Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.” I disconnected.

  “Who was that?” Bernie turned onto the street of the new location of the Frakes Realty office.

  “That was Dr. Moore. He wants to talk to us tomorrow morning at nine.”

  “Good. It’s about time we spoke to him again.” He rolled to a stop at the curb.

  There were no cars in the Frakes Realty parking lot. The two-story building had large windows. A sign on the lower level indicated Frakes Realty occupied those offices, and the upper level belonged to an insurance agency. There was no activity in there, and the lights were off. We got out of the car and walked up to the entrance anyway. Bernie pulled on the door. Locked. I considered the journey a bust. I hoped we would have better luck tomorrow with either Dr. Moore or Sylvia. We also had Shelly to deal with. I called Cindy Carter and it went to voicemail. I left her a message indicating we’d like to stop by. I wanted to search Sharon Carter’s bedroom.

  First thing the next morning, Bernie and I dropped in on the Moores. They led us into their living room. Bernie set the recorder on the coffee table and turned it on.

  I had no intention of telling them about Sharon Carter right away. “Have you spoken to your daughter over the past few days?”

  Dr. Moore glanced at Joan. “I haven’t spoken to her in several weeks. I believe I discussed that with you at our other house.” I recalled thinking of him as a beach ball. He’d lost a few pounds since then. From stress?

  “Right. I remember we talked about your estrangement from your daughter. Things change, though.” I looked at Joan. “What about you?”

  “Me? What about me?” She frowned. “I try to reach her when I can, but I haven’t been able to for a while. She’s avoiding me.”

  “Why?” I looked up from my writing.

  “Because she doesn’t want to hear it.”

  “Hear what?” I knew what.

  “The same thing I’ve been saying for quite some time. She’s wasting her life out there in the streets. She had so much potential.” And there it was—just as Jennifer had told me. Mrs. Moore was disappointed in her daughter because she didn’t fit some preconceived life plan she’d created for her, probably before Jennifer was born.

  I looked at Dr. Moore. “How long has she been out there in the streets?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve lost count. She used to come home for a while then leave again.”

  “Why did she stop coming home?”

  His gaze slid to Joan then me. “Because I told her she needed to get herself together or don’t come home. I’d had enough.”

  Joan’s face had gone pale. She bit her lip and twisted her wedding ring.

  I looked at her. “Tell me. What is it?”

  “He pushed her away. It’s his fault. Everything.” She stiffened.

  I had to disagree. Although there was plenty of blame to go around, Jennifer was an adult, and she had made the decision to use drugs and stay away. I kept my opinion to myself, however.

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Dr. Moore leaned forward. “What’s going on with the investigation? Joan told me we might be able to start showing the house again soon.”

  “Yes, I mentioned that to her.”

  “Do we have to tell potential buyers that somebody died on our property?” he asked.

  “You should discuss that with Frakes Realty,” Bernie said.

  Dr. Moore looked at him. “Why? You’re cops. Don’t you know?”

  “You should discuss it with your agent,” Bernie said.

  Joan scoffed. “We don’t have an agent anymore. I fired them.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She thinks they let that girl in our house. The girl that died.” Dr. Moore glanced at Joan.

  I looked at her, too. “Is that true?”

  “Why would they do that?” Bernie asked.

  “I don’t know. How else would she have gotten in? There were no broken windows, and the officers told my husband the patio door was open.”

  “She was found in the backyard,” I said. “We saw no indication that she entered your house. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been inside, however.”

  Dr. Moore nodded. “That’s what I keep telling her. We don’t even know if the gate was locked. The gardener may have left it unlocked. Perhaps Sylvia or Monica left the patio door open. We simply don’t know.”

  “Is that why you called me yesterday? To ask whether you had to tell buyers someone had died on the property?” I asked.

  “Yes. That’s it,” Dr. Moore said.

  He could’ve asked that over the phone. I still wasn’t ready to talk about Sharon Carter. I wanted to search her bedroom first. Bernie and I stood.

  “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.” Bernie went outside.

  I followed him out. “Have a nice day.” Thanks for wasting mine.

  From there, we began our journey to Cindy Carter’s house. My gut told me we wouldn’t be wasting our time there. Sometimes, my gut was right.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When we arrived at Cindy Carter’s, we found the interior door open. Bernie knocked on the screen door. She appeared, dressed in a black pantsuit, and her hair had been brushed out. The difference between the woman we’d met previously and this one was shocking. She opened the door to let us in.

  “How are you?” Bernie stepped into her home, looking around.

  I followed him and did the same. It smelled of soup and baking bread. I was surprised by how homey it felt. I envisioned myself picking out the same type of furniture in soft fabrics and earth tones. The hardwood floors needed refinishing, but the home was neat and uncluttered. She hadn’t answered Bernie’s question. I stopped gawking at my surroundings and looked at her. She was gazing at an elementary school portrait of Sharon on the wall. She had pigtails and uneven bangs cut too short.

  I approached Cindy. “Are you doing okay?”

  She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

  “Have you been able to make arrangements?” Bernie asked.

