“He was shot near Teena’s house,” Mr. Stone said.
“Did anyone witness the shooting?” Bernie asked.
Mr. Stone sighed. “I don’t know. It’s confusing. I think somebody saw him lying in the street and called 911.”
“How bad are his injuries?” I asked.
“Pretty bad. He was shot in the stomach.”
Bernie stood. “Excuse me.” He had his cell phone out as he walked away. He was most likely going to call Dispatch to find out which patrol took the call.
“I know this is difficult to talk about. Every bit of information you can provide will help us find out who did this to him. Was George able to talk to you at all after he was shot?”
They shook their heads. “He was in a lot of pain when we arrived.” Mr. Stone squeezed his wife’s hand.
“Have you spoken to him since I talked to you?”
Mrs. Stone dabbed at her eyes and nodded. “I did. Last night at our house. He didn’t seem like himself. He was sweating a lot. I thought he was on drugs or something. I asked him if he hurt his sister.” She rocked and held onto herself. “He got angry and punched the wall.” She shook her head. “He was so angry with me for asking him that. It was a mistake, and I shouldn’t have asked him. He’s my son.” She was twisting her handkerchief.
“What did he say? Did he deny it?” I asked.
She raised her eyes to mine. “No, he didn’t.”
He’d never answered the question. That didn’t mean he’d killed her. He could’ve meant he’d emotionally hurt her. That wasn’t a crime, but it was an interesting bit of information.
Mr. Stone pulled his wife closer and sighed. He gazed at me over her head.
“Do you think he had anything to do with Teena’s death?” I asked.
He licked his lips and looked across the room. “I’d like to think not, but I don’t know.”
“How long did he stick around after he punched the wall?” I asked.
“He left right away. He seemed to hurt his hand. He was bent over and holding it against his stomach.” Mrs. Stone’s eyes glistened. “That was the last time I saw him before we came here. Oh, dear God, what did I do?” She crumpled into her husband’s shoulder and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “What did I do to my son?”
“Mr. Stone, were you there?”
“I was in another part of the house. I heard him yelling at Charlotte, but he was already gone by the time I got there.”
“Do you know why Billi Jones had a restraining order against him?”
“He was enamored with her,” Mrs. Stone said.
“Let’s call it what it was.” He watched his wife. “He stalked that poor girl. I never saw him hit her or anything, though.”
“All right. Thank you for speaking with me.” I left them and found Bernie in the hall. “Any news?”
He was leaning against the wall, writing in his notebook. He looked up. “Yeah, nobody took the call. George was brought in by car. I talked to Rodriguez, and he told me the doctor speculated he was shot more than a day or two ago. It went clean through his side. It didn’t hit any organs and was an inch from missing him entirely. He’s here because he has a bad staph infection. He would’ve died if he had waited another day or two. They’re cleaning out his wound now. He’s in a lot of pain and will be on IV antibiotics.”
“Was it possibly self-inflicted?” I asked. “Perhaps to deflect suspicion?”
“I don’t know if he has that much forethought, and we haven’t pursued him as if we thought he did it. Anyway, the doctor told Rodriguez it’s possible, but he couldn’t say with certainty.”
I nodded and filled him in on my conversation with the Stones. They had everything wrong except that he was shot. “Who brought him to the hospital?”
“Javier. He’s in another waiting room, and I talked to him. He said George came home the night of Billi’s murder after we left. He was bleeding, and they patched him up. It got to the point where it was swelling, and pus was coming out, so he brought him here. George didn’t tell him what happened, but he told me George was popping pills for the pain. That’s how he was able to last this long. He also said George had used his car without permission the night he was shot. He got blood in it, and Javier wasn’t too happy about that.”
I pondered that. “And just like we thought, Javier didn’t call us when George returned to his house. We won’t find out what happened until he’s awake and able to speak. I’d bet the pills he was taking were the ones he probably stole from Teena. Maybe she caught him, and he killed her. Remember, Teena’s neighbor heard her arguing with a man. It could’ve been George.”
Bernie flipped pages in his notes. “But, he would’ve had to return later if he’d killed her. We haven’t placed him, or anyone else, there after the argument, unfortunately.”
“That sucks.”
“Guess who I saw being rolled down the hall in a wheelchair, about to be discharged?” Bernie smiled. “You’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. Kathy Lawrence. She’s been here for a week. She had her appendix removed, and there were complications. I confirmed it.”
“That’s news. We can eliminate her, then.” I never thought she was a prime suspect anyway, but it was good to know, just the same.
When we returned to the station, I called the Mega Star security guard, Ben Lane, and asked him to come to the station. As it turned out, he lived in San Sansolita and told us he would come down in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I ran a search through our database and discovered he was a private investigator, licensed in the state of California.
Two hours later, I stepped into our interrogation room to meet Ben Lane. “Hello, Mr. Lane. I’m Detective Valentine. How are you?”
“I’m okay.” He was pacing. “How can I help you?” He sat at the table.
