“Sydney, how did Josh get to the deep end of the pool? Weren’t you and Brad watching him?”
“Brad wasn’t even here—”
“But you just said you both took Josh to the hospital.”
“Brad came later. It was just Josh and me in the pool. We were going to go outside to the pool, and I remembered I needed to put sunscreen on him. I told him to wait, and I went to get it from the bathroom. When I found it, I went outside and found him in the pool.”
“Oh, my God! How did you get him out? You don’t swim!”
“I got in the pool with one of those floating chairs I sit in. I made it over to him and managed to get him out of the pool. Brad came and found us on the patio. Then he drove us to the hospital.”
“You could’ve both died!” she cried.
I heard Mike in the background. He asked her if they should leave. He’d heard only her side of the conversation. I waited for them to finish talking.
Brad sat beside me, held my hand, and stroked my arm. I felt myself tearing up again. He kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear. “It’s going to be okay, Sydney. I promise.”
And I believed him.
Mac came back on the phone. “Sydney, we’re going to leave as soon as we can. Thank you for taking care of him. I’m glad you’re okay, too.”
I sighed and swallowed. “Mac...” I couldn’t get the words out. Tears formed. I sensed Brad watching me. He caressed my arm. I swiped at an escaped tear. My nose ran, and he pushed a tissue into my palm.
“Syd?” Mac asked.
“I should’ve made sure Josh heard me…before I went looking for the sunscreen. Oh, Mac. I’m so sorry.”
“Syd, listen to me.” I almost felt her gripping my shoulders through the phone. “Josh knows he’s not supposed to get into the pool without adult supervision. He knows.” She sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up. We should’ve installed a fence around the pool a long time ago. Mike and I share the blame here. Okay? We’ll see you in a few hours. And thank you for taking care of my little boy. Please, thank Brad for us, too.”
“I will. Mac, drive carefully. Good night.” I disconnected.
Brad took the phone and put it on the coffee table. “Are they leaving Vegas?”
I nodded. “She asked me to thank you.”
“There’s no thanks needed.” He touched my cheek, caressing under my eye. “You’re going to have a heck of a black eye in the morning.”
I traced the trail where his finger had been. “I guess Josh got me there a couple of times.”
He gazed at me. “Do you want me to go?”
I shook my head.
Someone tugged at my clothes. What? Brad?
“Aunt Syd! Aunt Syd!”
I opened my eyes. Boy, did they hurt! It was morning and Josh tried to climb onto the sofa recliner I was sharing with a still-sleeping Brad. I reached over, got a grip under Josh’s arms, and tugged. “Ouch!” I almost let go.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Syd?” His brow wrinkled as he settled on my lap.
“I’m sore.” Everywhere. Why? The pool. Trying to save our lives. Good reason to be sore.
“Aunt Syd?” He gazed at me.
“Yes, Josh?” I smiled, taking his hand in mine.
“You look like a raccoon.” He put his other hand over his mouth and giggled.
Brad stirred then opened his eyes. “Hey.” He smiled.
“Hey, yourself.”
“What’s your name?” Josh asked.
That’s right—I hadn’t introduced them. With all of the activity, it’d never crossed my mind.
“Josh, this is Mr. Brad.”
“Hi, Mr. Brad.” Josh snuggled into me, peeping at Brad with one eye. “Are you Aunt Syd’s boyfriend?”
Josh peered at him expectantly. Brad and I laughed.
Brad cleared his throat. “I’m trying to be.” He glanced at me and smiled. “How are you this morning, Josh?”
“Hungry!” He scrambled to the floor, tugged my hand. “Pancakes, Aunt Syd!”
I moved the blanket aside and, with a lot of effort, pushed myself up. I looked back at Brad. “Wanna help?”
“Sure. What can I do?” He managed to get up off the recliner more easily than I did.