  “I’ve started to. There’s no family. Her grandparents are gone. Her mom passed before I met her dad.” She shook her head. “Too much tragedy in that family.” She moved toward the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I know you married her father. What was his name?” Bernie asked.

  “William Carter. Will was a good man—the best out of all of my husbands. He raised her for a while on his own. Did I tell you that?”

  I shook my head. “What happened to her mother?” I slipped my notebook from my pocket.

  “She died in a car accident. Sharon was in the car and had some injuries, mostly bruises and scratches from broken glass. She was too young to remember the accident and her mother.”

  My head snapped up. “What was her mother’s name?” My heart raced.

  “Freda. Will called her Freddie.” She smiled.

  I glanced at Bernie. He searched through his notes, probably looking for Freda’s name. He hadn’t been with me when Monica told me about Freda. I tried to process what I’d just heard. I jotted some thoughts in my notebook before I forgot. I looked up to see Bernie frowning. He didn’t recognize Freda’s name. I put up a finger, indicating to him to give me a moment.

  “Cindy, can we take a look at Sharon’s bedroom now? We may find something to help us figure out who did that to her.”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “Thank you.” I handed her a document to sign, acknowledging she’d given us permission.

  She signed it and gave it back. “I’ll show you her bedroom.” She stood and led us out of the living room. She stopped at a room with pale-pink walls. A full size canopy bed took up a large portion of the space. Dozens of stuffed animals cluttered the bed, floor, and every other surface. Based on our conversations with Cindy about Sharon, I’d never imagined anything like that. It must’ve showed on my face becaus
e I turned to see her watching me. “Will showered her with stuffed animals. He bought her the bed when she was eight. She loved it and kept it when she grew up. I think it was her way of holding on to her dad. They were very close. She said she wanted to save the bed for when she had her own…” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” She hurried away.

  Bernie and I pulled on our gloves. We walked around the room, getting a feel for where Sharon might’ve kept her secrets.

  Bernie whispered, “Who’s Freda?”

  “Freda was Vincent Frakes’s sister.”

  Bernie’s eyes widened. “Sharon was his niece.” Scratching his chin, he walked to the other side of the room. “So that’s why he left her something in his will. Wow.” He spun toward me, a question in his eyes.

  “I don’t know if Sylvia knew about her.” I pulled open a drawer on the pink dresser with princesses and fairies painted on it and looked inside. Sharon had gone from that to being a con artist. It had probably gotten her killed. I felt under the drawer then pulled out another and did the same. Finally, I found an envelope taped to the left side of the track on the bottom of the last drawer I checked. I took a picture of it then pulled it off. I sat on the bed and shook out the contents. “Shit.”

  Bernie had been searching the nightstand. “What?”

  I pointed to the pile. “Checks and fake IDs. Dozens of them.”

  Bernie picked up several items. “Real estate agent licenses and driver’s licenses. Some social security cards, too. In different names, including Shelly’s. Sharon’s, too.” He looked at me, frowning. He handed me an evidence bag he’d brought from the car.

  “Yeah.” I dropped the envelope inside the bag and sealed it. “Let’s keep looking.”

  Bernie went into the walk-in closet and whistled. “Wow. Khrystal would love this. She’s complaining that there isn’t enough storage.”

  I took a look and couldn’t believe it. The carpeting in there was thicker than the bedroom’s. The well-lit closet, almost as large as the bedroom, contained a rectangular chandelier in the center of the ceiling. I wondered if it was a bedroom that had been converted into a closet. A wide upholstered bench sat in the center. A dressing table and tall mirror with gold braided trim took up a portion of one wall. Shelving had been built on every wall. Compartments ran up and down the length of several rows. The closet had places for shoes, jewelry, belts, purses, and anything else imaginable. I wished Mac could have seen it in person. I slid my phone from my pocket, took pictures of everything, then left the closet to Bernie. Back in the bedroom, I mentally added a closet like that to my own wish list.

  I finished checking the dresser and found nothing else. I looked under the bed and in the other nightstand.

  A few minutes later, Bernie carried a plastic storage box out of the closet and set it on the bed. “Let’s see what’s in here.” He opened the box then lifted out a Dell laptop.

  I crossed my fingers and hoped it wasn’t protected by a password.

  Bernie opened the lid and pushed the power button.

  I held my breath. Nothing happened.

  “The battery needs to be charged.” He rummaged through the box and found the power cord, plugged it in, and pushed the power button again. Moments later, the Microsoft Windows screen appeared. We got lucky.

  “Go to Windows Explorer to look at her files.” I leaned over his shoulder. She appeared to have been very organized. That worked in our favor. It didn’t take long to see what she had been up to and what might’ve led to her demise. We found images of fake IDs with Sharon’s photo on them.

  Bernie set aside the laptop, and we went back inside her closet. He moved her clothes, looking for any hidden compartments. I got down on my knees to check the floor. I found another plastic storage box in the far corner, hidden behind a large hamper filled with clothes. I stood and dragged out the heavy box. Once I got it to the middle of the room, I sat on the bench and popped the lid.

  “Bernie, look at this.” I knelt beside the box.

  “What is it?” He looked over my shoulder then knelt next to me. “Oh.”

