Criminal Negligence

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Criminal Negligence Page 6

by Danielle L Davis


  “How have you been?” I sat across from her as she stirred sweetener into her coffee with shaking hands. She’d bitten her previously French-manicured nails to the quick.

  “As good as I’m going to be, I guess.” She smiled nervously. Since we’d met, she’d had her braces removed and now owned a pretty, toothpaste-commercial quality smile. It was a change from the braces with food bits stuck in them. Short dark-brown hair had also replaced the frizzy blonde. Why had she transformed herself?

  “You changed your hair.” I smiled, trying to relax her. Some people tended to talk more when they were nervous. Others talked less. Based on her behavior at Frakes, I pegged her as one of the latter. Compliments never hurt to loosen the tongue.

  “Yes, I did. Does it look okay? I did it myself.” She smoothed her hair. “And I got my braces off.”

  “The hair looks good.” I scooted toward the window when I saw Bernie approaching.

  “Hello, Ms. Stewart,” he said, smiled brightly. “Thanks for contacting us. How are you?”

  “Please, call me Monica.” She grinned, smoothed her hair again, then averted her gaze. Bernie must’ve made her more nervous than I did, but it was the second time she’d asked him to call her Monica.

  Bernie glanced my way. He’d sensed it, too. This was my deal. He would stay out of it as much as he could, and I anticipated him finding an excuse to leave. We didn’t want her to shut down after taking so long to reach out.

  “Monica, we stopped by Frakes Realty, and Sylvia told us you’d quit,” I said.

  She laughed. “Is that what she told you?” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “Not quite.” Monica bit her lip and stared off into the distance. “She told me that I was no longer needed.”

  “She fired you?”

  “Well, technically, I wasn’t an employee. Not in the sense that I get paid by the hour or have a guaranteed salary.”

  I lowered my voice. “When we were there, I got the feeling you wanted to tell us something.”

  “I didn’t.” She failed to make eye contact and brought her cup to her lips. Her hand trembled, and she clamped her other hand around the cup to steady it. Coffee sloshed onto her hands, but she made no reaction to the heat of the drink. It may have cooled because she hadn’t replaced the lid. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been there before us. Since she’d been pouring sweetener into her coffee just moments ago, I’d assumed she’d arrived immediately before we did. Bernie offered her napkins and started mopping the table. She mumbled her thanks and wiped her hands.

  I unscrewed the cap to the bottled water Bernie had brought me. “Monica? Did Sylvia threaten you?” Drawing information from her was like pulling teeth. My own. With rusty pliers and no anesthetic.

  Monica shrugged. “Let’s put it this way. Sylvia suggested I find another agency because she didn’t need me anymore.”

  “Was it because you told us her cell phone was used to access the electronic key for the Moore house?”

  She frowned. “I forgot about that. But, no. That wasn’t it. I think it’s because of her husband.”

  “She said he was away. What did he have to do with her wanting you gone?”

  “She thought we were messing around.” She glanced at Bernie, who had already looked away, though he’d certainly heard every word. He reached into his pocket, slid out his phone, and held it up, keeping the display facing him and away from Monica.

  “I’ve got to take this.” He grabbed the soggy napkins and dropped them in the trash as he strolled through the door with the phone to his ear, pretending to talk to someone on the other end.

  What an actor. Worthy of an award.

  “Were you sleeping with her husband?”

  She stared into my eyes, defiant. “No.”

  Here we go. The so-called reason for her current lack of employment.

  Did he flirt with you in front of her?” Something was up, and I wanted to shake her. Hard. Why did these stupid women sleep with married men and expect to come out unscathed?

  “We didn’t flirt.” The tears began to flow. “I met him a few years ago, and he was always nice to me.”

  “But Sylvia didn’t like him being so … nice?”

  She nodded. “Vincent treats me like a princess. Nobody ever did that before.”

  “Okay. Be honest. What did you want to tell us when we were at Frakes Realty?”