“I’m curious. Do you screen for weapons before allowing people to enter the audience?”
He frowned and leaned back. “Of course not.”
“Perhaps you should start. Have you ever written Teena?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nope.”
Liar. “How did you feel about Teena? Did you think she was a fair judge?”
“Definitely. I like people who don’t sugarcoat everything.” He licked his lips. “There were times when I thought she could’ve used a little more tact, though. Overall, I liked and admired her. She wasn’t bad to look at either.” He winked.
“You’re a licensed private investigator. Why are you working as a security guard? I’m not suggesting that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just asking.”
He rubbed his index finger and thumb together. “Money. It’s less work, and it pays well. End of story.”
“Have you ever done any investigative work for your employer?”
He smiled and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “I can’t answer that. Confidentiality.”
“Of course. Did you spend any time with contestants or employees of the show outside of the job?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Did you ever notice how Teena got along with others on the show?”
“She kept her distance, did her job, and left.” His phone rang. “May I?”
“Go ahead.” While he talked, I wrote down what he’d told me and listened.
He finished the call, all smiles. “That was my daughter. She just got her first job out of college. She’s been looking for over a year and sending tons of résumés out every week, all over the country.”
“That’s good news. Let’s get back to our conversation. Did you witness any fights at Mega Star?”
“Nope.”
I ripped a sheet from my notebook and asked him to write down everything he’d told me in his own words. I had already written it in my notebook, but I had other reasons for wanting his version. I told him I would return in a while then left him in the room.
Bernie was at his desk and on the phone. I waved to him then went to my own cubicle. I pro
pped my feet on the desk, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes. I needed to think for a while.
“Wake up, Syd.” Bernie sat on my desk. “How did it go with the security guard?”
I told Bernie everything Mr. Lane had told me. Then, I went back to the interrogation room to get his handwritten statement before I let him go.
Bernie was sitting in my chair with his feet on my desk when I returned. I tossed the statement on my desk and shook the chair. I grabbed a couple of envelopes containing the suspicious mail from the box Bernie had brought back into the office. Then, I slid them in another envelope with Lane’s handwritten statement.
Bernie watched me.
“I’m sending this to our document examiner for comparison. The handwriting looks the same to me, but I want it confirmed.”
Bernie was frowning. “So, if he was writing the letters to Teena, why?”
“I have no clue. I just thought of something else. I wonder if Teena had a will and who’d benefit from it.”
“That should’ve been one of the first things we checked,” he said. “How stupid are we?”
“I know. We were going at it from a different angle. I’d like to call her parents to check up on George’s condition anyway. I want to know where he was when Billi was murdered.” I called Mr. Stone and put him on speakerphone.
“He’s resting in his room,” Mr. Stone said. “Everything went well.”
“That’s good. Do you know if Teena had a will?”
I could hear him breathing, but he didn’t say anything. There was beeping in the background, probably from medical equipment.
“I think she had a will,” he finally said. “The reason I remember at all is she wanted to make sure Chico was cared for if anything happened to her. She asked Veronica to take care of him.”
My heart pounded. “Do you know if she used an attorney or where she kept the will?”
“I don’t know, but Veronica would. You should ask her.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mr. Stone.” I disconnected and turned to Bernie. “Did you hear that?”
“I’m sitting right here. Of course I heard it. Are we going to see Veronica now?”
I pocketed my cell phone and headed out the door. “Let’s go.”
About an hour later, Bernie and I were sitting in Veronica’s living room. She said her husband Charles Tenley was out with his son Jamie but was due back soon. Veronica’s long dark hair was in a French braid down her back. She wore denim cutoffs and a tank top that showed off her toned arms and shoulders.
We hadn’t been in this apartment since the Child Protective Services murder case several weeks ago. At that time, the furniture was worn, and the air was filled with weed. The room now smelled like vanilla. Times had changed. A child’s racing car set was in the corner, and toy trucks were strewn about. The apartment was tastefully decorated in pale sage green leather furniture that was buttery soft. Large throw rugs in colorful geometric patterns covered the cracked, dull linoleum. Her husband’s artwork was framed beautifully on the walls, which were painted to complement the furniture. We’d interviewed Tenley several times during a previous investigation because a woman he’d had a relationship with, prior to his marriage to Veronica, was killed. During our investigation, he’d won the lottery. He and the child’s mother weren’t together at the time of her murder. CPS was involved because they had both had substance abuse issues in the past. Winning the lottery had surely changed his and Veronica’s lifestyle. The fact that he was no longer wasting his money on weed couldn’t have hurt either.
We briefly spoke about George and his injuries. Veronica didn’t seem interested and commented, the same as I had, that she was surprised he hadn’t been shot before. I studied Bernie’s reaction to that statement, and he glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. I almost smiled.
“Veronica, do you know if Teena had a will?” I asked.
“Yes, she did. She asked me to take care of Chico if she was no longer able to do so. I agreed to do it, of course.”
“Where is her will? Have you been contacted by an attorney yet?”
