He ran his hand over his short blond hair. “I didn’t have my cell phone.” He eyed me warily.
I groaned. “Not that story again.” I looked away and sighed.
“Are you calling me a liar, Sydney?” He stood and paced. “What’s your problem tonight?”
I stood too, my arms crossed. “What’s my problem? My problem is the blonde riding around in your truck last night.” Oops.
He stopped pacing and turned around, his brow furrowed. “You were spying on me? Why, Sydney?”
“No, I wasn’t spying. I came over to make sure you were okay because I hadn’t heard from you since IHOP.” Well, that was partially true. I looked at my feet.
“Okay, but if you saw me, why didn’t you say anything? Where were you anyway?”
“On your porch. I was about to ring your doorbell when I heard your garage door open. You backed out of the driveway, but you didn’t see me. The next thing I knew, you were going down the street with a pretty blonde.”
He was scowling. “Sydney, that was about twenty-four hours ago, and you’re just now telling me this?” He raked a hand through his hair.
“No, you’re the one who’s just now telling me.” I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. “I’m the one who needs an explanation. Not you.” I jabbed him again.
He sighed, grabbed my hand, and pulled me down with him as he sat on the sofa. “Listen, I told you my truck had issues. It turned out to be electrical.”
“All right, but that doesn’t explain the blonde riding shotgun. In my seat.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. My seat.
“Yes, it does if you’d let me talk. Like I said, my truck was towed, and they worked on it all day. I didn’t have transportation. I stayed home and worked in the yard. I even built shelving units for the garage. I’d been meaning to do that for a while. My garage is more organized now than it’s been since I moved into the house.”
Blah, blah, blah. I didn’t care about that. “Why didn’t you call me? I texted and called you.” I just realized I had a lot of nerve. There’d been plenty of times when he’d called or texted me, and I didn’t get back to him in a timely fashion. That didn’t stop me from continuing this conversation, though.
“My phone was in the truck. I had it plugged into the charger and forgot about it when they towed it. I’m surprised it wasn’t stolen, to be honest.”
“You could’ve called on your landline.” I crossed my arms and scowled.
“Are you forgetting how horrible I am at remembering phone numbers? Remember what happened when my last cell phone was destroyed? When I accidentally ran it over with the lawn mower? I always use my contacts or recent calls list when I call people I know. I should commit phone numbers to memory, especially yours, because I keep getting into trouble.”
I uncrossed my arms and nodded. “Yes, you should remember my number.”
“Oh, really?” His eyes smiled. “What’s my cell phone number, Sydney?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. I use my contacts list and recent calls too. You know that.”
“I do. Well, I asked if you remembered what happened when my last cell phone was destroyed. Do you?”
I nodded. I slid my cell phone from my pocket and checked my Gmail account. His email was there. It was from early yesterday afternoon, and I’d missed it. I read it. He told me everything he’d just said to me, except he didn’t mention the blonde.
I grinned. It was a start. “This doesn’t mention the blonde at all. Who was she? A relative, ex-girlfriend, or what?”
He shook his head. “You’re jealous. Wow. She was none of the above.”
“Spill it, then.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest again and pursed my lips.
“Tiffany was from the auto shop. She told me the owner is her uncle, and she’s working there while going to college. She wants to be a dentist.”
So, the cow’s name was Tiffany. “Good for her,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
“Are you going to let me tell you or not? Jeez.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “Continue.”
“Since I didn’t have transportation, she drove my truck back to my house as a courtesy after they finished repairs. By the way, it cost almost six hundred bucks to fix my truck. Anyway, I drove her back to the shop. We stopped at Starbucks on the way there.” He rolled his eyes. “She had to have one of those Frappuccino things.” He frowned. “And you know what? She didn’t pay for it. I did. I hadn’t thought of that until now.”
I grinned. That served him right.
“Are we good?” he asked.
“Not quite. Why were you both coming out of the garage when the garage door was closed? What were you doing in there?”
“Wow! You’re tough. I don’t know if I like this side of you. You didn’t like it when I questioned you when your neighbor Craig was always over here.”
“First of all, he wasn’t always over here. I think he was here a couple of times, but never inside my apartment like she was inside your house. Secondly, he was never riding around in my car with me, drinking Frappuccinos. I’ve certainly never purchased anything for him to consume.”
“True.” He nodded. “You’ve got me there. All right. I was working in the garage when she drove up. She pulled the truck into the garage. I asked her to come in while I washed my hands and changed my clothes. I was a mess with all of the dust and grime from cleaning, working in the yard, and building the shelves. I wasn’t going to make her sit outside in my truck. She sat in the living room and watched CNN while I changed. I would’ve been ready when she arrived, but I didn’t know when they’d come. When they tried to call me, the cell phone rang in the truck. They didn’t have my landline number.” He sighed. “Is that good enough for you, or are you planning on waterboarding me now?”
His story seemed plausible, but I remained suspicious. I needed to remember he was innocent until proven guilty. In the meantime, I would keep my eyes open. I squinted at him.
