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

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  Bernie had finished his conversation with Estelle and was standing beside me. “Who was that?”

  “Billi Jones. She has the fan mail we requested. I told her we’ll meet her at the post office near the Walmart on California Street.” I went to the car. “What did you find out from Estelle?”

  “She said Jen left a little while ago. I gave them a business card in case they saw her again.”

  I stopped and looked at the frown on his face. “What?” Uh-oh. Something was up.

  “Estelle didn’t remember the time she saw Jen leave, but she thinks it was about ten this morning, and she had luggage.”

  “Do they know Jen?”

  “No. They’ve seen her coming and going when they walked their dog. They didn’t even know her name. They told me they’d seen her jogging in the past.”

  “Nobody’s answering the door, and we don’t have probable cause to get a warrant to search.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “We’ve got to get going and get the fan mail from Billi. She might be at the post office waiting for us. Hop in.” I got in the car and cranked the engine before Bernie made it around to the other side.

  I rolled into the post office parking lot, looking for Billi’s silver Honda Accord. I made a right and circled the lot.

  Bernie pointed to a car at the end of the row. “There’s a car that looks like hers.”

  I pulled up next to her. When she spotted us, she popped the trunk and got out. We met her at her open trunk.

  “I have the fan mail in here,” she said. “There are a few boxes.”

  I opened the trunk of our car as Bernie removed a box that was about twice the size of a case of copy paper from her trunk. She handed me a smaller box while Bernie dropped the first one in our trunk. She picked up the last box, which was half the size of the last one, brought it to our car, and gave it to Bernie. He wedged it in beside the others.

  “How many letters are there?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s everything from the past eight or nine months. I marked the most recent box and separated the mail by week.”

  “That seems like a lot of mail,” Bernie said.

  “Well, that’s nothing. Once we got closer to the end of a season, it would increase. She’d get twice that much.”

  “Do you know if she ever responded to people?” I asked. Teena didn’t sound like the type to deal with the public, even by mail.

  “I don’t. She never told me if she did.”

  “And do you think she ever saw the hate mail?” I asked. “Ever?”

  “I picked up her mail from the post office box she asked me to rent from Postal Annex. She couldn’t be bothered and didn’t want a mailbox key. I dropped off some mail at her house, but I don’t know how much of it she read.” She looked at her watch and pursed her lips, frowning. “When she told me to, I picked it up from her house, took it home, and filed it away.”

  “Did she have email accounts fans might know about?” I asked.

  “No. She didn’t do email or social media.” She turned to open her car door.

  “There’s something else,” Bernie said.

  Billi looked over her shoulder at him. “All right.” She turned to face us and leaned on her car, crossing her ankles and folding her arms. She sighed.

  “We haven’t been able to talk to Jen yet. Have you?”

  She licked her lips. “No, I haven’t.” She looked away.

  “Billi, if you’ve spoken to her, we’d like to know.” I studied her.

  “I haven’t spoken to her today.”

  “What about yesterday?” Bernie asked.

  “I don’t think so. If I did, it wasn’t important.”

  I had a feeling it was the opposite, and Billi was hiding something. “What happens with your job now?” I asked. “Have you heard?”

  Her eyes lit up. “I might get to be Curtis Walker’s personal assistant now. If it works out, I’ll get a huge raise and other perks.” She grinned.

  Well, well, well. I flicked a glance at Bernie. He’d raised an eyebrow. Yeah, exactly.

  “When did you find this out?” I asked.

  “About an hour ago. I called to tell him you asked for the fan mail. I wanted to make sure it was okay before I gave it all to you. He told me to give you whatever assistance I could. I’ll get the show DVDs to you in the morning.”

  “Did you have an interest in working for him before now?” I asked.

  She frowned. “Why? I mean, I hadn’t considered it. I’d heard he treated his PAs well. Lots of perks, like I said.”

  “What kinds of perks?” Bernie asked.

  “People have told me his previous assistants received things like cruises as birthday gifts or have joined him on his vacations to wherever. All expenses were paid by him.”

  “Did you know before now that he might be interested in hiring you?” I asked. Perhaps she wanted to move up in the business, and getting rid of Teena was the way to do it. Still, she could’ve resigned or asked Curtis for a job. Maybe she was afraid of being on the receiving end of Teena’s wrath.

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Have there been shows taped that haven’t aired?” Bernie asked.

  She nodded warily. “But I don’t have permission to give you those yet.”

  “When were they recorded, and how many are there?” I asked.

  “Just the one on the day she died. It will air tonight.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem including the DVDs, right?” Bernie asked.

  She pursed her lips. “Oh, yes. I see your point. I’ll ask Curtis. If he agrees, I’ll include it.”

  “One more question. Could you have taken the job with Curtis if Teena was still alive?” I asked.

  She considered my question. “Well, I could have. Sure. But I wouldn’t have.”

  I studied her. “Why not?” She’d paled, and I began to wonder if she’d wanted to work for Curtis all along.

