“I’ll see you when you get here. Bye.” She disconnected. I thought she was going to rush to freshen up her makeup to make it look as if she hadn’t been crying.
Chapter Seven
When I pulled into Mac’s driveway, the porch light came on. She held the door open before I climbed out of my car. As I trudged toward her, I felt the weight of the day on my shoulders.
“Syd, you look awful.” She stepped aside and inspected me, shaking her head, as I entered the house. She stared at my lip. “What happened this time?”
The swelling had gone down, but there was still slight bruising. “Theresa and I were sparring, and she hit me when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep.” She was frowning.
“That wasn’t very nice. Is that what Mega Star does to people? They lose all sense of tactfulness and kindness?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I speak the truth. You look horrible. When is the last time you slept well?” Mac’s skin glowed, and her shoulder-length blond curls appeared bouncy. She wore pink velour warm-up pants with a red T-shirt.
I pouted the way she did when she wasn’t getting her way. “Spewing your meanness twice doesn’t make it any less hurtful.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Sit down, Syd.” She plopped onto the loveseat, patted the cushion next to her, then engaged the recliner. “Take a load off. You need it.”
I rolled my eyes. They had cozy furniture, and I felt that I might doze off quickly if I sat. Still, I joined her and popped the footrest of the recliner up. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about. Let it roll.” I yawned. “How long is the show?”
“An hour. I’ll breeze through the commercials.” She peered at me. “How are things with Brad? Is he keeping you up late?” She giggled.
I wanted to glare at her, but that would require too much energy. I still had fan mail to read to see if there might be a threat somewhere in them. It was unlikely, but it might be that easy. “Do you have anything with caffeine in it?”
“Diet Coke?” She brought her footrest down and hopped up. “I’ll get you a glass.”
Mega Star started out with Teena shaking her head and sighing as a skinny Goth female contestant bellowed out an ear-piercing rendition of Whitney Houston’s version of “I Will Always Love You.” I couldn’t get past someone dressed that way singing that song.
Mac was smiling as she handed me the soda. She returned to her seat.
“Isn’t that awful?” I asked. “I can sing better than that! Why are you smiling?”
She pointed to the flat-screen television mounted on the wall and kept grinning. “Just keep watching.”
The contestant continued to sing. The high notes weren’t her friends. The camera panned to a scowling Teena. She pressed a big red button in front of her. The singing stopped. Well, that wasn’t accurate. The singing continued, but the contestant’s microphone was off. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed for her or thankful that Teena had stopped the noise the Goth girl seemed to think was singing.
“Wow. That’s cold.” I sipped my drink.
Mac leaned forward, still smiling. “Oh, that’s nothing.” She flicked a hand at the screen.
Her husband Mike strolled into the room. “Does that screeching I heard in here mean you’re watching Mega Star?” He smiled at me. “Hi, Syd.”
“Hi, Mike. We’re watching what appears to be Mac’s favorite show.” I pointed to my sister. “She’s practically drooling over there.”
Mike smiled. “Yes, she likes it.” He sat on the sofa and leaned toward the TV to look at Teena. “It’s too bad she died.” He rubbed his hands together.
I couldn’t believe it. “You’re enjoying watching others have their dreams crushed.”
Mac paused the recording. “Did you like the song you just heard?”
I crunched on an ice cube. “Nope. I can’t say that I did.”
Mac glanced at the television. “Would you agree that a career in music would be unsuccessful for her?”
“I’m no expert, but I agree that her chances are slim to none.”
“Then why is it a bad thing to let her know that she sucks?” Mac asked. “She needs to move on and find something she’s good at. Singing isn’t one of them.”
“But the way that it’s done is cruel.” I turned toward her. “You people are getting off on other peoples’ failed dreams. It’s not right.” I eyed both of them, trying to make them feel guilty for enjoying the show. It didn’t work.
Mac grinned. “That’s the part we like.”
“Syd, these people know what happens on this show,” Mike said. “It’s not a surprise.”
I sat back and faced the television. “I guess.” The caffeine had kicked in.
Mac pressed play. The judges talked among themselves while the same contestant continued to sing. The camera showed the contestant, scanned the audience reactions, then focused on the judges. We couldn’t hear what the judges were saying. Teena flipped her auburn waves over her shoulder and faced the camera, a gleam in her eyes. She pulled her mike toward her.
“Stop singing!” she yelled.
The contestant’s eyes widened, and tears began to pool, but she stopped singing.
Teena scowled. “What’s your name?”
“Brandy,” she whispered.
“Brandy, that was horrible. Your pitch was all over the place.”
“My parents told—”
Teena held up her hand, palm toward Brandy. “Listen, I don’t care what your parents told you. You suck.”
I stared at the television in disbelief. Everyone had told me Teena was brutal, but I didn’t expect this. “Wow.”
“See?” Mac said. “Told you.” She was leaning forward and grinning.
“The words are bad enough, but it seems like Teena was enjoying it.”
“We’re all enjoying it.” Mac glanced at me. “Well, maybe not you, but Mike and I, plus millions of other American viewers are enjoying it.”
“Syd, are you on this case?” Mike asked.
