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

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  I pushed it back. “I don’t have anything to say to you at the moment.” I spun on my heel to leave.

  Ms. Perkins grabbed my arm. “Who were you talking to over there?” She shoved the mike in front of my face while still holding my arm.

  I shook her off and grabbed the mike out of her hand. “You’re interfering with an investigation. You need to go so that I can do my job.” I tossed the mike at her and left her standing there.

  “Detective Valentine! Sydney!”

  I turned around. It was Cindy Hayes, a newspaper reporter. I liked her and had seen her at the boxing club a few times. She was wearing yoga pants and Asics running shoes.

  “What can I do for you, Cindy?”

  She was breathing hard. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” I knew what.

  She scanned the crowd that had gathered. “Was Teena Travis killed? Is that what this is all about?”

  “You know I can’t talk about this yet. As far as I know, the family of the victim hasn’t been notified.”

  “Come on, Sydney. My editor got me out of the gym and told me to get my ass down here. Give me something I can use.”

  “I don’t have anything to give you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Have a good day, Cindy.” She grumbled as I walked away.

  When I arrived at Gomez’s car, Bernie was talking to Billi.

  Bernie scribbled in his notebook. “Did she have family in the area?”

  “Her parents live in Calimesa. She has a brother named George and a sister. Her name is Veronica, and I already called her.”

  He studied her. “I’d like everyone’s contact information.”

  “Okay. Her parents are in Paris. Teena gave them the trip as a gift for their fortieth anniversary. I called them, and they told me they’ll be back as soon as they can get a flight.”

  Bernie nodded. “How long have you worked for Ms. Travis?”

  “Almost four years.” Billie removed tissues from a side pocket in her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Excuse me.” She blew her nose then shoved the used tissue in her pocket. The pimple on her nose grew redder and looked as if it would pop at any moment.

  I stepped back. “What did you do for Ms. Travis?”

  “I was her personal assistant. I did the things she didn’t have the time to do or didn’t want to do.”

  “Like what? Be specific.” I wrote down her job title.

  “Let’s see.” She twisted her mouth and looked around. “I shopped for her groceries and cooked. Teena has a gorgeous kitchen with top-of-the-line appliances, but she didn’t cook.” She ticked off each item as she said them, then took a breath. “I scheduled appointments and made reservations. I did some of her laundry and picked up dry cleaning. If she wanted to order out, I went to get it. She didn’t like delivery because she didn’t want fans to know where she lived. She kind of assumed everyone was a fan.”

  “Did you clean her house?” I asked.

  Her eyes grew wide, then she scowled. “I wasn’t her maid.” She spat it out as if I’d called her a hooker.

  Maybe “maid” wasn’t her job title, but the duties seemed pretty darn close. Maids often snooped. I’d bet she did too. “There’s nothing wrong with being a maid. Did you live there?”

  “I didn’t, but some personal assistants live with their employers. Teena wanted privacy. That was fine with me because if I’d been living there, I could forget about having a social life of my own. It would have been all work, twenty-four seven.”

  “Did you handle her finances?”

  She shook her head. “Teena handled her own finances.”

  “How did you pay for her dry cleaning and groceries?”

  “She gave me a credit card to use. She kept track of what I spent and always asked for a receipt.”

  That was wise of Teena. “Do you have a key to her house?”

  She studied me. “Yes, I do.”

  I figured she did. How else would she have gotten in and found the body? I held my hand out. “The key?”

  She gave it to me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” I put it in my pocket. “Do you know if anyone else has a key?”

  “As far as I know, only her parents and sister.”

  I looked up from my notebook. “Not her brother?”

  “Heck no.” She jutted out a hip and scoffed. “He’s nothing but trouble.”

  “In what way?”

  “He can’t keep a job and parties too much. He was house-sitting for her once and trashed the place with his friends. He’s irresponsible. She changed the locks after that.”

  I would’ve done the same. “When did that happen?”

  “A year ago. That’s how her dog Chico died. George left him outside and forgot about him for two days with no food or water. Tell me, how do you forget about a dog for two days?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I did know Billi didn’t like George. Hell, I didn’t like George either.

  “Chico got heatstroke.” She sniffled. “Teena looked forward to going home to him. When he died, she didn’t get out of bed for two days. I was worried about her.” Her voice broke, and she swallowed.

  “That’s too bad about Chico. The painting and portraits are beautiful.”

  “They don’t do him justice. I don’t think she ever forgave her brother for that. She didn’t want to get another dog.”

  “I understand. I noticed she had an alarm. Did you have the alarm code?”

  “No. She usually turned it off when she got up in the morning. Sometimes, she forgot to set it the night before, though.”

  “Where were you before you came here?” Since Billi had a key, she could’ve come in earlier than she was supposed to.

  She pursed her lips and hesitated. “I was at home. It takes me about thirty to forty minutes to get here.”

  “Where were you last night after you spoke to her?”

  Her gaze locked with mine then shifted to Bernie and back to me. “At home alone.”

  I would confirm that a call was made between her and Teena. “Did you like working for her?”

  She scowled. “What?” She jabbed a finger toward Teena’s house. “I didn’t do that to her!” Her lip quivered, but her eyes flashed.