  “It would’ve felt disloyal to Teena. Besides, I don’t think he would’ve offered me the job if she was still alive for the same reason. Curtis can be abrupt sometimes, but I really don’t think he’d steal the personal assistant of someone who worked with him. I’m not saying I’m irreplaceable, but Teena wouldn’t have liked him doing that, and he needed her to be happy.”

  “All right. Thanks for the fan mail. We appreciate it.” I smiled, but I’d mentally moved her up on my list of those who had something to gain by Teena’s untimely demise. Jen was another one I’d moved up. She might have felt as if she had something to gain if Teena was out of the picture. I still hadn’t figured out where Curtis fit in except as a jerk who pulled the strings. I had no way of knowing whether Billi had previous knowledge of a possible job offer from Curtis. I walked around our Ford Focus and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Teena’s brother lives in Cherry Valley,” Bernie said. “I’m going to call him and request that he meet us at the station.” He called George, and we drove back to the station for our interview.

  Chapter Six

  We hurried into the station later for our interview with George Stone, the brother of Teena Travis. We’d received a call from Theresa, informing us George had arrived and been placed in Interrogation B. Bernie turned on the audio-video before we entered the room. I opened the door and stepped inside. Our interviewee was texting.

  I took the seat across from him. “I’m Detective Valentine, and this is Detective Bernard. How are you?”

  He grinned at us and slid the phone in his pocket. He shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and placed his scruffy Nikes on the table.

  “Feet on the floor, please.” Bernie sat on the table at the opposite end.

  George eyeballed him. “Just trying to get comfortable.” He slid his feet off the table and folded his arms across his stomach. He was skinny with a shaved head. Tattoos of dragons and other mythical creatures covered his arms. Various other tattoos encircled his neck and crept up his face. A silver hoo
p pierced through his lower lip.

  He eyed my lip and smirked. “What happened to your face? Your man hit you?”

  “We wanted to talk to you about your sister,” I said.

  He sighed. “Okay.”

  I studied his face. “I don’t know if—”

  “I know Teena’s dead.” He shrugged. “Sometimes, when you piss too many people off, that’s what happens. I bet it was somebody from that show.”

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” I said. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  He ran his hand over his bald head then tugged on an ear. “Jeez, I don’t know, lady.”

  I jotted down his mannerisms. “Estimate. Last week, a month ago, last year?”

  He shrugged. “I guess it was last week or the week before.”

  “Which was it?”

  “Last week.” He glanced at Bernie, who was yawning. “Yeah, it was last week.”

  He seemed shifty-eyed. “Where were you when you saw her?” I asked.

  He leaned, elbows on the table. “What does this have to do with her dying?”

  I looked up from my writing. “Please answer the question.”

  He chewed on his lip. “It was outside her house.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  He sighed and pushed his chair away from the table. “I needed to borrow money.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to buy my parents an anniversary gift.” The corner of his mouth lifted, but he lowered his eyes.

  “Is that what you told Teena?”

  He looked up and smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Did she give you the money?”

  George crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No.”

  “Because she didn’t buy the lie any more than we do?”

  He narrowed his eyes, and a darkness shaded his face. Someone knocked on the door, and it opened. Theresa stepped inside. George sat up straight and grinned.

  Theresa looked at Bernie and me with raised eyebrows and a smirk. She was wearing a different shade of lipstick, and it looked good against her caramel-toned skin. “Can I see one or both of you in the hall?”

  George grabbed his crotch. “You can see me out there, babe.”

  Theresa snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “Hey!” Bernie glared at George. “Show some respect.”

  George scoffed.

  I pushed away from the table and followed Theresa into the hall. “What do you have?”

  Bernie was right behind me and shut the door as he left the room.

  “The ME called,” Theresa said. “She estimates the time of death to be within the last twenty-four hours. She told me the cool room temperature makes it more difficult to nail it down.”

  “People have told us they spoke to her around seven o’clock last night. If that’s true, the time she died could be anywhere from that point until the time Billi showed up the next day.” I leaned on the wall and sighed. Anything could’ve happened during that time period.

  “It narrows it down, though,” Bernie said.

  Theresa jerked a thumb toward the door of the interrogation room. “How’s it going with her brother in there?”

  “He said he wanted to borrow money from her about a week ago, and she didn’t give it to him,” Bernie said.

  “Hmm. Good. Maybe he should stop getting tattoos. I can’t imagine what those must’ve cost.” She shuddered. “Gross.”

  “And not cheap,” I said.

  “No wonder she didn’t give him money,” Bernie said.

  “Yeah, that and him letting her dog die.” I covered my mouth and yawned. I’d stayed up too late last night.

  “Really?” Theresa asked. “What happened?”

  “He was house-sitting and left her dog outside for two days without food or water. He died of heatstroke.”

  “That’s awful.” Theresa’s eyes teared up. “I like him even less now. What breed of dog?”

  “Golden retriever,” I said. “His name was Chico.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go now.” She looked at her watch and sighed before turning away and heading down the hall. “Good luck with tattoo boy!” she called over her shoulder.

