I held up a finger. “Before you ask, I can’t tell you what the issues are because the investigation is ongoing.”
“Wait. Am I a suspect?”
Everyone is a suspect.
“As I said previously, we’re still investigating. At this time, we must consider all information and take it from there. Who are your sisters?”
She sighed. “All right. My sisters are Linda Simon and Sylvia Frakes. Does that help?”
More than you know.
Bernie had stopped writing.
I tried to organize this new information and relate it to what we already knew. “How many children do Linda and Sylvia have?”
She’d been looking down, stirring her tea, but looked up at me and continued to stir with a glass straw. The ice chunks clinked against the glass. “I must say, it seems to me you know the answers to the questions you’re asking.”
“Yes, but I’d still like a response.”
She inhaled deeply and let it out in a gush, as if speaking required too much effort. “Linda has a daughter, Kelly. Sylvia doesn’t have any children. She’s ambitious and money hungry and thinks of her career as her baby. I have one niece. No nephews.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She looked at her watch. “Do you have any information on what happened at our home? With that girl? When can we get back in the house?”
Hunh. That girl? People can be so cold.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know exactly what happened yet. We’ll let you know when we can.”
“And the gardener? I’m sure the yard is overgrown by now. It doesn’t take long.”
“You’ll be notified when we’re done. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Thank you. I’ll let Sylvia know so that they can continue showing it. Did you ever find out what happened to the lockbox and real estate agency sign?”
“Well, no. The death investigation takes priority. If we run across them during our investigation, we’ll let you know. I’m sure the agency can provide you with another sign and lockbox in the meantime.”
She flipped her wrist again, glanced at her watch, and sighed once more. “Is there anything else?”
Bernie shook his head then packed up the recorder and notebook. “I think that’s it for now.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Moore.” I pulled out my phone.
She showed us to the door, and we stepped outside into the heat.
Bernie turned around. “Mrs. Moore, are you and your sisters close?”
“Define ‘close.’”
“Do you get together for the holidays? Do you have family gatherings?” Bernie asked.
“I see them around Christmas and Thanksgiving.”
“Did you go to your niece’s wedding?” I asked.
“Yes, I did. It was lovely.”
“We’ll be in touch if we have any news or more questions,” Bernie said.
We hit the road with Bernie driving. I listened to my voicemail on speaker for Bernie’s benefit. Monica Stewart had left a message, informing me she had attended Vincent Frakes’s funeral that morning, adding that Sylvia had attended and didn’t seem at all upset. She also asked if there had been any progress in the investigation into his death.
I gazed out the window and reviewed what we’d learned. We’d made several connections but none to Jane Doe. “Let’s go back to the Simons’ now we know Sylvia and Joan are Linda’s sisters.”
An hour later, Bernie and I were sitting in the Simons’ living room once more. Linda Simon balanced her bifocals on her nose and studied Jane Doe’s photo hard. She shook her head. “I don’t know. She vaguely looks like my daughter. It appears that somebody beat her up. I mean she’s young and blonde, similar to Kelly. I guess that’s the only similarity. It’s hard to tell.” She handed the picture to Carl. “What do you think?”
“I might I’ve seen her before. A long time ago. I just don’t know.” He looked at me. “She’s dead?” He laid the picture on the table and slid it away from him but continued to gaze at it.
I nodded. “We’re trying to locate anyone who may have known her.”
Linda picked up the picture and held it to her face, squinting, then looked at Carl. “You’re right. She does look familiar, but I can’t place her, either. Maybe she has one of those faces. You know? But, like I said, it’s hard to tell.” She chewed on her lip and looked at me. “Is this the only picture you have of her?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think I know her,” Carl said, “but she looks around the same age as Kelly. What happened to her? It looks as if she went a few rounds too many. A car accident, maybe? I’ve seen people who survived car accidents and looked like that. Broken nose, swelling, and bruises.”
“We’re still investigating,” I said.
Linda gasped. “Is she the one who was found in the house the kids were supposed to be moving into?”
“Yes, she’s the victim.”
She shook her head slowly. “So sad. Her parents must be worried sick about her. Has nobody reported her missing?”
“Not yet.”
“You thought she resembled Kelly. Do you have other family members?” I asked.
“None her age,” Carl said. “And if I did, I would’ve thought of that when I saw the picture and I would’ve told you she looked like a family member.”
I turned my attention to Linda. “What about you?”
“I don’t have any family members her age,” she said.
My phone vibrated. I checked the caller ID and let it go to voicemail once more. Monica Stewart again. “That’s all I have. If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
Bernie and I headed to our car, and I listened to Monica’s voicemail, this time without hitting the speaker button—walls have ears.
“Monica has something important to show me in the morning. I wonder what it could be.”
Bernie shrugged. “Don’t know. Call her back and ask her, if you want to know.”
Which is exactly what I did, but I only got her voicemail. I left a message and told her we would be with her by nine. “How are Khrystal and the baby?”
“They’re good. How’s everything with your family? And Brad?”