  “She didn’t say you did,” Bernie said. “We need to explore all avenues in our investigation. That includes you and everyone else who knew or had contact with the victim.”

  She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and took a couple of deep breaths. “Okay.” She opened her eyes and looked at Bernie, who nodded. “I guess I liked it. It wasn’t the worst job I’ve ever had by any stretch of the imagination.” She shrugged. “She was okay to work for, but she could be moody at times. It kept me busy keeping track of her schedule every day, including some weekends. I didn’t mind. Sometimes, I got the chance to meet real celebrities, not those reality show wannabes with no talent.”

  “Did she have an appointment with anyone this morning or last night?”

  “I believe she had one today.” She retrieved an organizer from her purse. “This is the calendar I keep… kept for her.” She licked a finger then flipped a few pages and ran her finger down the page. “She had an appointment with Curtis Walker last night at seven thirty. He’s the executive producer, writer, and creator for Mega Star.”

  I looked up from my writing. “What’s Mega Star?”

  She peered at me. “Really? You don’t know?” She flicked a glance at Bernie, who was shaking his head.

  “If I knew I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s the musical reality show Teena worked on with Curtis. She was a judge. The winner is the Mega Star, and they get a six-figure recording contract.”

  “You said she had an appointment today. What time was it and with whom?”

  She peeked at her watch and frowned. “I didn’t realize it was so late. The appointment was a half hour ago, actually.” She squinted as she scanned the crowd of onlookers and parked vehicles. “Hm
m. She’s not here. I wonder where she is?” She gazed at me.

  I looked around at the rubberneckers on the sidewalks. “Who’s not here?”

  “Jen Conrad.” She gave me Jen’s phone number and address. Jen lived in Redlands, which was about twenty miles west of San Sansolita.

  “Thanks.” I wrote all the information in my notebook. “Who is she?”

  “Jen is another judge on the show.” She frowned as she stared at Teena’s house then at her feet.

  I studied her until our eyes met. “What can you tell me about Jen Conrad? Did they get along?”

  “No. Not really.” She watched the bystanders gathering on the sidewalks, talking and pointing.

  “Did something happen between them?”

  She sighed. “They fought. I mean physically fought. I’d never seen anything like it. Sure, I’d seen movies, but not real live women fighting right in front of me. Some of the guys pulled them apart.”

  Yeah, I’m sure they got a kick out of it.

  Jen may have benefitted if Teena was dead. She might not have had a problem with swinging the Emmy at Teena’s head if she was provoked or in the heat of the moment. “When did the fight happen?”

  “Last week in the writers’ room. It’s where they all get together to talk about what’s going to happen in the show in preparation for writing it. Brainstorming.”

  “In a reality show? They write it?” That sounded like the opposite of reality to me.

  “Yep. Lots of people don’t realize that. Some of the stuff is real, but they write other things to nudge a story along or to create more conflict.”

  It seemed as if there was untelevised and unscripted conflict behind the scenes. “What was the fight about?”

  “Jen was tired of being second chair. That’s what she called it. Second chair. I’d heard her say that before behind Teena’s back.”

  “When did it get physical?”

  “When Teena told her to shut up and grow a pair, then maybe she’d be more appreciated. Some of the people in the room laughed. That’s when Jen slapped Teena. Hard.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Teena slapped her back. The next thing I knew, they were clawing at each other on the floor. Their weaves flew through the air. A few guys had their phones out, and they filmed it.”

  “Who filmed it?” Bernie asked.

  Her gaze shifted away. “I don’t remember.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’m sure.” Her gaze dropped to her feet.

  I didn’t believe her. “Was Curtis Walker there?”

  “I don’t remember that either. Sorry.” She watched Teena’s house.

  She swallowed and blinked rapidly as she saw Teena’s body being rolled away, leaving her house for the last time. Teena was loaded into the coroner’s van. A murmur flowed through the crowd, and they repositioned themselves to get a glimpse. The reporters scrambled to get their shots. The coroner’s assistant closed Teena inside then climbed into the van and cruised past us.

  I jotted down what Billi had told me thus far as I gave her a few moments to compose herself. I surveyed the crowd gathered on the sidewalk. My gaze locked with a woman standing among the group. I moved closer to Bernie, who was writing.

  “The dark-haired woman in the red jacket and jeans at ten o’clock,” I whispered.

  Bernie kept his head down but let his gaze drift upward. He nodded. “I see her.”

  The woman looked away then locked eyes with me before stepping back.

  “Let’s go. Billi, stay here, please.” I headed toward the dark-haired woman, who’d begun walking quickly away from us. Bernie and I jogged.

  The woman turned, looking over her shoulder as she shoved others aside. Some shoved back. She hurried up the walkway of the house next door to Teena’s—a single-story, olive-colored house with white trim.

  I caught up to her. “Stop! Ma’am, stop. We want to talk to you.”

  She turned around and looked at us with wide eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t know anything!”

  “I’m Detective Bernard, and this is Detective Valentine,” Bernie said.

  I got out my notebook. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. Let’s start with your name.”