“I am, and I’m seeing why someone might want to kill her.”
“Really?” Mac asked. “She’s just telling them the truth. They need to hear it.”
“Maybe so, but they don’t need to hear it on national television and in the manner it’s being delivered.” I held up a hand. “Yes, I know it’s a TV show, and it’s not completely real. Still, it’s brutal. Some of these contestants can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen years old.”
“Syd, they signed up for it so they have to hear it any way it’s delivered.” Mac scowled. “They signed up.”
“You’re right.” I set the footrest of the recliner down and stood. “I’ve got work to do. Thanks for letting me watch with you.” I headed for the door.
Mac and Mike jumped up and followed me.
“Are you close to making an arrest yet?” Mike asked.
“Not yet, but judging from what I’ve just seen, the list of suspects could be long. Really long.” I opened the door. “That’s why I need to get started on reading the fan mail that may turn out to be hate mail.”
Mike’s eyes widened. “It could be a contestant or even a judge.”
Mac nodded. “Kris is the only other full-time judge right now. She seems so sweet, though.”
“What do you mean she’s the only full-time judge right now? Was there another judge at some point?”
Mac nodded. “There have been several judges over the years. They don’t last.”
“That’s something I haven’t heard. Who else was a judge?” I was frowning.
“People we’ve never heard of.” Mike shrugged.
“They were introduced as singer-songwriters.” Mac pulled her hair away from her face, stretching her curls. When she released her hair, the curls sprang back into place. “I don’t remember their names, and it’s been several years since they were on the show.”
Mike narrowed his eyes. “I think you should look at
Jen Conrad. There was some bitterness there, according to the entertainment shows.”
Mac frowned. “She might’ve been bitter, but that doesn’t mean she’d kill Teena. She was usually positive with the contestants. She seems like a really nice and sweet person.”
“Sweet people kill too. I’m sure you remember the case I had where the mousy housewife killed several people.” I stepped outside. “Thanks for the Coke.”
We said our goodbyes, and I was on my way with a better idea of why someone might not be happy with Teena.
Chapter Eight
When I arrived home, I brought in the boxes of fan mail from my car and set them on the floor next to the sofa. I laid my pistol on the nightstand, took a long shower, and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. I went into the kitchen to make a grilled cheese sandwich and small garden salad before getting comfortable in my La-Z-Boy to read Teena’s fan mail.
The doorbell chimed. I groaned and hesitated before shuffling toward the door in my bunny slippers. I hoped it wasn’t Brad. I’d already told him I couldn’t see him tonight. I had to get through some of the mail in case I found a lead in there somewhere. As the case stood now, we had nothing to go on besides Jen leaving town the day Teena’s body had been found. George seemed shifty, and we had some work to do there.
I looked through the peephole. Mac was staring at the door. She stepped forward and banged on it.
“Who is it?” Suddenly in a playful mood, I held back a chuckle.
“Sydney, it’s me.”
“Who’s me?”
“If you don’t let me in, I’m leaving and taking the pizza with me!”
I unlocked the door and opened it with a smile on my face. “Did you say pizza?”
“Yeah, I figured that would help.” She pushed the door open and came in. “It’s vegetarian.” She looked around with a hand on her hip. “Where do you want me to put it?” She looked at my feet, grinning. “And what’s with the Thumper slippers?”
“Very funny.” I gazed at her pink Nike sneakers, matching hoodie, and the velour warm-up pants and red T-shirt she’d been wearing at her house. “Don’t knock bunny slippers until you’ve tried them. I just bought them. They’re comfortable.” I closed and locked the door before heading to the kitchen. “It’s not that I’m not appreciative, but why are you here with pizza?” My guess was she was using the pizza as bribery because she wanted to read Teena’s mail. I knew my sister. I removed plates from the cabinet and handed her one.
“I thought you might need my assistance.” She studied me before dropping a slice on her plate. “I know the show, and I might be able to spot something you can’t.”
I reached into the box and pulled out a slice. A string of cheese ran from my slice to the pizza left in the box, like a zip line. I pinched it and piled the cheese on top of the slice, then took a bite that included gooey cheese, black olives, tomato slices, and green peppers. That hit the spot. “Okay. You can help.” Consider me bribed.
Mac grinned and clapped her hands while bouncing on her toes.
I plucked a black olive from my pizza and popped it in my mouth.
I pointed to the boxes in the living room. “They’re filled with mail, and there’s more of it. We’ll get DVDs soon too.” I bit into my pizza then wiped my mouth with a napkin, patting the bruised area.
“Are you going to need help with the videos too?” She looked hopeful. “Hey, do you think Teena had a fan club?”
“You tell me. You’re the fan. Bernie told me Khrystal liked the show because of her too. I’ll let you know if we need help with the DVDs.”
“Maybe we should… I mean you should look into the fan club. Do you remember that singer that was killed by the president of one of her fan clubs?”
I nodded. “Selena. We were kids then, but I’ve heard of her. Her songs are still on the radio.”
“That’s her. It seems like she still has fans. It might be worth checking if there’s a fan club for Teena. So, about you and Brad. What’s going on? You didn’t answer me earlier.” She leaned toward me, smiling.