“No, I haven’t. Teena never mentioned how we’d receive her will if she died. Maybe my parents have been notified.”
“They haven’t been,” I said. “Would she have stored it somewhere? Hidden it, perhaps?”
She frowned. “Why would she do that? How would anyone ever know about it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud.”
Her eyes brightened. “It could be in her home office. Did you check there?”
“The inventory of what was found didn’t include a will.” Chico was the most important part of Teena’s life. I looked around the room, and my gaze landed on the painting and portraits of Chico on the wall—the same ones we’d seen at Teena’s house. Veronica observed me as I walked over to them and lifted the watercolor from the wall, trying to see how it was hung.
She got up and crossed the room. “What is it?”
Bernie came over, helping me maneuver the bulk of the four-foot-wide painting. It was awkward and heavier than it looked. Veronica held the bottom edge as we lowered it to the floor.
“Look. Right there.” I pointed to a slit that ran halfway across the width of the painting, creating a pocket. I ran my finger over the slit while they held the painting flat. I lifted it up and saw something white inside the slot. I grabbed a corner and pulled until it came out. It was an envelope with Veronica’s name on it. I gave it to her and took hold of the painting.
She stared at the document fluttering in her hand. “I would never have thought to look there, but it’s the obvious place.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she held the envelope to her chest. She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. She walked to a chair and sat. Bernie and I set the painting against the wall and walked toward her. She looked up at us, and we sat on the sofa across from her. She breathed heavily, and her hands shook as she opened the envelope and unfolded the papers. She sniffled.
I held my breath. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to shout at her to hurry. “Veronica? What is it?” I asked in a soothing voice.
“It’s Teena’s will.” She leaned forward and gave it to me as she swiped at tears.
“You’ve been named as the executor. She set up a trust for you to care for Chico. She left George ninety-nine cents.” I wanted to laugh, but I smiled instead.
Veronica laughed. “That’s Teena for you. Yep, she told him she’d never leave him even a dollar of her money. She wasn’t kidding.”
“Why is that?” I wondered if she was afraid he would kill her to get her money and didn’t want to encourage him.
“She thought he’d just blow it on partying.” She nodded. “And she was right. Of course, he’d do that. I don’t think he believed she’d leave him so little, though. I had my doubts too. She gave him so much money over the years and told him she wasn’t giving him more. She always did eventually—just like Mom.”
I read further and noticed the total amount to be disbursed. “How did she get so much money? It says one hundred twenty million dollars.”
Veronica gasped, and her hand flew to her chest. “I don’t… I don’t know.” She was frowning and shaking her head.
Bernie and I were frowning as well. Billi had told us she’d heard that Teena was worth about fifty-five million dollars. That seemed more reasonable. This, what I was reading, was something else. What the hell?
As we headed back to the station, Bernie and I tried to wrap our minds around the large sum of money Teena had amassed. We had three years of bank statements, which we took from her home office, in evidence. We looked through them and didn’t see any unusual activity. It looked as though she was getting paid and receiving bonuses for sweeps months, like Billi had told us.
Chapter Twenty
A couple of hours later, I was sitting in Mac’s living room, waiting for her to finish putting Josh to bed so we could go see the house Brad was renovating. S
he looked good. Her skin was back to its rosy glow. She’d gotten a manicure and a haircut. Her curls were flat-ironed out, and her hair hung straight down to her mid-back like a sleek waterfall. I told her Brad had texted and told me he had to take care of an issue with another renovation, and it couldn’t wait.
She came into the living room. “Okay, Syd. I’m ready now. He didn’t want to go to bed tonight. Even though his eyes were closing when I read the story, he insisted he wasn’t tired.” She let out a breath, and her sideswept bangs lifted. “Kids.”
“I guess he didn’t want to miss anything.” I thought Josh was afraid she would be gone when he woke up in the morning. I would try to make sure that didn’t happen.
“What would he miss? We just sit around and watch TV all night.”
I shrugged. “Do you mind driving? I want to call Brad and find out what’s going on with his reno.”
“I don’t mind. Let’s go.” She flounced toward the garage entrance, her hair swinging across her back.
We climbed in her car, buckled up, and away we went. I told her the address.
“Oh, I know where that is. It’s not far from here.” She drove down her darkened street.
“Mac, lights would be good. How can you see?” I shook my head, amused.
“Right.” She giggled and switched on the headlights. I studied her profile. Her face was slender, almost concave, but still attractive. She’d lost weight during her captivity and subsequent hospitalization. I touched my jawline and cheeks. My face felt rounder than usual. I flipped the visor down and turned my face to the side.
“What the heck are you doing over there?” Mac asked.
“Do you think my face is getting fat?” I sucked in my cheeks and pursed my lips.
“Yep,” she said without looking at me.
“You didn’t even look!”
“I didn’t need to.” She stopped at a red light and turned on the inside light. She gazed at my grinning face and turned her head to the side as if to study me. “Yep.” She turned the light off and drove.
I glared at her then flipped the visor up and called Brad.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 54