  “I-I think Sylvia was in the Moore house that night.” She shook her head. “She didn’t lose her cell phone. I saw her with it right before you came into Frakes.”

  “Why would she lie?” Or was Monica lying—to get rid of Sylvia because she wanted her husband? I had to keep that in mind.

  Monica shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t that your job? To find out?”

  No arguing with that. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “I can’t think of anything. You won’t tell her I talked to you?”

  I couldn’t promise her anything, but I shook my head. If she was involved in a crime, all bets were off. “Can I reach you at the phone number you used to call me today?”

  “Yes, that’s my personal cell.” She gazed out the window at Bernie, who was pacing with the phone to his ear. Maybe someone had called after all.

  “What’s your home address?” I watched Monica scanning the lot.

  After hesitating and pursing her lips, she gave me the address. I flipped to the page in my notebook where I’d written the address I’d received from the DMV. The street was different, but the house number was the same, and it put her in a completely different area of town. How did it all get so mixed up?

  “I need to go now,” she said, texting someone, not looking at me. “Are we done?”

  “One more question.” My cell phone buzzed, and I glanced at the display—my reminder to call Brad.

  “Okay.” She finished her text then looked up with narrowed eyes. She took a sip of coffee and stood.

  I scooted from the booth and joined her. “Do you have plans to get in touch with Sylvia’s husband, now that you’re no longer working there?”

  Her smile twitched, and her face flushed. “Maybe I already have.” She lifted a shoulder. “What do I have to lose now?” She tossed her coffee cup into the receptacle as she strutted toward the glass doors. She shoved open the door with her hip, but before stepping through it, she turned and smiled. Where did the confidence suddenly come from?

  It looked as though she’d made up her mind about Vincent. I hoped she didn’t live to regret it. She’d already forgotten about Sylvia—or didn’t care. Big mistake. A woman scorned and all that.

  On the way back to the station, I filled Bernie in on the rest of my conversation with Monica and, as he rolled into the parking lot, he received a call from Khrystal. She wasn’t feeling well. I hopped out of the car and watched him run to his own, then speed out of the lot.

  8

  A few hours later, I ate dinner at Mac’s with her family. Mike, her husband, had cooked a vegetable stew, one of the best I’d tasted in a long time. That reminded me: I needed to start exercising again.

  “We haven’t worked out in a while. You up for starting again?” I smiled, hoping I didn’t look too much like the Joker from Batman.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Mac patted her stomach. “Maybe I need to do something before I have to start shopping in the tent section.”

  Josh scooted from his chair, ran around the table to Mac, and placed his hands on her stomach. “Oh, Mommy. You’re so squishy.” He squeezed. “Squish. Squish.”

  “Now that’s cute and embarrassing at the same time.” Mac eased his hands off then tickled his tummy. He wriggled away and ran to Mike, who lifted him and set him on his shoulders.

  “Time for your bath, buddy, then it’ll be a story and bedtime.” He turned to me. “’Night, Syd. Josh, say good night to Aunt Syd.”

  Josh held on to Mike’s ears. “Good night, Aunt Syd.”


  “Night Josh. Night Mike.” The kid always made me smile.

  They headed down the hall. Moments later, Josh’s giggles and the bathtub filling with water echoed toward us. I looked at Mac. “Squish, squish, huh?” I squeezed my belly roll, but Mac had me beat by a wide margin. “Well, at least he didn’t say you’re so fat.”

  She grabbed her tummy again, frowning. “What time do you want to get started? Morning or evening?”

  “Let’s try mornings—six o’clock—get it out of the way. If I wait until evening I won’t do it. I’ve been tired lately and I know it’s from lack of exercise. I can’t seem to get enough sleep and have no energy.”

  “You know, women can get tired when they’re pregnant.” She double-hitched her eyebrows and smiled.

  I studied her face, keeping mine deadpan. “Anyway, let me know when you want to start.”

  “Hey, when do I get to meet your guy?” Mac leaned in, whispering.