  “Containers of acetone, safety goggles, rubber gloves, plastic bucket, and a stainless-steel tray. It makes more sense now. This is why I use a gel ink pen when I write checks.”

  “Me, too.” Bernie nodded. “Let me show you something. Come over here.” He walked to the other end of the closet and pointed to an open cabinet.

  “A scanner, color laser printer, and a laminating machine. Yeah, it fits.”

  “Who should we talk to now?” Bernie asked.

  “Shelly Milton, since Sharon’s not talking.”

  After Bernie shut down the laptop, he packed it back into the box. I dropped the evidence bag containing the fake IDs on top. We left Cindy with a receipt for the boxes and items we’d taken from the bedroom and closet then went back to our car and placed everything in the trunk.

  Bernie slid behind the wheel. “Did the Simons’ neighbor ever call you to let you know they came home?”

  “No, she didn’t.” That bothered me because she may have told them we were looking for them. We’d already had a difficult time tracking Shelly down. If she said something to her parents or to Shelly, we might not find her for a while. I never told Jessie Carmichael not to say anything, so I couldn’t fault her. My phone buzzed. “Valentine.”

  “Hi, Sydney.”

  “Hi, Brad.” I’d forgotten about him. “I was just thinking about calling you.” I was such a liar.

  Bernie looked at me sideways with a smirk on his face. Yeah, like he’d never told a white lie. I knew better.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. I’ve just been super busy with this case.”

  “Do you think you’ll have time to join me for dinner anytime soon? You still have to eat, right?”

  “Sure. I’m not sure about tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  “I guess it will have to be. How’s seven o’clock sound? I can pick you up.”

  “Can we eat in? I’m in the mood to stay home and relax. It’s been a tough past few days.”

  “That would be great. I can bring a pizza, if you’d like.”

  “Perfect! I’ll see you tomorrow, Brad.”

  “Sydney, be careful out there. See you tomorrow.” He hung up.

  I stared at the phone. I couldn’t recall him ever telling me to be careful before. I put the phone away and gazed out the window.

  “What’s wrong?” Bernie asked.

  “He just told me to be careful.”

  “And?”

  “He’s never said that before.” I shrugged. “It’s weird.”

  “Why is it weird? People usually say that to people they care about. Khrystal says it to me all the time.”

  “Yes, but you’re in love. You live together. You’re having a baby.”

  Bernie smiled. “And?” He pulled onto the Simons’ street.

  “Wipe that stupid smile off your face. What’s so funny?”

  “He’s falling for you.”

  “There they are!” I pointed. “Shelly and Jake are at the stop sign. Catch them before they drive away!”

  Bernie floored it, pulled in front of their car, and blocked them from moving. I hopped out and circled around to the driver’s side where Shelly sat.

  The window was down, and she had her hands on the steering wheel. “Did I do something wrong?” The innocent look had run its course with me.

  “Hi, Shelly. How are you?” I smiled, all sunshine and roses.

  “Oh, I’m doing just fine.” She peered up at me. “Thanks for asking.”

  “That’s good. We’ve been looking for you.” I leaned on the door, peeking inside the car.

  “What for?” She glanced at Jake. He hadn’t said a word. He stared straight ahead.

  Bernie stood on the opposite side of the car, near Jake’s window. He’d placed the recorder on top of the car. I didn’t know if it
could pick up anything from there.

  “We think you can help us with our investigation. It would be great if you could take a look at some pictures we found,” I said.

  “Oh, like mugshots or something?” She perked up.

  I shrugged. “Just pictures we’ve come across during the investigation.” I glanced at Bernie, but he was still watching Jake, probably scaring the crap out of him.

  “Okay. I’d like to help. I’ll follow you.”

  “Oh, you can ride with us,” I said cheerfully.

  She frowned. “But what about my car?”

  “No problem. Jake can follow if he’d like.” I looked through the window at Jake and waved. “Hi, Jake.” I forced a smile. Jake’s face shimmered with perspiration. He wiped his forearm across his brow.

  Bernie opened Jake’s door and moved aside. “Do you plan to follow us?”

  Jake nodded and looked at Shelly. “Yeah, sure. What’s the address? In case we get separated.”

  Shelly grabbed her purse, then I walked her to our car while Bernie gave Jake the address. Jake got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side.

  I opened the door to the backseat of our car for her. “Buckle up.” I grinned.

  She climbed in, buckled herself in, then looked at me expectantly.

  “I’ll be back in a sec.” I shut the door, stepped away from the car, and pulled out my phone. I called Theresa and updated her on what had transpired. She told me she would wait for us to arrive. When I returned to the car, Bernie had settled into the driver’s seat, so I rode shotgun and thought about how I wanted to handle the interrogation.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I took Shelly to Interrogation when we arrived at the station. She asked for something to drink, and I left the room to get water for her. As I walked by, I flipped the switch outside the room to turn on the audio-video feed. I stopped at Theresa’s desk to let her know we were back. She wanted to watch the interrogation and perhaps come in to ask a few questions of her own—especially since she believed Shelly and Jake had led her on a wild goose chase.

  “Oh, Dr. Moore called and asked for an update,” Theresa said.