We all headed to the kitchen. I removed a carton of eggs, milk, and turkey bacon from the fridge. I gathered the ingredients for pancakes and put them in a bowl. I set Josh on the island and let him stir the pancake batter, then I turned on the griddle. While Brad cooked the bacon, I cracked and beat the eggs. I poured the pancake batter onto the hot griddle, making several nearly perfect circles. Josh watched from his perch. A while later, we had a mountain of turkey bacon and too many pancakes. Brad set the table as I scrambled the eggs. I forgot to ask Brad how he liked his eggs. Since we didn’t get a chance to have our barbecue, I imagined scrambled would be fine.
“Mommy!”
I spun to see Mac in the living room. Josh looked for a way to get down from the island. I set him on the floor, and he ran to Mac, whose arms were outstretched to receive him. She picked him up and hugged him tightly as he clung to her, his face buried in her neck, his legs wrapped around her waist. Mac’s hand cupped the back of his head. She swayed with her eyes closed and a slight smile on her lips. She kissed him. When she opened her eyes, her gaze found Brad. Her eyes shone with tears.
“Thank you,” she said.
Brad nodded and smiled. He came to me and took the spatula from my hand. While I was watching Mac and Josh, the eggs had started to take on a brown tinge. He flipped them then slid them from the pan into a serving dish.
Mac put Josh down and whispered something in his ear. He smiled, his eyes wide. Then he ran down the hall, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!”
Mac hugged me. “Thank you, Syd.” She pushed stray strands of hair away from my face, the way Mom used to do when I was a child. I must have been a mess. Suddenly embarrassed, I tried to smooth my curls as I glanced at Brad, who was setting the food on the table. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. I’m sorry, Mac.”
“Syd, it’s fine. You’re both okay.” She leaned toward me, raising her brows as she smiled. “He’s cute,” she whispered.
I felt self-conscious.
She pulled my hand away from my hair as I tried to make myself look presentable. “Would you stop with that? You look beautiful.”
“I do?” I hadn’t even brushed my teeth or done a thing with my hair, which surely resembled a bird’s nest.
She nodded. “I’m going to get Mike.” Mac glanced at the table. “Is there enough there for us? We got in late last night, and we’re starving.”
“There’s plenty.” I smiled. All was well. I reached into the cabinet for two more plates then went to the table. Brad had already set their places. I shook my head. He was one step ahead of me. I toasted and buttered whole grain bread and set the stack in a dish. I placed it in the center of the table before Mac, Mike, and Josh returned.
We all gobbled up our breakfasts and talked about Mac and Mike’s Las Vegas excursion. They’d seen a show and lost a little money. Eventually, the conversation led to real estate. Mac picked Brad’s brain, and they seemed to hit it off. She asked a lot of questions about property staging. She watched a few HGTV shows and wanted to know how much was reality. An accountant, Mike showed an interest in the investment strategies of house flipping. He said he’d thought about it but didn’t think he had the construction skills to do the work himself or supervise others. He figured he would make less money if he had to contract out most of the jobs, and he wouldn’t know enough to determine if the contractor was any good. Mac stared at Mike while he spoke—as if she were hearing of his aspirations for the first time. Brad shared his knowledge and occasionally included Josh in the conversation. I told Mike and Mac that Brad used to be a lifeguard and that maybe he could teach Josh to swim. Brad nodded and said he was happy to do that.
“Maybe he could also teach you how to swim.” Mac’s eyes smiled over
the rim of her coffee mug. She placed it on the table and flashed me a grin. She’d been after me to take swimming lessons for years. I’d had an accident during a field trip in elementary school and almost drowned. A teacher had jumped in to save me.
I thought about it and shrugged. “Perhaps.” Why not? A cell phone chimed in the living room. Everyone’s gaze, including Josh’s, swiveled in my direction. Sighing, I hurried into the living room to answer it. It couldn’t be good news. Most of the people who would have called to give me good news were sitting in the dining room with me. “Valentine,” I answered.
I sat on the sofa and listened to Dispatch. I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I got my notebook from my purse, rummaged around for a pen, and wrote down the information. Dispatch didn’t have the caller’s name, but the address seemed familiar. Once I’d disconnected, I flipped through my notebook and looked for Monica Stewart’s address. Just as I’d thought: the address matched the one I’d written down several days ago when Bernie and I spoke to her at the McDonald’s in Yucaipa. I had to go tell everyone I was leaving because of a case… again. At least this time, there was no homicide. I’d received the call because the caller had given Dispatch my name and claimed to have information about one of my cases. I assumed the caller was Monica. Why hadn’t she called me directly?