  Why the whispering? My dating wasn’t a secret.

  “Soon.” Time to change the subject. “I’m thinking about getting out of my apartment.”

  “What? You’re moving in with Brad? Already?” Her eyes had grown wide, and she gripped the table, her knuckles white.

  “Calm down. Of course I’m not moving in with Brad. Do you know me at all?”

  “Then what are you talking about leaving your apartment?”

  “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to buying a house. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Syd! That’s a great idea!” She jumped out of her seat, clapping her hands.

  “Again, calm down. Do I have to put you in restraints, or what?” I shook my head. “What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal? This is big! First, you get a boyfriend. Now, you’re going to buy a house.” She returned to her seat with a dopey smile on her face.

  “Uh huh. So?” I failed to see the reason for her outburst. People bought houses all the time.

  I’m a person. I can buy a house, too.

  “Ahhh. My Sydney is growing up.” She folded her hands under her chin and tilted her head.

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “Where can we start looking?” She hopped up, flounced into the living room, and picked up some magazines. When she returned, the smile was even bigger and dopier.

  “We?” I couldn’t help frowning.

  Mac stopped mid-stride. “You and me, of course. Right?” A pout crept onto her face.

  Uh-oh.

  I sighed and forced a smile, aiming for patient—Mac had “dopey” down pat. “Right. You and me. We’ll look.”

  I’d considered asking Brad since he dealt in real estate. I hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility Mac might want to be involved.

  “When do we start?” She sat beside me and placed the magazines between us. They were real estate magazines of new home communities. She flipped the pages and pointed. “This one isn’t far from here.” She looked at me, smiling.

  Hint, hint.

  She expected me to move close. Would that be so bad? Built-in babysitter?

  “Wait a minute. You have a house. What are you doing with these? Are you hoping to move?”

  “Oh, no. I just love looking at these magazines, especially the upscale communities.” She shrugged and looked over her shoulder toward the hall. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she whispered.

  Well, apparently, she could. No harm in that, I supposed. I couldn’t help but feel her joy. I looked at the photo and read the page. My eyes must have lit up, because Mac’s grin widened again, thinking I was excited about her magazines, but something else had caught my eye—an ad for a new community built by Portrero Meyer Homes. Theresa was right. They were a busy company.

  I pulled the magazine closer. “Can I take this one with me?”

  “Sure.” Suddenly, Mac looked at me. “Hey, you never answered me about Brad.”

  “I’m sorry. What was the question?” I was stalling.

  Oh, the pressure.

  “When do I get to meet him? You’ve been dating for weeks.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it. I haven’t met his family yet, either.” I hoped that would suffice, but oh no.

  “You shouldn’t meet his family until he’s met yours.” She pursed her lips and nodded, arms crossed. “That’s the rule.”

  “What rule? I’ve never heard of that. You’re making it up.” I grinned. “Besides, rules are made to be broken. Ever hear of that one?”

  “Oh, come on, Syd. I want to meet your guy.”

  “Stop calling him ‘my guy,’ will you?”

  I folded the Portrero Meyer Homes page to mark my place then opened a different magazine and gazed at the pictures, pretending to be engrossed with reading the descriptions. I even followed the text with my fingers, like a child learning to read. I turned the page and did the same for the next house, making the appropriate sounds of appreciation here and there—or so I thought.

  “I know you’re not reading those, you know.”

  I looked up. Mac smiled, almost ready to burst into laughter. Time to change the subject again.

  “What time do you want me to be here to babysit while you and Mike go to Sin City?”

  “Let me check with Mike, and I’ll text you.” She jiggled her eyebrows again. “I haven’t forgotten about your guy, though.”

  “All right. Look, you’ll meet him when you meet him.”

  “But when?” she whined.

  “Soon. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Okay. Fine. Can we work out tomorrow? I can meet you at the park.”

  “Right. Six o’clock.”

