Moonlight Avenue

by Gerri Hill

  Her office phone rang and with those questions still bouncing around in her head, she answered offhandedly.

  “Moonlight Avenue Investigations.”

  “Yes…Daniel Frazier…he was a client of yours?”

  The male voice was deep with a slight accent. She frowned at his question.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Daniel Frazier,” he said again.

  “Who are you?”

  The call ended and she stared at it for several seconds before hanging up. What the hell was that about? She leaned back in her chair, trying to memorize the voice. The accent was so slight, there almost was no accent…yet there was. She had a nagging suspicion the voice belonged to Michael Drake.

  Whoever he was.

  The buzzer on the front door sounded and with a sigh, she got up and went out into the reception area. She recognized the shape of Detective Woodard through the stained glass. She opened the door with a smile.

  “That was quick, Detective. Less than twenty-four hours.”

  The smile Detective Woodard gave her appeared to be genuine. “I don’t like to waste time.”

  Finn stepped back, letting the detective inside. “I guess that means I should stop snooping around then, huh?”

  “Snooping around?”

  She had already printed out copies of the file, assuming Detective Woodard would come around sooner rather than later. She handed the file over to her.

  “Michael R. Drake is the man having an affair with Frazier’s wife. As far as I can tell, he’s only existed for two months. No history on him.”

  Detective Woodard was looking intently at one of the photos of Drake. “Good-looking guy.”

  “Well, if you like that sort of thing.”

  Woodard looked up and met her eyes. “There are some that do, I guess.” She then picked up a photo of Connie Frazier. “I met with her yesterday, after I spoke with you. She was pretty distraught.”

  “Never mentioned an affair, huh?”

  “No, that must have slipped her mind.” She held the photo toward Finn. “What attracted him to her, you think?”

  Finn was about to share her own theory on it but decided not to. The police could do their own digging, just as she had.

  “Yes, I thought they made an odd pair.”

  The detective put the photos back in the file and stood. “Well, thank you, Ms. Knight.”

  “Finley,” she corrected as she walked her out. “Or Finn. I haven’t been called Finley since I was a kid.”

  Another genuine smile. “And when I’m not Detective Woodard, my friends call me Dee.”

  Finn nodded. “If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to assist.”

  “Funny, you weren’t this accommodating yesterday.”

  “Yesterday you didn’t have a subpoena.”

  Dee Woodard paused at the outer door. “How long have you been in this profession?”

  “Ten years, give or take.”

  She held up the file. “You do a lot of cases like this?”

  “My share, yes.”

  The detective nodded. “Well, thank you again…Finn.”

  Finn also nodded. “My pleasure…Dee.”

  She closed the door as Dee Woodard walked away. Finn guessed her age to be forty-five or so. And she had a rather flirty smile. She wondered how long she’d been a detective. Even though it had been ten years since Finn was on the force, occasionally she still ran into officers who she’d worked with. Dee Woodard’s name didn’t ring a bell.

  Didn’t matter. She’d probably never see Detective Woodard again.

  Chapter Nine

  “There’s nothing on him? Nothing?” Dee asked incredulously. The file that Finley Knight had turned over to her had been rather void of any information on Michael R. Drake. Of course, Finn had warned as much.

  “Nothing much more than what the PI gave you. Got some credit card charges at a couple of local restaurants. Got a charge at the Best Western where these shots were taken,” Joel said, pointing at the photos of Connie Frazier and Michael Drake.

  “Well, I guess we need to pay Mrs. Frazier another visit then.”

  Unlike yesterday, though, there were four other cars in the driveway of the Fraziers’ house. Family, no doubt. Or someone from the pizza chain. Daniel Frazier’s Pizza Jamboree—with their all-you-can-eat lunches—had been a mainstay in Corpus for the last fifteen years. Or so she was told. She’d only moved to the area nine years ago. She and Joel had taken advantage of their lunch specials on more than a few occasions.

  “You think we should wait? Maybe a couple of more days until after the funeral,” Joel suggested.

