Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  My phone vibrated. I removed it from my pocket and checked the caller ID. Monica Stewart again. I let it go to voicemail. “That’s about all I have. If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”

  Bernie and I strolled to our car, and I listened to Monica’s voicemail. “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.”

  That’s exactly what I did, but I got her voicemail. I left a message and told her we would be there at nine. “How are Khrystal and the baby?” I asked Bernie.

  “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 headed home, wondering what the hell I was doing dating anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I rushed home, jumped in the shower, and hurried to get dressed before Brad arrived to pick me up. I’d decided on tight black jeans, a crisp white shirt, and heels. I grabbed a peach while I waited. I plopped onto my cozy La-Z-Boy recliner and watched an HGTV home renovation show. The next thing I knew, the doorbell chime 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, my neighbor, stood there 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. 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.” What the hell? A red truck came up the street. Perfect. Just perfect. I hoped it wasn’t Brad. The truck was too far away for me to see the model or the person driving. I didn’t want a replay of the jealousy—or whatever it was.

  Brad pulled up to the curb and hurried to the door. “Was that your neighbor?” He frowned and clenched his fists.

  “Was what my neighbor?” I looked around.

  “Were you just talking to that guy that came over here with the wine the other night?”

  “I was.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s rude to ignore people when they come to your door and start talking to you. He stopped by to apologize, as a matter of fact.” I went inside and grabbed a jacket.

  He scoffed. “How big of him.”

  “Can we not talk about him? He’s not important. At all.”

  “Then why is he always here?”

  “This was only the second time!”

  “Okay. 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.”

  “Anyway, are you hungry?”

  I sighed. “Of course.” I locked up and followed him to his truck. We drove to the restaurant with minimal conversation. I thought about 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 bit. Brad told me he ran into plumbing issues in a renovation he hoped to complete within the next two weeks. I tried to take his mind off his problems by talking about my search for a house to purchase. He perked up a bit and had some suggestions.

  “You’ll want to look into some of the programs offered to first-time home buyers. I’ll see if I can dig up some information for you. I’m thinking a three-bedroom with a small yard would work for you. Maybe even a two-bedroom would work, but that’s what you have now, and I got the impression that you wanted more space.”

  “Right. I do. I’d consider a two-bedroom if the rooms were bigger than the ones in my apartment. I don’t want a big yard to upkeep.”

  “Would you consider a community with a homeowners association?”

  “I don’t know. What exactly do they do?”

  “They mostly boss people around and charge them for it.” He laughed.

  “I think Mac and Mike might have one. When a neighbor wanted to paint their house, they had to get approval first.” I shook my head. “I think I’d rather stay away from that if I could.”

  “What about a fixer-upper?”

  “If it would save me money, sure. But I don’t want any complicated construction going on. Maybe just cosmetic changes I could do myself.”

  “And the location? San Sansolita?”

  I nodded. “Hey, are you going to be my real estate agent?”

  “I could do that. Do you know of anyone else?”

  “I do. I haven’t talked about my current case, but it involves a house that was for sale.”

  “Who’s the agency?”

  “Frakes Realty. Do you know them?”

  “Actually, I do. I know… knew Vincent.”

  “What?” I leaned in and whispered, “How?”

  “I met him years ago when I was just starting to think about real estate but was on the engineering path.”

  “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?”

  “Not really. She always seemed angry with him. He just brushed it off. He was like that. Rolled with the punches, you know?”

  “Do you know anything about their marriage? Anyone stray?”

  “Not that I know of. They weren’t married when I first met him.”

  “Was he married to someone else?”

  “No. Sylvia was his first and only marriage as far as I know.”

  “Did you know he had a daughter? In her late twenties, early thirties?”

  He frowned. “I didn’t know that. He had a daughter before he married Sylvia?”

  “Apparently.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Monica. Do you know her?”

  “Monica Stewart? She’s his daughter?”

  “So, you do know her. How?” 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 she was until recently. That’s how it seems. At least that’s what Monica says.”

  “Wow. I guess it makes sense then—if Sylvia knew.”

  “What makes sense?”

  “She seemed resentful of Monica. He 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 anymore?”

  “I haven’t spoken or seen her in a couple of years.” He gazed at me. “Why? Do you want me to go undercover?” 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 a
partment, I kept my mouth shut. “Did you ever work at Frakes Realty as an agent?”

  “No. 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. I still 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?” I couldn’t help it. I had 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 come 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. I’d had a long day.

  “All right. I can take a hint. I’m beat, too.” He paid the check and we got out of there.

  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 about what she said about having something to show me.

  At the station the next morning, I worked on reports and other paperwork at my desk. My paperwork and emails 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 grinned.

  “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.” She eyed the bag, 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 donut and took a bite. 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 a donut.

  “Sure I had to. I’m always eating your donuts and bagels. It’s about time I shared. Besides, if I fatten you up before we spar, it will slow you down.”