Time to face the music and give my family and Brad the bad news. They expected the worst anyway. I strolled into the dining room, carrying my purse and notebook. They all gazed at me knowingly. I held up my notebook. “I have to go. Work.”
They nodded simultaneously. They’d become used to it—Brad, too. He jumped to his feet. “I should be going, too. Thank you all for the hospitality. I enjoyed meeting you, even if it was under not-so-good circumstances.” He leaned over and ruffled Josh’s curls then looked at Mac and Mike. “Let me know when you’re ready for his swimming lessons.”
We both put on our shoes, which were next to the sofa we’d slept on. We folded the blankets and stacked them on the sofa.
Mac and Mike stood and followed us to the door.
“It was nice meeting you, Brad. Finally.” Mac flicked a glance my way.
Mike smiled then shook Brad’s hand. “We’ll be in touch. Thanks for helping our son. And Sydney, too.”
“No problem. Bye, Josh,” Brad said.
Josh was standing next to Mike, clinging to his leg. “Bye, Mr. Brad.” He smiled and waved.
Brad followed me to my car.
I opened my car door and turned toward him. “You were great with Josh. We should do this again soon.”
“Oh, we will.” He grinned, pulling me to him. “You still owe me dinner, and I intend to collect.” He gave me a quick peck. “By the way, I liked your hair when it was wet—like the color of an old penny. It’s lighter and looks shorter now that it’s dry, but it’s still pretty.” He tugged a curl, and it sprung back into place. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” He winked and strolled away, whistling.
I watched him go, then looked at my clothes. I still hadn’t brushed my teeth, bathed, or done any personal grooming. What a slob—a slob with a tangled mess of pretty penny-colored hair. I shut my car’s door and hurried back toward the house, wondering how Mac could have let me leave the house looking like that. I went back inside, showered, and slathered tons of conditioner into my hair to help with the tangles. I brushed my teeth and pulled on a pair of Levi’s and a black T-shirt. I hopped in my car and headed to the address on Sixth Avenue.
Chapter Fifteen
A half hour later, I arrived at the address Dispatch had given me. A shiny black Mercedes convertible occupied half of the driveway. Nice car. Monica must’ve done well as a real estate agent. I jotted down the vehicle’s model and license plate. I checked DMV and found out the car was registered to Vincent Frakes. Interesting. And not quite unexpected. Maybe I would finally get to meet the guy.
I stepped from my car and strolled up to the front door. I rang the doorbell and waited. The door opened slightly. One bloodshot blue eye peered at me from the slit. What the…
“Detective Valentine!” Monica opened the door and waved me in. “Hurry.”
I entered the house then turned to look at her. “What’s going on, Monica?” Her breasts overflowed from the jade silk robe like rolls of bread rising from a pan. The fabric strained. That couldn’t have been comfortable. And why wasn’t she dressed yet?
“Have you talked to Sylvia?” She looked around the room.
I looked, too. What were we looking for? “I haven’t spoken to Sylvia recently. Why? Have you?”
“It’s all wrong.” She paced. Her robe flapped behind her, and matching feathered high-heel mules clicked on the tile floor. Her hair, still brown but mussed, appeared as if she’d just gotten out of bed, but I was willing to bet it had taken her a while to style it that way. Her makeup had also been applied with some effort, though more understated than when I’d first met her at Frakes Realty. Still, a bit much for a Sunday morning. But what did I know? I barely wore any, and I’d almost shown up without taking care of my own personal grooming.
Monica must have been expecting company. Or was he already here? Vincent?
“What’s wrong?” I lost my patience—what little I had. I wanted to go home. Well, to Mac’s house. What was taking my apartment renovation so long? I needed to contact the management company about that. My mind was wandering. “Monica, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” Spit it out, or I’m out of here. I’ve got places to go—and people to see.
