “Just wondered.” He jabbed at the doorbell again, setting off another round of ferocious barking.
“They’re not home.” I looked around the neighborhood and saw a woman next door kneeling as she pulled weeds in her yard. “I’m going to have a chat.” I meandered toward the woman, who watched me warily.
The woman, a Latina in her mid-forties, pushed herself up, dusted her knees, and pulled off her gardening gloves. “May I help you?” She shoved stray strands of dark hair away from her deep-brown eyes and wiped perspiration from her brow. She studied the badge clipped to my belt.
“I’m Detective Valentine of the San Sansolita PD.”
“I’m Jessie. Jessie Carmichael.”
I scanned her yard. Somebody had done quite a bit of work there. It looked like upkeep was a daily chore. I wouldn’t have wanted to do it. Jessie probably spent a lot of time out here. “Do you know your neighbors? The Simons?”
She nodded. “I do, but lately it’s just to say hello. I saw them leave early this morning. I’ve been out here trimming, digging, and planting on and off. The weather finally cooled off for a bit, so I’m back at it. The sun will come around and be at my back soon, though.” She gazed at the sky.
I glanced around the yard again. “It’s paying off. You have a beautiful yard.” I smiled. “You
’ve got a green thumb.”
She gave me a big grin. “I just love being out here. It’s therapeutic, you know? Watching things grow.”
“I have vegetable and herb container gardens on my apartment patio. That’s about the extent of it for now.”
“At least that’s something.” She looked at the weeds she’d pulled, probably wanting to get back to work. “Is there something you need, Detective?”
“Jessie, how long have you been neighbors with the Simons?” I pulled my notebook out.
“My husband and I bought this house about ten years ago. The Simons were already here.”
“Do you know their daughter Shelly?”
“You could say that.” She looked away.
“Do you have a problem with her?”
“Not anymore. Now that she doesn’t have her claws in my son.”
“What do you mean? They dated?”
“Dated? No, I wouldn’t say that. It was more like partied. Drugs.”
“When was that?”
“It was about seven or eight years ago. She’s older than Jeremy.”
“What happened?”
“She got into drugs and dragged him in with her. My husband and I put a stop to that right quick, let me tell you.”
“Were there any legal issues involved?”
“No. Not with Jeremy, anyway. I don’t know about Shelly. We found marijuana joints in his room, and he told us he got them from Shelly. He was fifteen! He had a crush on her, and she knew it.”
“Have you seen her lately? We’ve been looking for her.” I looked over at Bernie, who’d gone back to the car. He leaned on the rear passenger door while talking on the phone.
“It’s been several days. I saw her and her husband carrying boxes to a Ryder truck.”
I asked for her phone number then gave her a business card. “Can you give me a call if you see the Simons come home?”
She nodded, slipping the card in her back pocket. “I sure will. What’s this about? Did they commit a crime?”
“We’re in the process of investigating something, and they may have information that could be helpful to us.”
“I’ll let you know if I see them.” She tugged her gloves back on.
“Thanks.” I took one last look around her garden. She’d already knelt on the ground and gone back to work.
I sauntered back to Bernie and our car. “That was Jessie Carmichael.” I opened the door and got in.
Bernie went around to the driver’s side and climbed behind the wheel. “And what did Jessie have to say?”
“She seemed to have a bit of animosity toward the Simons, especially Shelly. She gave their son marijuana when he was fifteen.”
“Oh, wow. What happened?” He turned the corner and continued down the street lined with mature palm trees.
“Jessie and her husband found joints in his room and put a stop to it.”
“Have they seen the Simons lately?”
“She told me they left this morning, and she saw Shelly and Jake loading up a Ryder truck several days ago.”
“Uh-oh. They moved to a new place?”
“It sounds that way. I gave Jessie my card and asked her to call me if she saw any of them come home. Were you just talking to Khrystal?”
“It was Monica. She wanted to know if we’d arrested Sylvia yet.”
“Arrested her for what?”
“Killing Vincent. She’s convinced that Sylvia had something to do with it.”
“And if Sylvia goes to jail, that leaves the company to Monica, now that Sharon Carter is dead.” I glanced at Bernie. “Maybe we need to look at Monica more closely.”
“We also need to talk to the Moores.” Bernie yawned. “Will this day ever end?” He stopped at a red light.
“Not until we talk to the doctor and Joan or Monica. Which will it be?”
“Monica is closer and told me she’s home. The Moores are in Palm Springs and may not be home from work yet. I wanted to talk to them both together. We could call and see if they’re home.”
“I’m not ready to talk to them yet.” I looked up the weather on my phone. “It’s one hundred fifteen degrees in Palm Springs right now.”
Bernie headed toward Monica’s. I didn’t think she had anything to do with this. I believed Shelly was involved.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Before we knew it, we’d rolled to a stop outside Monica’s house. My shoulders ached from tension. Bernie’s dark circles had grown, too. I’d decided to call it a day after we finished with Monica.