  Bernie was frowning. “I’ve never seen her so sensitive. What’s going on?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe she just likes dogs.” I opened the door to the interrogation room, went inside, and took my seat. “Where were we?”

  George laughed. “You were about to introduce me to your friend.”

  I leaned forward. “First of all, you need to show some respect. Second, where were you yesterday and today? All day. From the time you woke up until this morning.”

  George scooted his chair away from the table. “What?”

  “Tell us where you were yesterday.” Bernie pulled up a chair next to George, crowding him. He had his notebook out and started writing.

  George stared at the door. “I stayed at a friend’s place for the past two days.” Perspiration beaded above his lip. He swiped at it with the back of his hand.

  Bernie looked up from his writing. “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Javier. He lives in Hemet.”

  Bernie ripped a page from his notebook and pushed it toward George. “Write down his phone number and address.”

  “I need to check my phone.” He slid his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans and tapped the screen a few times. “I don’t have anything to write with.”

  Bernie rolled his pen toward George. He pushed the paper and pen toward Bernie when he’d finished writing.

  I reached for it. “I’ll check it out.” I left the room, called the number George had given us, and asked to speak to Javier. The woman responded in Spanish, which was not a language I spoke. She was screaming at me. I looked around the squad room for one of our bilingual detectives and came up empty. “Ma’am, do you speak English?”

  “Yes. English.” A television blared in the background.

  “May I speak to Javier, please?”

  “Javier not here!”

  “Do you know when he’ll return?”

  She started screaming again and disconnected. What the hell? We would have to check Javier out in person tomorrow. Hemet was about a ten- or fifteen-minute ride from the station. I rejoined Bernie and George in the interrogation room.

  “Did Javier tell you I crashed at his place last night?” He leaned forward, and his leg bounced under the table.

  I remained standing. “I didn’t speak to him.”

  George started to stand then changed his mind and dropped back into his chair, slouching, with his head down.

  “We’ll have to talk to him another time.” Bernie covered his mouth and yawned. He must have had a late night with the baby. He stood. “Thanks for coming in. We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.”

  I handed George a business card, stepped aside and held the door open as he went through. “Good night.” I caught the eye of Gomez and asked her to escort him out. I didn’t think George would leave town because he had no money.

  Before leaving, George looked me up and down. “Later.” He walked with a swagger that I wasn’t sure he felt as he went down the hall with Gomez and turned the corner.

  The man walked out as if he had no worries.

  “What was up with his attitude about his sister’s death?” I asked.

  Bernie nodded. “Like he didn’t care that she died.”

  “That’s something to think about,” I said. “We still have to read the fan mail.”

  “We could take some home. I’ll take the big box. You can have the other two. If I see any red flags, I’ll set the mail aside.” Bernie stepped into the hall. “I didn’t see Michael at all today except when he was asleep in his crib this morning.” He paused for a moment. “You know, Khrystal’s threatening to stop watching the show now, which is fine by me.”

  “Wait. You don’t like Mega Star? I thought you told Billi Jones you did.”

  “I don�
�t remember what I said. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth—that I thought the show was overblown hype with a bunch of untalented nobodies.”

  My phone rang, and I answered it. It was Ron, our public information officer. He wanted to know if we had anything he could release to the media. I told him we were still early in the investigation, and we would let him know once we had more.

  I looked through Teena’s day planner and found no indication that she planned to see anyone the evening of her death or the next day. In fact, she didn’t appear to use the planner for anything besides appointments with her manicurist, aesthetician, and hair stylist.

  I grabbed my purse from the file drawer and slung it over my shoulder. I picked up the boxes of Teena’s fan mail. “I guess I’ll read some of these tonight. Maybe it’ll be entertaining. I’ll give you a call if I see anything interesting.”

  “I’ll do the same.” Bernie continued to his car.

  Once I got to my car, I dropped the boxes in the passenger seat. I pulled out of the lot, made a right, and caught a red light. Bernie drove past, honking his horn and making a right at the red light as I sat there. I looked to my left, and my gaze met George’s as he leaned against a light post, grinning at me. He puckered his lips and winked. I looked away and drove off when the light changed. That was creepy.

  My phone rang, and I glanced at the caller ID. It was my sister MacKenzie. “Hi, Mac.”

  She sniffled. “Syd, I just saw the news about Teena Travis.”

  I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan too.”

  “You don’t understand, and don’t make it sound like a bad thing. It’s not a crime, you know. Mega Star has been the number one show on television ever since the second year it’s been on.”

  “I’m not going to lie. I don’t get the entertainment value of that type of show.”

  “Like I said, you don’t understand.”

  “Are you crying because Teena Travis died?”

  “Maybe.” She blew her nose. “We have last week’s show recorded on the DVR. I’m about to watch it. Do you want to come over and watch it with me? Mike is giving Josh a bath. He’ll be busy for a while.”

  It seemed as if everyone had seen the show except me. I considered watching it before I started reading the fan mail. Besides, we could fast-forward through the commercials. I was always open to that. “Sure, I’d like to see what the big deal is about her and the show.”