  Dee shook her head as she got out of the car. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re investigating a murder. For all we know, the wife is involved.”

  “I don’t think so, Dee. She was a wreck yesterday. She can’t be that good of an actress.”

  Joel was young, barely thirty. When Captain Mabanks had partnered them, she’d balked initially. She was too old to be teaching some young gun the ropes. At first, Joel hadn’t been receptive to her opinions and direction. And they’d clashed…big-time. But it didn’t take long for him to realize that her experience far outweighed his exuberance. The fact he’d been shot after ignoring her command that he give up a chase hadn’t hurt. After that—and after a firm lecture from Captain Mabanks—he’d settled down a bit. Now, a year later, he was almost too conservative.

  “How about you let me do the talking?” she said as she rang the doorbell. She tucked the file she held under her arm and waited. But it wasn’t Connie Frazier who opened the door. A young woman, mid-twenties, stood there, a questioning gaze leveled at them.

  “Sorry to intrude,” she said, holding her jacket to the side to reveal her gold shield. “I’m Detective Woodard, this is Detective Yearwood. We need a word with Mrs. Frazier.”

  The woman came out onto the front porch. “Now’s not a good time. Her kids just got here. Aunt Connie’s not…she’s not handling this too well.”

  No, Dee imagined not. She was most likely eaten up with guilt. Well…too bad. She met the woman’s gaze directly. “It’ll just take a minute. It’s very important. We have some new information we need to share with her.”

  The woman nodded. “Okay. I’ll let her know. Please wait here.”

  “Of course.”

  As soon as the door was closed, Joel turned to her. “I told you we should have waited. If she’s crying like she was yesterday, we’ll get nothing out of her.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  A few minutes later, a teary and red-nosed Connie Frazier opened the door, a tissue clutched tightly in her hand.

  “She said…she said you had some new information. Do you know who killed Dan?”

  Dee met her eyes, refusing to be swayed by the tears. “Who is Michael Drake?”

  Connie frowned and shook her head. “I…I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Dee took the manila folder from under her arm and pulled out one of the photos that Finley Knight had supplied. She held it up to Connie Frazier. Connie gasped and covered her mouth with the hand that held the tissue. She turned wide eyes to Dee.

  “How did you…how did you get this? I mean…” She shook her head. “I don’t know who he is.”

  “Too late for that, Mrs. Frazier. Your husband suspected an affair. He hired a private investigator to follow you.” She held up another photo, this one of Connie coming out of Room 113 of the Best Western. “Who is he?” she asked again.

  Tears filled Connie Frazier’s eyes and her shoulders began to shake. Joel shifted uneasily beside her. Dee blew out her breath.

  “So you’re having an affair with this guy. The plates on his red sports car come back to Michael Drake. Where can we find him?”

  Connie Frazier shook her head. “No…no. He’s…he’s Mark Condra. I met him…” She paused to wipe her nose. “I met him a couple of months ago.”

  “So where can I find Mark Condra? Where does
he live?”

  “Live?”

  “Yes. The address we found for him is fake.”

  Connie shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t know where he lived. We never went to his place.”

  “Where did you first meet him?” Joel asked.

  Connie looked at him, her lower lip trembling. “At…at the grocery store. He was…he was so handsome and he was flirting with me.” A ghost of a smile touched her face. “Me…he was flirting with me. Dan wasn’t home much. He was always checking on the stores, always paranoid that someone was stealing from him. And Mark…well, one thing led to another.”

  “Do you have his phone number?”

  “Yes. It’s stored in my phone.” She looked at Dee, her eyes again filling with tears. “You don’t think…you don’t think Mark had something to do with this, do you?”

  Dee met her gaze. “Can you account for your whereabouts two nights ago, Mrs. Frazier? And early the next morning?”

  Connie gave a startled gasp. “You don’t think…surely to God you don’t think I had something to do with Dan’s murder, do you?”

  Dee held her gaze. “Can you account for your whereabouts or not?”