“All good.” I stared out the window until we rolled into the station parking lot. I’d forgotten about my dinner date with Brad until Bernie mentioned him. I hopped in my car and rushed home, wondering what the hell I was doing dating anyone considering my schedule and crappy memory.
22
At home, I jumped in the shower and hurried to get dressed before Brad arrived to pick me up. This time, I chose tight black jeans, a crisp white shirt, and heels. I grabbed a peach while I waited, plopped onto my cozy La-Z-Boy recliner, and watched an HGTV home renovation show. The next thing I knew, the doorbell woke me from a sound sleep. I ran to the hall mirror and gazed at my face. I fluffed my hair then opened the door.
“Hi, Sydney.” Craig stood with his hands in the pockets of khaki cargo shorts that skimmed the tops of his knees.
“How are you, Craig?” What was he doing at my door again? He had the worst timing ever. I looked past him, down the street.
“I’m fine. I wanted to apologize for just showing up the other night with the wine.”
So, you did it again? Just showed up uninvited?
“Apology accepted. But, like I told you before, I’m seeing someone.”
“I meant it when I said we can just be friends. Nothing more.”
“Okay. As long as you understand.”
“I understand. No pressure.” He looked at the ground. “Well, I should get going.” Yet, he didn’t move.
“All right. I need to take care of some things. Have a good evening, Craig.” I stepped back, resting my hand on the door. I didn’t want to be rude and shut the door in his face, but…
“G’night, Sydney.” He smiled and turned toward his apartment.
“Good night, Craig.”
W
hat the hell?
A red truck rolled along the street.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Brad pulled up to the curb and hurried to the door. “Was that your neighbor?” He frowned and clenched his fists.
“Yes. He came to apologize.” I went inside and grabbed a jacket.
He scoffed. “How big of him.”
“Can we not talk about him? He’s not important.”
“Then why is he always here?”
“This was only the second time!”
“Okay. Sorry. Look, I don’t want to ruin our night.” He ran his hand through his hair and gazed at my jeans, smiling. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Hungry?”
“Of course.” I locked up and followed him to his truck. We drove to the restaurant with minimal conversation. I thought of the case, still curious about what Monica had to show me.
By the time we sat at our table at TGI Fridays, we’d lightened up a little. Brad told me he’d run into plumbing issues on a renovation he hoped to complete within the next two weeks. I tried to take his mind off things by talking about my efforts at house hunting. He perked up instantly. We chatted about real estate while we ate, and Brad turned out to be really helpful.
“Hey, are you interested in being my real estate agent?” I asked.
“I could do that. Do you know of anyone else?”
“I do. You don’t know about my current case, but it involves a house for sale.”
“Who’s the agency?”
“Frakes Realty. Heard of them?”
“Actually, yes. I know … knew Vincent Frakes.”
“What?” I leaned in and whispered, “How?”
“Met him years ago when I was just starting to think about real estate but was still on the engineering path.” He poured beer into a glass.
“What did you think about him? And his wife?”
“He was a pro. Smart. Helped younger agents. Her? Not so much.”
“You didn’t like her?” I buttered a roll.
“Not one bit. She always seemed angry with him. He just brushed it off. He was like that, though. Nice guy. Rolled with the punches, you know?”
I sipped my soda. “Do you know anything about their marriage? Either of them stray?”
“Not that I know of. They weren’t married when I first met him.”
“Was he married to someone else?”
He shook his head. “No. Far as I know, Sylvia was his first and only wife.”
“Did you know he had a daughter? In her late twenties, early thirties?”
He frowned. “Nope. He had a daughter before he married Sylvia?”
“Apparently.”
“What’s her name?”
“Monica. Do you know her?” He finished the last of his beer.
“Monica Stewart? She’s his daughter?”
“So, you do know her. How come?”
Small world.
“We worked together at Frakes. He helped her with her education. I never thought she was his daughter, though. She worked there for a while and left.”
“She must’ve come back.”
“He didn’t tell me she came back when I last saw him, and he never mentioned he had a child.”
“I don’t think he knew about her until recently. At least that’s what Monica claims.”
“Wow. I guess it makes sense then—if Sylvia knew.”
“What makes sense?”
“She always seemed resentful of Monica. Vincent was training Monica and me on simple office stuff and a little real estate. Sylvia treated me better. I always thought she believed Vincent was interested in Monica in another way.”
“Well, I don’t know when, or if, Sylvia found out about Monica being Vincent’s daughter.”
“Oh, I’m betting she’s known for a while. She’s no dummy.”
“Do you have any contact with Sylvia these days?”
“Nope. I haven’t spoken to or seen her in a couple of years.” He gazed at me. “Why? Do you want me to go undercover?” After a conspiratorial wink, he grinned.
“No, nothing like that. Just wondering.” I wanted to ask if he ever had an interest in Monica, but after the talk about Craig and his visits to my apartment, I kept my mouth shut. “Did you ever work at Frakes Realty as an agent?”