We arrived to find her at the door.
She ushered us inside to the living room then plopped onto the sofa, pulling a leg under her. “Did you talk to Sylvia yet? Did she kill my father?”
Bernie sat at the opposite end of the sofa, crossed his leg over his knee, and threw his arm over the back of the sofa. He’d made himself at home. “We’re still investigating.”
I took the chair across the room. “Why are you so convinced that Sylvia harmed her husband?”
“Because she never liked that her father had more confidence in Vincent than in her. He let Vincent run the company.”
“But why would she kill him now? After all of this time?” Bernie asked.
“She had big plans, and he didn’t always agree with her. They argued about it. I heard them.” She looked from me to Bernie. “Don’t you see? She wanted it all… Frakes Realty and Portrero Meyer Homes.”
I couldn’t disagree with that because Sylvia had told me she had plans for the growth of the business. John Doe hadn’t been identified as Vincent Frakes then. Maybe she’d already known he was dead. Surely she wouldn’t have told me her business goals if she’d murdered her husband. I can’t imagine that Sylvia wouldn’t realize she would make herself the prime suspect. She may have been arrogant, but I didn’t peg her as being stupid.
“Monica, she could’ve still had those plans while Vincent was alive. Didn’t he go away on a business trip for the purpose of Portrero Meyer developing timeshare resorts in Hawaii?”
“That’s true, but we don’t know if Sylvia was in agreement with those plans.” She was grasping at straws.
Why was she so intent on taking Sylvia down? “Why are you pointing the finger at Sylvia? Is it because she fired you?”
“I never said she fired me!” She jumped up and paced.
“Well, whatever she did, you don’t work there anymore. So, what’s going on?”
“I know she did it. She wanted the businesses to herself.”
“Okay. Well, we’re continuing our investigation and considering all of the facts.” I glanced at Bernie. Time to go. “We’ll be in touch if we have additional questions.” I stood and headed for the door.
“Monica, maybe you should try focusing on something else.” Bernie followed me to the door.
Monica sighed. “Like what? Looking for a job?” Her face flushed.
Remembering the photo of the teen girls in my pocket, I turned and pulled it out. I showed it to her. “Do you know them?”
She took the photo and looked closely, frowning. She pointed to Sharon. “This girl.” She looked up. “I’ve seen her before.”
“Where have you seen her?” My heart raced, and I held my breath. Maybe this visit hadn’t wasted our time after all.
She tugged on her lower lip. “I’m not one hundred percent positive, but…” She frowned.
“Where?” My impatience kicked in. “Where have you seen her?”
“I think she’s been to the Frakes Realty office a few times. Looking for a job, maybe. I don’t know why she was there, but she was talking to one of the agents who used to work there. I don’t remember the agent’s name. I remember her because she was kind of loud, and they were laughing a lot. It bothered me.” She gave me the picture. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Sharon Carter,” I said.
“Okay. Do you think she killed Vincent?”
“I doubt it. She’s someone we discovered during o
ur investigation.” I didn’t intend to say anything else.
“Wait a minute!” Monica hurried to the end table and picked up the envelope containing the will. She slid the pages out then flipped through them. “It’s her.” She tapped a section of the page.
I nodded.
“I don’t understand.” She dropped the papers on the table. “Did Sylvia kill her, too?”
“It’s still an ongoing investigation. I’m sorry.” I turned toward the door.
“We’ll let you know when we can,” Bernie said.
Bernie and I left.
“What the hell was Sharon Carter doing at Frakes Realty?” My brain felt fuzzy, and I couldn’t think anymore. Maybe Monica was right. Sylvia might have been involved. I yawned. “We need to go talk to Sylvia now.”
We parked in front of Sylvia’s house and ambled to the door.
A curtain in the front window flickered. “Did you see that?” I looked at Bernie.
“See what?” Bernie rang the doorbell.
“The curtain moved. Somebody’s here.” I banged on the door, but nobody answered. The curtains were too thick to see through.
“Maybe she has a cat. They like sitting in windows. You call Frakes Realty, and I’ll call Sylvia’s cell.” Bernie looked through his notebook.
“I don’t remember seeing a cat when we were here before. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one, though.” I flipped through my notebook, looking for the phone number. I found it and dialed. Voicemail. I disconnected then searched for the new address she’d given us for Frakes Realty, which was on the way to the station. “Let’s check out Frakes Realty. Did you have any luck with the phone number?”
He shook his head and put his notebook and phone in his pocket. I gave him the Frakes Realty address, and we got back on the road.
My phone buzzed. “Valentine.” It was Dr. Moore. We’d been meaning to talk to him again.
“Detective Valentine, would it be possible to speak with you tomorrow morning at nine?”
“We can be there.”
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 38