He looked away. “You don’t believe me.”
“I need to think about it.”
“Well, I’m going to go.” He removed a key from his pocket and placed it in the palm of my hand. “This is the key to the house I’m renovating. Stop by and see it when you get a chance.” He gave me the address and left.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, we had a pleasant surprise waiting for us when we got to the station. John Walker had arrived and was sitting in an interrogation room. He’d heard from his brother Curtis that we’d been asking about him. Against Curtis Walker’s advice, John came to see us. Bernie and I entered the room after turning on the audio-video equipment.
“I’m Detective Valentine, and this is Detective Bernard.” I pulled out a chair across from him and set my notebook and pen on the table.
Bernie sat at the head of the table. “What’s your name, sir?”
John stood, waited for me to sit, then dropped into his chair. “John Walker.” He had a bushy unibrow, and a few strands of brown hair were combed back from his shiny forehead. He didn’t look like Homer Simpson in person. He was skinny and shorter than I’d thought.
“What’s your occupation, John?” I asked.
“You already know all of this.” He leaned back. “Why are you asking me questions when you already know the answer?” His beady gray eyes stared back at me.
I prepared to take notes. “That’s the way it works. We need to hear it from you.”
“I’m a judge on Mega Star. Ever seen it?” He drummed his fingers on the table. His nails appeared to be manicured, and they shone.
“How long have you worked there?”
“Oh, I get it now. You can ask me questions, but I can’t ask you, right? Is that how it works?” He tilted his head back.
Give the man a medal. “We’re investigating serious crimes and gathering information. We’re not sharing it until we’re ready.” I locked eyes with him. “Please answer the question.”
&
nbsp; He glared at Bernie and shook his head. “I don’t know why I bothered to come down here.” He scoffed. “Curtis was right. I should’ve listened to him.” John looked at the ceiling, shaking his head.
“Mr. Walker, you came to us. You’re free to leave at any time.” I snapped my notebook shut and pushed away from the table. “Before you go, remember this: if we have questions, we’ll find you and ask our questions there, even if you’re at work”—I flicked a glance at his nails—“or getting your manicure.” I smiled. “What’s it going to be? Your choice.”
“Well, if you’re going to be a bit—” He watched Bernie writing in his notebook and sighed. “Fine. Ask your questions.”
I flipped my notebook open again. “How long have you been employed with the Mega Star show?”
“I started working there about four years ago as a production assistant, but I only work when I feel like it.” He smirked. “I thought being a judge would be interesting. It’s kind of boring. You know what I mean?”
“What did you think of Teena Travis and the work she did on the show?” I asked.
“Teena was amazing! I don’t care what anybody said about her, but her opinions were usually spot-on.” He looked down at the table. “She wasn’t very nice, though.”
“What did people say about her?” Bernie leaned in.
John turned and looked at Bernie. “You know, she slept her way into her contract.” He shrugged. “It happens.”
“Who did people think she slept with to get her contract?” Bernie was writing.
“My brother. They were dating a few years back, and that’s where it started.”
“What do you think about that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I know my brother, and I don’t think her sleeping with him would matter. As long as he was making money, he wouldn’t care if she slept with him or not. If sex was all that was required, Jen would’ve had better contracts than Teena.”
My gaze shifted to Bernie then back to John. “Can you elaborate, please?”
“What’s there to say?” He yawned, bored with the conversation, I supposed. “Curtis and Jen have been messing around for years, even when he was with Teena.” He shrugged. “Everybody knows that.”
No, not everybody. We didn’t know. Billi never mentioned it. That doesn’t mean she didn’t know, however. “How do you know this?” I asked.
“He’s my brother. He talks about that shit.” He looked at Bernie. “You have brothers, right? Brothers talk about that. Am I right?”
The corner of Bernie’s mouth lifted into a partial smile. “What did Curtis tell you?”
“That he was banging both of them, and neither knew about the other. Teena dumped him though, but he kept seeing Jen, even now.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Have you had a relationship with either Teena or Jen?”
He stared at the wall and tugged at his collar. “No.”
“Really? I saw a video of you and Jen from one of the shows. It sure looked like a lot of flirting was going on.” My gaze drifted to his gold wedding band then back to his face.
He turned crimson. “I’m a married man.” He held up his hand and pointed to his ring.
“Did Jen ever tell you she’d been involved with your brother?” I asked.
“Not exactly, but she kind of hinted at it. She thought she was working him, but I know different. He knew what was going on.”
“What’s your salary, Mr. Walker?” Bernie asked.
John’s eyes widened. “What the hell does that matter?”
Bernie was writing. “Just a question. Did you make more than Teena?”
“No.” He averted his gaze. “I told you. I work when I want. She worked a lot more than I did.”
“What about Jen?” I asked. “Do you make more than her?”
He nodded.
“How much more?” I eyeballed him. “And does she know?”
He grinned. “Twice as much, and she doesn’t know.”
I stopped writing and looked at him. “Why is she paid less than you and Teena?”