  “Thanks,” I said with my mouth full. I covered my mouth with my hand. “Fattening me up won’t help you. I’m lethal.”

  “Uh, huh. Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, so I’m still following up on the Moore house, and I have to say that I’m more convinced that Shelly and Jake aren’t telling the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “Their story is fishy. It just doesn’t add up. The money?”

  I had my suspicions about Shelly 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 been asking if I’ve found the guy.” 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 parents 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 donut, feeling the calories heading straight for my waistline. 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 donut 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 donut, crumpled the bag, and tossed it in the trash. “Thanks again for the donut.”

  “No problem. Later, Sydney.” She strolled toward her own cubicle.

  I grabbed my phone and notebook then rounded up Bernie.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  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 house’s address.

  While I did that, Bernie spoke on the phone with Khrystal. Apparently, all was well with her and the baby. I hopped out of the car, leaned against it, and texted Brad while Bernie finished his call. The renovation had continued to give him trouble. I wished him good luck with the rest of his day then texted a goodbye when Bernie got out of the car. 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 seem more attentive that way, but it seemed like cheating to use Bernie.

  We strolled up to the door and Monica had it open before we rang the bell. “You’re here. Come in.” She shooed us inside then waved us to seats on the sofa. She 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.” She smiled.

  Must be good news.

  I glanced at Bernie. He shrugged. I opened the envelope and tugged on a sheath of papers inside. I read the top page then looked up. “Really?”

  Monica scooted to the edge of the chair, rubbing her hands together. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re going to be wealthy.” I handed the papers, a copy of Vincent Frakes’s will, to Bernie. He’d left her a portion of Portrero Meyer Homes and Frakes Realty. In fact, once the will went through probate, Monica would own the majority of Frakes Realty, pushing Sylvia out almost entirely.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “A messenger brought it. I didn’t even know he owned anything having to do with Portrero Meyer. I never thought about who owned the company. I assumed he was an employee, not an owner. He never seemed like that.”

  The new information changed everything. Could she have killed him for this? Had Sylvia known he’d planned to leave Monica a portion of the businesses? If she had, she certainly would have wanted him alive. Wouldn’t she? Not if she thought she could kill him before he changed the will.

  Bernie read the will then stopped to peer at me. He leaned my way, pointing out the estate attorney’s name: Joan Moore. Then he gave Monica the papers.

  I gazed at Monica. “Do you have an attorney?”

  “No. Can’t I use the one who did his will?”

  “If I were you, I’d get my own attorney. That would avoid a conflict of interest.” I shrugged. “But that’s just me.”

  Monica pulled additional pages from the envelope. “Look at this.” She gave me a few sheets. “I don’t know who that is, but she’s getting part of Portrero Meyer Homes, too.”

  I read the name: Sharon Carter, residing in Cherry Valley. I shrugged and gave the document to Bernie. “Have you seen that name during our investigation?”

  Shaking his head, he wrote the name and contact information in his notebook.

  “She’s a couple of years younger than me. I’ve never heard Vincent mention her,” Monica said.

  “Well, she’s about to inherit something.” I jotted down the information. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to us abo
ut?”

  “Do you know the name of an attorney? And maybe a financial advisor?”

  “I don’t know of an attorney, but I can give you the business card of a financial advisor who’s highly recommended by other people I know.” I pulled out the business card of the financial planner Mac and Mike used. I’d given the information to someone I knew from a previous case who’d hit the lotto. The last time I’d spoken to him, he’d seemed to be happy with the help he’d received. I’ve kept a couple of the cards on me since then.

  She took the card and stared at it. “I can’t believe he’s gone, and I didn’t get a chance to get to know him as my father.”

  “But you did get the chance to know him. He cared enough for you to leave you a piece of the businesses,” I said.

  “I did get to know him. You’re right.” She smiled, and her eyes glistened. “Are you getting close to figuring out who killed him?”

  Close is relative. “Possibly. These things take time.”

  “Do you think Sylvia knew about the will?”

  I shook my head and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say. You should keep it to yourself.”

  “Maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she forced me out of Frakes.”

  “But why would she kill him, knowing you’d get so much of his estate?” Bernie asked.

  “She might not have realized what he planned to do.” She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. She’s not a nice person, and I think she had something to do with it. I guess I’m just hoping she gets what she has coming to her.”

  “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t always work out that way,” Bernie said, speaking softly

  I leaned forward. “Monica, when did you start working for Frakes Realty?”

  “Years ago. Maybe six? I left to try something else, and I got engaged. It didn’t work out the way I expected. I went back because of Vincent. I thought he’d be a good mentor. I was right.”

  “Why did you stay when Sylvia was treating you poorly?” Bernie asked.

  “Vincent asked me to. He said it would work out and I should stay and I had a good career ahead of me. He told me he’d talk to Sylvia to get her to ease up. She never did, though. When do you think you’ll find out who killed him?”