“I think something’s happened to Vincent.” She scanned the room. “It’s not right.” She tried to pull the robe tighter over her chest, but the skimpy fabric made it impossible. Her hands trembled, and she pushed her hair away from her face. “I should’ve spoken to him by now.” Says the mistress. Maybe he was with his wife. Ever thought of that?
I sighed, stifled a yawn, then stole a glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. I’d been there for a few minutes and still had no clue as to why Monica had called. “Can we sit down?” I ambled to the slate-blue leather sofa, and her mules clicked behind me. I sank into the sofa and wanted to lie down. I was still a bit sore from my struggle in the pool then sleeping on the sofa recliner with Brad. I turned to Monica. “Start from the beginning.” I reluctantly pulled out my notebook and pen, sure that I was about to hear about a lovers’ spat between a cheater and his mistress. I glanced at Monica, who stared off into space—the look she’d had when I first met her, when I thought her not very bright. The jury was still out on that. I felt cranky. “Well? Tell me.”
“The beginning? Well, I met Vincent a few years ago.”
Good grief. Not that beginning, but oh well. Maybe something will come of it. I let her talk. As it turned out, she’d met Vincent while she was engaged to be married. Portrero Meyer Homes had hired her in a light clerical position, where she spent most of her time answering the phones. After talking for a half hour, she looked at her clothing. She apologized and excused herself, saying she would only be a minute. Right.
While I waited, I texted Brad. We made plans to get together at his place later. I planned to make dinner for us there since I didn’t want to impose upon Mac. Plus, the lack of privacy at her house bothered me. I looked around and recognized the plants she’d brought with her from her desk at Frakes. This was a much better place for them. It was less cluttered and I could barely smell them.
A barefoot Monica returned wearing a white macramé top and denim cutoffs with strategically placed holes. I’d seen shorts like that at Macy’s, but I saw no reason to spend money on clothes that already had holes in them. Call me old-fashioned.
She took a seat and picked up her story where she’d left off. At Vincent’s suggestion, she’d studied for her real estate agent’s license and passed the exam on the first try. They’d grown closer, and he had even paid for her braces, without Sylvia’s knowledge. She talked for another half hour, checking her cell phone for texts on and off. Once
she ran out of steam, I had a few questions of my own and figured I had better get answers while she was still feeling talkative.
“Why do you think something happened to Vincent? Maybe he’s with his wife.”
“Because I haven’t spoken to him.” She practically pouted. “He called twice but didn’t leave a message. I called him back, and it went to voicemail.”
“Monica, maybe he’s with his wife and is busy. He forgot.” I swept my hand around the room. “Is this his house? Their house?”
“Of course not! It’s mine.” If she’d been standing, she would’ve stomped her foot. Instead, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and huffed.
“And the Benz in the driveway?” I wrote all of this down.
“Mine. He gave it to me.” She’d turned her nose up, pouting now. How generous of him.
I leaned. “What happened to Frakes Realty? I went by there, and the office was cleaned out.”
She shrugged. “They’re having problems. Like… marital problems.”
“That doesn’t explain what happened to Frakes Realty. Did they relocate?”
“That’s Sylvia’s thing. Vincent mostly deals with the new construction built by Portrero Meyer. Of course, Sylvia is the only agent for those homes.” She rolled her eyes and tsked.
A bit of jealousy? If Sylvia’s father had started Portrero Meyer Homes, it made sense that she would reap the rewards of that venture. “When did Vincent get back into town?”
“I don’t know. I thought I would’ve spoken to him by now.” She checked her cell phone again. “We’re playing phone tag, and he’s not leaving messages.”
“Is it unusual for him to call without leaving a voicemail?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes he does that when he’s busy. Mostly, he leaves messages.”
“Have you texted him?”
“I have, and he responded and told me he was busy and would call me. He does, but I end up missing the call. Bad timing, I guess.”
“And because you haven’t spoken to him, you think something’s happened to him? That’s why I’m here?” I felt like sliding my notebook back into my purse and getting out of there. “Seems a little drastic.” Or paranoid.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 31