“Can we just focus on this?” I asked a little too sharply.
“Why don’t you ever want to talk about him?” she whined.
I glared at her. “Did you ever think that maybe it’s none of your business?”
Her face drooped. “I think he’s a nice guy, and I want to see you happy. That’s all, Syd.”
“I just want to get through these letters and move on with the case. Can we do that?”
Mac’s face turned crimson. “Fine.” She sighed. “Who are your suspects?”
“I have suspicions. Her brother’s a bit of a creep.” I dusted my hands off. “Do you want any more?”
“No, I’m done. I actually already had dinner. I want water, though.” She grabbed a glass from the cupboard. “How’s her brother a creep? What did he do?”
“He was sleazy with Theresa. One of the people we talked to said he left Teena’s dog Chico outside for two days without food or enough water. He died of heatstroke.”
“Awww. That’s so sad.” Mac’s eyes moistened, but it probably wasn’t just because of Chico. “The dog must’ve suffered.”
“I think so.” I sighed. “Let’s get to the fan mail.” We went to the living room, and I dumped the mail from the larger box on the center sofa cushion between us. “If the mail doesn’t appear suspicious, we can toss them back in the box. Leave the suspicious ones on the coffee table.”
Mac had thrown her hoodie over the back of the sofa and piled envelopes on her lap. She’d removed her shoes and had her feet tucked under her as she read a letter.
I groaned. “Teena’s personal assistant told us she didn’t have any social media accounts, but maybe I should check anyway. We have some interviews to do tomorrow, and I was hoping to get some information from this before then.” I grabbed a stack of mail. Mac was already engrossed in her reading. I didn’t think she’d heard a word I said.
The letter I’d chosen was all sweet and lovely. It was written on flowery stationery. I tossed it in the box and started on another. We continued like that for an hour and found no suspicious letters. I pulled out my cell phone and called Bernie.
“Hey, Syd. What’s up?” Little Michael wailed in the background.
“How’s the baby?”
“He’s doing great. Do you hear him? Have you been reading the letters?” he asked.
I tapped a few envelopes on my thigh. “That’s what I called about. Have you found anything that set off any red flags?”
“Nope. Not one. They all seem to love her.” Bernie was munching on something crunchy.
“Same here. Mac is here helping me. I was thinking that we should check Facebook and other social media sites,” I said.
“That’s a good idea. How did you get her to help?”
“She stopped by with pizza and offered her assistance because she had some free time.”
“Right.” He chuckled. “I bet she’s a fan being nosey.”
I glanced at Mac, who was dropping a few envelopes into the box. “I think you’re right.” I sighed. “So far, it appears that this fan mail is from those who liked her. Maybe we’ll find out more when we get the DVDs. It’s also possible that Billi didn’t give us everything.”
“Maybe. Let’s get back to it. I’m hoping to get through this box tonight. Khrystal was helping until it was time to feed Michael.”
“All right. Tell Khrystal I said hello. See you tomorrow.” We disconnected, and I turned to Mac. “Bernie hasn’t found any suspicious letters either.” I took another letter from its envelope.
“I haven’t even found any ‘maybe’ letters. What did I tell you? The show won’t be the same without Teena. I give it another season, maybe two, before it’s cancelled.”
“Did you ever hear anything about Jen wanting Teena’s job? We haven’t been able to talk to Ms. Conrad yet.”
“You know how it is, a lot of what goes on with those reality shows is p
hony. It’s just for ratings so that people will watch. It works too. Clothing designers offered Teena dresses to wear for awards shows. They didn’t do that for Jen, I’ve heard.” She pulled another letter from its envelope and began reading.
I unfolded the sheet of crisp stationery I’d retrieved from the next envelope. The paper and envelope were cream-colored and textured, like the paper used for mailing résumés. The text was written in blue ink, and the handwriting was neat with block lettering in all caps. “Whoa!”
“What?” Mac pushed envelopes aside and scooted down to the end of the sofa closer to me. “What is it?”
She leaned toward me so she could see the letter as I continued reading. “This is one.”
Mac read the letter. “Definitely. I just got a chill.” She sat back on the sofa and rubbed her arms. Then she leaned forward, reaching. “Let me see the envelope.”
I handed it to her.
“I’m going to look for more like this with the same type of writing.” She moved back to the other end of the sofa and piled more envelopes on her lap and began looking through them.
“I’m calling Bernie back.” I put it on speakerphone.
“Hi, Syd.” Paper rustled. “Did you find something?”
“Possibly. I have you on speakerphone. Mac’s checking for similar letters.” I described the paper, envelope, and handwriting. “I thought I’d call you so that you can look in your box.”
“What did the letter say?”
“It said, ‘You don’t know great singing. You will be sorry someday.’ The word ‘will’ is underlined three times. I’ll take a photo and send it to you.”
“I got another one!” Mac held up an envelope. “It’s the same type of handwriting, but the envelope is kind of an antique parchment color.”
“What does the letter say, Mac?” Bernie asked. Paper rustling noises came over the speakerphone.
“Hold on.” She pulled the letter out, unfolded it, and started reading. Her eyes grew wide. “Ah, man.”
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 46