  Beat and ready for my bed, I stood and gathered my things and the real estate magazine. Mac walked me to the door, and I headed for my car.

  Once home, I showered, brushed my teeth, and pulled on my pajamas. I climbed into bed with the real estate magazine, searching for more Portrero Meyer Homes communities. Another ad showed condos in Fontana that were way out of my price range—not that I planned to look for anything built by Portrero Meyer. The prices ranged from four hundred thousand to half a million dollars, which seemed like a heck of a lot of money for an apartment.

  There were no more Portrero Meyer Homes listings in that magazine. I regretted not taking a few more of Mac’s stash and doubted Mike knew she longed for something more. They had a nice home. What more did she want, for crying out loud?

  I’d had enough of real estate, and I tossed the magazine on the nightstand. Time to get some sleep, and boy, did I need it.

  9

  Hours later, I woke to a high-pitched squeal. I reached toward the nightstand and fumbled around for the alarm clock. I jabbed at the button, but the sound continued. I looked at the clock—two fifteen a.m.

  Smoke clawed at my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.

  I flipped on the light, jumped out of bed, and ran out in the hall to take a look. Doubled over, coughing. Not smart.

  Dark smoke billowed in the hallway, filled the living room. I couldn’t see anything. The blaring of the smoke detector continued. Keeping low to the floor, I hurried back into the bedroom, slammed the door, and looked around.

  Don’t panic! Keep calm.

  Breathe, but not too deeply.

  My cell phone! Call the fire department. My damn phone? Where is it?

  I dove across the bed and grabbed the cordless from its cradle. It fell from my shaky grasp onto the floor. I rolled over the bed and landed with my butt on the carpet, keeping an eye open for smoke coming under the door. Should’ve put something there to hold back the smoke. So much to do.

  I dialed 9-1-1. They told me the fire department was already on its way.

  Good.

  I had to get out using the method I’d rehearsed dozens of times in my mind.

  I grabbed a jacket and my purse from the hook. My coughing worsened, and my eyes burned. I snagged my weapon from the drawer and a pair of running shoes from the floor. My gym bag was sitting next t
o the running shoes. I threw everything into the bag and unlocked and opened the window by the bed. I remembered my cell phone plugged into its charger on the other nightstand and tossed it in, too.

  Kicking the screen with my bare foot proved unsuccessful—and it hurt. I shoved my feet into my shoes and tried again. The screen popped partially out, and I gave it another go. Once it fell out, I climbed through the window, choking on smoke. The window led to the area behind the building, near my apartment’s patio.

  My foot landed in a flower container. I lost my balance and tumbled to the ground. Still coughing, lungs raw, I pushed myself up and limped around to the front of the building. A fire truck squealed around the corner, lights flashing. Most of my neighbors had already made it out onto the street. They huddled together, murmuring. Several had blankets thrown over their shoulders. A few wore slippers, others were barefoot. I knelt to tie my shoes and pulled on my jacket.

  People stumbled out of the building, carrying whatever they’d managed to grab on the way out. A man with a cast on his leg hobbled out, carrying a sleeping boy about Josh’s age in his arms. I rushed to help them cross the street to safety and yelled at the others to clear out of the way of the firefighters and paramedics.

  The San Sansolita PD had arrived, and Officer Bryant hurried toward me.

  “You okay, Sydney?” She eyed my elbow, angling for a better view.

  My arm hurt, bled. When had I done that? She summoned a stumpy medic from the ambulance, but I shook my head, and the medic stopped, looking at Bryant.

  “No, I’m okay. Take care of the others first.” I worked my elbow, wincing against the pain.

  Damn it. So sore.

  “Sydney, you are one of the injured.” Bryant pointed at my wound and said to the medic, “Look at her, please.” She stood close by, apparently to make sure I didn’t run away. Did I need a babysitter? I outranked her and didn’t have to listen, but my elbow throbbed like hell. Too tired to argue, I kept an eye on the crowd and let the medic do his job.

  “Bryant, photograph those people.”

 

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