  She was perspiring and breathing heavily. “I’m Sharon Tell, and I don’t want to get involved.”

  “Did you see or hear anything last night?” I asked.

  Sharon studied the people milling about. She licked her lips and sighed. “I was behind the fence on the side of my house, working in the garden. I had my earbuds in and was listening to music I’d downloaded to my cell phone. Anyway, when I took the earbuds out, I heard Teena arguing with someone around six o’clock or six thirty. I didn’t see who it was, but it was a male’s voice.”

  “Were you friends with Teena?” Bernie asked.

  She chewed on her lip. “Not at all. I used to see her walking her dog when I walked mine. We’d cross paths and say hello. She wasn’t very talkative or friendly.”

  I looked up from my writing. “How did you know her name?”

  “Mega Star.” She shrugged. “She was private, and I didn’t want to bother her. I always pretended like I didn’t know who she was.”

  “Did you hear what was said in the argument?” I asked.

  “Some. They might’ve been on the sidewalk in front of her house. It sounded like she thought he took something from her. He said she was crazy and should go back inside her castle. I heard a car door close, then I heard it start and drive away. That’s all I know.” She took a step toward her door. “I need to go.”

  I handed her a card. “If you think of anything else.”

  She snatched the card, hurried inside, and slammed the door.

  We went back to Billi and found her chatting on her phone. She put it away when she saw us approaching.

  Chapter Three

  “Do you know why Jen was meeting with Teena this morning?” I asked.

  “Teena wanted to talk to her about the direction Mega Star was headed.” Billi chewed on her lip. “There have been rumors about Jen moving to another show. In fact, the rumor was that Jen had been approached by CBS to do a new reality show. Teena was competitive and didn’t want to lose any of their audience. Jen was younger and had her share of fans. Teena was planning to talk Jen out of leaving.”

  That sounded as if she wanted to keep her runner-up around. “How?”

  “Teena told me she might ask Curtis to give Jen more money.”

  “Did she have that kind of pull with Curtis?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She nodded. “Definitely. They were a couple at one time. Years ago.”

  “Other than the fight between Teena and Jen, have you ever witnessed any disagreements?”

  “Only Teena’s side of conversations when she was on the phone with Jen. She complained about Jen a lot to me. I’d bet she complained to Curtis too.” She shrugged. “Just sounding off, you know? That’s all it was, I think.”

  I nodded. “Was there anything going on that changed the way people felt about Teena?”

  “Teena wanted to change it up a little. The show’s been on for nine years, twice a year. Eighteen seasons. She was always the ‘mean’ one.” She used air quotes around the word mean.

  “And what did she want to change?”

  “She didn’t want the role anymore. She’d mellowed over the years, I guess. She told me she enjoyed it in the beginning. It eventually got to her. People called her The Dream Crusher. ‘Here comes The Dream Crusher’ or ‘The Dream Crusher was at it again during last night’s show.’ You know, like that.” She pursed her lips. “But, I have to tell you, it made her a wealthy woman.”

  “Why couldn’t she simply stop being mean then?”

  She laughed at my apparent ignorance. “You’ve never worked in show business, have you? Well, you don’t just stop if you’re drawing a huge audience. It’s like they say about the mob. Once you’re in, you stay in until you die.” She teared
up and swallowed. “I guess she’s not in anymore.”

  “Was it in her contract to treat people that way?”

  “Yes and no. It wasn’t in her contract, but her attitude brought viewers. More viewers meant advertising dollars, and it also enabled her to get more money per episode when her contract was renewed. She made more than Jen. I know that for a fact.”

  “Do you know if Jen Conrad knew Teena made more than her?”

  “I don’t know how she wouldn’t know. Everybody knew. It was all over those entertainment news programs last year when Teena’s contract was renewed. She got bonuses during sweeps months that Jen didn’t get.”

  “How do you know about her contract?”

  “It was lying on her desk.” She shrugged. “Some of it was difficult to understand, but I read most of it. Every November, February, May, and July, she’d ramp up her nastiness.” She sighed. “She started going in high to get through it. I don’t know if anyone else knew, but I could tell. A few people seemed to suspect because they’d look at her funny, you know, out of the corner of their eyes.”

  Now, we had a dead celebrity with a substance abuse problem. Maybe that got her killed. “Who suspected?”

  “Curtis, for one. I think Jen knew too. I’m just guessing.”

  “What was she taking?”

  “Some kind of pain pill. Oxycodone, I think. It was prescribed by her doctor, though. I didn’t pay attention to what it was.”

  Bernie and I had already taken the OxyContin into evidence. The forensic techs would gather any other medications in the house, and toxicology tests would be ordered by Dr. Lee, the medical examiner. However, toxicology results took weeks to come back. The wine would be tested as well.

  “Did you ever see anyone, other than Jen, attack her or try to?”

  “No, I never did. Not physically, anyway.”

  “What about verbally?”

  “Of course. All the time. She put on a good show, but sometimes it bothered her. I wondered if that’s why she took the pain pills. She made a lot of money, but she wasn’t always happy, especially after Chico died, and the way he died.”

  I got the executive producer, Curtis Walker’s, contact information from her.