  Tears flowed again from Connie’s eyes. “I was here. I got home about six. I made dinner, like always. Dan came home about eight. He was…he was different. He would hardly speak to me. He barely touched his dinner.”

  Yes, that would have been shortly after Finn had given him the bad news. Frankly, Dee was surprised that Daniel Frazier hadn’t taken his anger out on his wife.

  “Then what?” Joel asked.

  “He…he left. Like I told you yesterday, he wouldn’t tell me where he was going. He left about nine or a little after.” Her lower lip trembled again. “And he never came home,” she sobbed.

  Dee wanted to tell her to spare the tears. They weren’t tugging at her heart, if that was the intent. Or perhaps the tears were genuine. Maybe she did love her husband but—in his absence—she just couldn’t resist the handsome Michael Drake. Or Mark Condra…whoever the hell he was.

  “If you could get us his phone number, Mrs. Frazier, we’ll be on our way.”

  Chapter Ten

  Finn yawned and glanced at the clock. She hated all-night stakeouts. She still had four or five hours to go until dawn. It was only 2:13.

  Mr. Honeywell—owner of the two Honeywell Furniture stores—was losing inventory at this particular location. Security cameras had revealed nothing. In-store receipts all checked out. Home deliveries matched receipts. It wasn’t a case she was really interested in and she quoted him an outrageous price—four hundred an hour for an all-night stakeout. She assumed he would leave her office and head to one of her competitors. Hanson Investigations, perhaps. They were the largest in Corpus.

  But no. He accepted without blinking an eye at her and here she sat, six hours into it and twenty-four hundred dollars richer.

  She had his personal laptop in the car with her. He had a feed to the security cameras and when he’d offered to have “one of his guys” give her access, she thought it would only call attention to the fact that she was snooping around. Even though he swore they could trust them, she was adamant that no one know about her because she didn’t trust them. He’d reluctantly given up his laptop. She didn’t really blame him for his reluctance. There’s no way she would hand her personal laptop over to someone, private investigator or not.

  She glanced at it now, the feed alternating between the showroom and the warehouse’s loading dock in back. There had been no movement at all…not even a mouse had streaked across the floor.

  She should have said five hundred an hour, she thought, as another half hour ticked slowly by. She rolled her shoulders and stretched out her neck, trying to get comfortable. If someone was ripping him off, what were the chances they’d hit on her first night?

  “Slim,” she murmured sleepily. Which meant she’d be out again tomorrow night.

  Yeah…she should have said five hundred an hour.

  * * *

  Finn rolled over and slammed her fist down on the alarm, silencing it. She’d fallen into bed at seven that morning, barely taking the time to shed her clothes. She was getting too old for all-nighters, she thought as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was two, but it was a dreary, overcast day. It could still be morning. She wished it was still morning. She stretched her arms out and yawned as she stood.

  A quick shower—and a strong cup of coffee—helped revive her somewhat. But it was still after three before she got to her office. The uneventful night meant there’d be no notes to log, other than her time spent. A few hours at the office, then she’d grab dinner somewhere before her nightshift started all over again.

  The car parked in front of her building looked like Dee Woodard’s plain white Ford, the vehicle the Corpus Police Department used. Judging by the looks of it, it was a car that had been in service way back when Finn was on the force.

  Detective Woodard was nowhere around, however, and she was surprised to find the front door unlocked. She was even more surprised to find Dee in her office, casually chatting with Sammy, who was sitting behind the desk. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and Sammy smiled at her.

  “Found Ms. Woodard outside waiting on you. Didn’t think you’d mind none if I brought her inside with me.”

  The look on the detective’s face indicated that this was a business trip, not pleasure. Finn nodded.

  “That’s fine, Sammy. Looks like Detective Woodard may have some questions for me.”

  Sammy took the hint and got up, giving her a wink as he left the office. Finn put her keys and phone on the desk, then sat down, finally giving Dee Woodard all her attention.

  “What brings you around, Detective?”

  “You were right. Michael Drake doesn’t exist,” she said, getting right to the point.

  “And the address?”