“It’s value, Detective. Curtis thought he could get anyone off the street to play Jen. That’s what he called it, playing Jen.”
“Why would he value your abilities more than hers?” I didn’t get it.
“I’m his brother, and he owes me.”
“Owes you what?” I asked.
“I’m his brother.” He leaned back and folded his arms.
“Do you gamble?” I asked.
He smiled. “Sure, I like a good game of poker just as much as the next guy.”
“When was the last time you were in Las Vegas?” Bernie asked.
John cleared his throat. “It’s been a couple of months.”
“Are you in debt from gambling?” I asked.
“I’ve had my moments. I try to keep it in check, though.” He eyed the door.
“How much do you owe?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He looked at the table. Beads of perspiration speckled his forehead.
“Have you ever owed loan sharks more money than you could pay?” Bernie asked.
“I’m done talking with you. I’m leaving.” His eyes flashed as he shoved his seat back and stood, but he didn’t head toward the door.
Bernie and I pushed our chairs back and waited.
“You’re free to leave, Mr. Walker.” Bernie glanced at the door.
John studied our faces then walked out the door. We followed him until he stepped outside to the parking lot.
I shook my head. “What a weasel.”
“He gave us some information on Jen, though.”
I went back to my desk and read reports I’d received on some of the evidence collected from Teena’s house. The bottle of OxyContin had fingerprints that didn’t belong to Teena. There was a good match to George’s thumbprint.
My cell phone rang, and I answered it.
“Detective, this is Mrs. Stone. George is in the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. He’s been shot.” She sniffled. “Can you come right away and find out why somebody hurt my son? He’s at San Sansolita Memorial.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I disconnected and looked at Bernie. I told him what she’d said. I wondered who George had pissed off this time and if he stole most of Teena’s medication. I told Bernie about the thumbprint.
“Well, at least we can stop looking for him. Let’s roll.” Bernie hurried to our car. “Did she say where he was shot?”
“Do you mean which body part, or where he was when he was shot?”
“Either one.” Bernie pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of the hospital.
“No, she didn’t say either way.”
“Then, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” he asked.
I shrugged and called Mac to see how she was doing. She told me she was as good as new and was glad to be home. I texted Brad and told him I was going to see the house today. I didn’t have a time frame, though. He texted back that he was working on another reno and something had come up that he needed to deal with. He was looking forward to me seeing it and said he might get to the house later. He also texted that Tiffany said hello. I responded with “Jerk.” I received an “LOL” in response. I smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” Bernie asked.
“Brad. I’m going to see the house he’s renovating. I might buy it. Did I tell you that already?”
“I believe you mentioned it. I think it’s cool.” He drove through the hospital parking lot. “Is George in the emergency room?”
I shrugged. “I guess so. She didn’t say if he was in a room.” I grinned. “I didn’t ask. I just remember thinking that I was surprised he hadn’t been shot before now.” I looked at Bernie, who raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I know it was a mean thing to think. What can I say?”
Bernie shook his head. “You’re cold.” He parked in one of the spaces near the emergency room entran
ce.
“I’m honest. There’s a difference. I’m also hungry, but that’s beside the point.” I climbed out of the car and followed Bernie inside. I began breathing through my mouth because I didn’t like the smell of hospitals. I fell off a boat and almost drowned during a field trip in elementary school. I remember being scared when I had to spend the night at the hospital. Sometimes, breathing like that helped, depending on how strong the smell was and how much I had to talk while I was there.
Chapter Nineteen
Bernie and I peeked inside the ER waiting area, looking for the Stones. Several pairs of anxious eyes stared back at us, wondering what ailment brought us there. A small child, about two years old, wailed in the corner. A teen boy paced with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand. I didn’t see George’s parents. I pulled out my cell phone and called the number Mrs. Stone had used to call me.
“Hello?” It was a man’s voice.
“May I speak to Mr. or Mrs. Stone, please?”
“This is Howard Stone.” He sounded wary. “Who’s this?”
“Mr. Stone, this is Detective Valentine. My partner and I are in the hospital emergency room, but we didn’t see you or your wife in the waiting room. Where are you?”
“We’re upstairs on the second floor. George is in surgery now. We’re in the waiting room.”
“We’re on our way.” I disconnected and told Bernie what I’d heard. “George is in surgery. His parents are on the second floor.”
“I know where it is. Khrystal used to work up there.” He walked down the hall toward the exit. “It’s shorter to go back out, bring the car around, and park on the other side. I always get lost if I start from here.”
We did as he suggested and found the Stones in the second floor waiting area. Both of their faces were sunken and ashen. Mrs. Stone’s red-rimmed eyes were puffy. She clutched a wrinkled white handkerchief. Mr. Stone held her other hand.
He looked up as we approached. “My son was shot late last night.”
Bernie sat to his right, and I sat next to Mrs. Stone.
“Do you know the circumstances?” I asked.
They both turned to me. Mrs. Stone’s lip trembled, and she shook her head.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 53