“No way. I was in college at the time and just did a few things around their office. I was thinking about getting a real estate agent’s license but got bogged down with school. Learned a lot from Vincent, though. We stayed in touch, but I only saw him once or twice a year. When I finally made the move to real estate, he put me in touch with decent subcontractors when I needed it, especially after that first reno didn’t go well.”
“Did you stay in touch with Monica, too?”
Darn it, I can’t help myself. I have to know.
He raised an eyebrow. “No. How’s she doing?”
“It didn’t work out with her and Sylvia. Monica lost her job a little while ago. I’m not sure why.”
“I’m surprised she held onto it at all. And why? Why did she go back when Sylvia wasn’t exactly treating her that well?”
“Good question.” I planned to ask her the next time I saw her.
I yawned. Lord, it had been a long, long day. A long week.
“Okay. I can take a hint. I’m beat, too.” He picked up the check and we left.
On the ride home, I wondered what had kept Monica at Frakes Realty if she hadn’t known about Vincent’s relationship to her. I couldn’t wait to hear her explanation. And I hadn’t forgotten what she said regarding having something to show me.
23
At the station the next morning, I worked on reports, other paperwork, and emails which seemed to have grown since my last attempt to conquer them.
“Hey, Sydney.” Theresa dropped a bakery bag on my desk. “I brought you something,” she said, grinning.
“Oh no. I was thinking about starting to work out and eat better.”
“When?”
I studied the white bag. “Tomorrow.”
“Yeah, right.” She slid the bag closer. “Let’s go a few rounds at the boxing club when this case is over. I bet I can take you.” Again, she eyed the bag, still smiling.
I could already smell the goodies. “Let’s do that. And no, you can’t take me.” I opened the bag, peeked inside, and inhaled. “Boston cream.” I glanced at her. “You shouldn’t have.” I removed the heavy doughnut and took a bite. Think I might have sighed, too. “You didn’t have to do this.” My eyes had closed, and I hummed a little.
Get a grip, Syd. It’s only a doughnut.
“Sure I had to. I’m always eating your grub. It’s about time I shared. Besides, if I fatten you up before we spar, it will slow you down.”
“Thanks,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand. “Fattening me up won’t help you. I’m lethal.”
“Uh huh. Right.” Her grin turned into a smirk. “Okay, so I’m still following up on the Moore house, and I’m more convinced than ever Kelly and Jake aren’t telling the truth.”
“About what?”
“Their story is fishy. It just doesn’t add up. Especially the money.”
I had my suspicions about Kelly and Jake, too, but that was all I could call it—suspicion. “Maybe there was another ad online, and she didn’t remember which one she used. You know how it is when you’ve been looking for something for a while, then you forget where you saw the one you might want? You get them mixed up?”
“No. I don’t. I write it down—to keep track. They’re being sneaky and haven’t even asked if I’ve found the conman.” She shrugged. “It’s like they don’t care anymore. That’s a lot of money to throw away.”
“Maybe they didn’t throw it away.” I lifted a napkin from my dwindling pile and wiped my mouth. “But I know what you mean. I haven’t been able to talk to them because they haven’t been around.”
“Right. And what’s up with them saying her parent
s were going to lend them money?”
“Were they embarrassed that they weren’t getting help? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” I chomped on the doughnut, feeling the calories heading straight for my waistline and my butt, but I didn’t care. “In the meantime, Bernie and I are going to see Monica Stewart this morning.”
“What’s going on with that?” She stood, eyeing my doughnut as if she wanted some.
Fat chance. Not gonna happen.
“She left me a message and said she had something to show me.”
“Hmm. Might be interesting. If I didn’t have other cases needing my attention, I’d ride over with you. Let me know what happens.”
“Sure thing.” I finished the doughnut, crumpled the bag, and tossed it in the trash. “Thanks again for the food.”
“No problem. Later, Sydney.” She ambled toward her own cubicle.
I grabbed my phone and notebook then rounded up Bernie.
24
A little later, Bernie and I pulled up to the curb in front of Monica’s. The plates had changed on the black Mercedes convertible in the driveway. She’d personalized them. I called it in and received confirmation that the car was registered to her at this address.
Interesting.
While I did that, Bernie spoke on the phone with Khrystal. Apparently, all was well with her and the baby. While Bernie finished his call, I hopped out, leaned against the car, and texted Brad. It seemed the current renovation continued to give him trouble. I wished him good luck with the rest of his day then texted a goodbye when Bernie appeared beside me. Maybe that was the way to go—text or call Brad every time Bernie got in touch with Khrystal while we were working. I would appear more attentive that way, but it seemed like cheating to use Bernie as my reminder.
We walked up to the door and Monica had it open before we rang the bell. “Great, you’re here. Come in.” She shooed us inside, waved us to seats on the sofa, and took the chair next to the sofa.
“What’s going on, Monica?” I got my notebook out.
She shoved an envelope at me and bounced in her seat, like a child anticipating opening the largest birthday gift in the room. “This came for me yesterday.” A smile split her face.
Criminal Negligence Page 14