  “It’s a legitimate address in a residential area. It’s the home of Rebecca and Tom Gipson.” Dee smiled. “Lovely couple. Becky was quite friendly and no, they’d never heard of Michael Drake.” She crossed her legs with a sigh, her khaki pants lined with wrinkles, indicating she’d already had a long day. “Connie Frazier was quite surprised when we showed her the photos you’d taken. She didn’t know a Michael Drake either. Connie knew him as Mark Condra.”

  “Phone number?”

  Dee nodded. “Yes, she gave us the number she had to contact him with. Came back to a prepaid burner phone.”

  “So Michael Drake has secrets.” Finn leaned back in her chair. “So what’s your theory?”

  “What’s yours?”

  Finn smiled. “I’m just a lowly PI, remember. I don’t have theories.”

  “A lowly PI who used to be a cop.”

  “Checked up on me, did you?”

  Dee Woodard ignored her question. “So? Your theory?”

  “We both questioned the attraction between Connie Frazier and Michael Drake. Obviously, then, he was using her to get closer to Daniel Frazier.”

  “How would sleeping with his wife get him closer to Daniel Frazier?”

  “If they’re sneaking around, they’re going to do it when Daniel was otherwise occupied. Maybe he had a pattern. Maybe he was looking for information and Connie was a free talker. Could be anything.”

  Dee’s next question surprised her. “So who is Sammy?”

  “Sammy? He lives in the apartment upstairs. Why?”

  “He was dressed for fishing. I was a little startled when he pulled out a key to your office.”

  “Sammy’s like family. He takes care of things here.”

  “Why a private investigator?”

  “Why not?”

  “From what I understand, you were a good cop.”

  Finn laughed. “You obviously didn’t talk to my captain.”

  “Why the change?”

  “Why the questions? I thought you had a murder to solve.”

  Detective Woodard stood up. “You’re right. I do.�
� She paused at the door. “You’re working on another case?”

  Finn nodded. “Nothing as exciting as a cheating wife, however. Why?”

  “You look exhausted.”

  “Yeah…was out all night. Fruitless. There’ll be a repeat tonight. And probably tomorrow night.”

  “Well, if you ever have a free evening, perhaps we could get dinner.” Dee smiled quickly. “If you’re interested, that is.”

  Finn had years of practice in hiding her emotions, her thoughts, her feelings. Now, however, she wasn’t sure she’d been able to keep the surprise from her face. Was Dee Woodard asking her out on a date? She stood up too, hoping she appeared as nonchalant as she was trying to be.

  “Sure, Detective. Dinner would be nice. You can fill me in on all the latest gossip over at CCPD.”

  “I try my best to stay out of the gossip loop.” She placed a card on Finn’s desk. “My cell number is on there. Give me a call if you want to grab dinner.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was three a.m. and a light drizzle was falling. The fog off the bay was settling down around her and Finn could barely see the streetlight at the corner. She picked up her binoculars and scanned the loading dock once more, again seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

  Mr. Honeywell had given her the names of all of his employees at this store. She’d spent the day running background checks on them. There was one in particular she was interested in—Jason Singleton. He was in charge of security for both stores. She ran his financials, but there wasn’t an exuberant amount in any of his accounts. Possibly more than his salary warranted but perhaps he was a frugal guy. There was, however, the fact that he’d paid cash for a midnight black Toyota Camry. Again, maybe he’d saved for it.

  According to Honeywell, in the last four months alone, he’d lost twenty thousand dollars. In the last year, nearly a hundred. Earlier that day, she’d pretended to be a customer and had strolled through the store. Judging by some of the prices, it wouldn’t take a whole lot of pieces of furniture to hit that mark.

  Which made her wonder if this might be a once-a-month type thing. Less chances of getting caught. It was obvious to her that the security guy had to be involved. Perhaps he doctored the security feed. But would thieves be so bold as to bring a large truck right up here to the loading dock? Five or six guys could fill it in no time. And a large truck at a loading dock wasn’t going to cause suspicion should someone see it.