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

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  “Read it aloud, please,” I said.

  “Oh, right.” She cleared her throat. “It says, ‘I bet you can’t sing. Never heard you. I’ll be back. You won’t.’” She looked up. “Crazy. They drew a smiley face with evil eyebrows.”

  “Are there dates on either of the letters, or can you read the postmarks?” Bernie asked.

  I looked at my envelope. “It’s postmarked April twelfth of this year from Los Angeles. We asked Billi for the past six months. It’s possible there are other letters before this one.”

  Mac turned the envelope over. “This one was postmarked on April nineteenth. That’s a week later than the one you found.”

  “Hmm. That might be important,” Bernie said. “Send me that photo, okay?”

  “I’ll do it now. I’ll let you know if we find anything else.” My cell phone display had darkened, and I pressed the button to brighten it.

  “Hold it, Syd! I’ve got two of the parchment envelopes postmarked in March from Los Angeles. I’m opening them.” There was a pause, and we heard paper shuffling. “They’re both smiley face drawings like the one Mac described. No words.”

  “Weirdo,” Mac said. I could see the hair was standing up on her arms, though.

  “Let’s keep looking.” I disconnected, took photos with my phone, then sent them to Bernie.

  Mac and I sat in silence and read a few more letters.

  She fanned herself with an envelope that looked a lot like the other two we’d found. “Suddenly, this case has become more interesting.”

  I rubbed my stiff neck and yawned. “Another one?”

  “Yep. That makes three. The postmark is Rancho Cucamonga on May twenty-sixth. It says, ‘You’re dead to me.’”

  My cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”

  “Detective Valentine, this is Billi Jones.”

  “Hello, Ms. Jones. Do you have additional information for us?”

  “Curtis asked me to call you. He’ll have the DVDs sent to you by messenger tomorrow. He’d like your home address so that he can send them.”

  “He can send them to the station. How far back do they go?”

  “The past six months. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine to start with. Do they include auditions that didn’t air on the show?” I wanted to see the shows that were taped before the postmark dates. Perhaps there was something evident that triggered the letters.

  “Yes it does, but I have to warn you, most of it can be pretty awful.”

  “Did you include any hate mail in the boxes you gave us?”

  “Why?”

  “I was just wondering. There are quite a few letters indicating she was very well-liked. Did you give us all of Teena’s fan mail?”

  “I believe I gave you everything. Did you need anything else?”

  “Are you Curtis Walker’s personal assistant now?”

  Silence.

  “Hello? Are you there, Billi?” I glanced at Mac and shrugged.

  “I’m here,” Billi whispered.

  “Did you hear my question?”

  “The answer is no. I’m not Curtis’s personal assistant.”

  “Then why isn’t he calling me? You no longer have an employer.”

  “Curtis asked me to call. I did. I’m still getting paid, and I’m trying to hold onto my job. Any job.”

  “I see.” I wondered what she’d do to keep the job, any job.

  “No, I don’t think you do. Is there anything else, Detective? I have to go.”

  “No. Thank you. Good night, Billi.”

  She hung up without saying another word.

  “That didn’t sound like it went well,” Mac said.

  “It didn’t. She was evasive.”

  Mac tossed another envelope in the box. “She’s probably still grieving.”

  I didn’t think that was it. She’d been helpful earlier. We read for a while longer. I sifted through the envelopes on the sofa and glanced at the other box on the floor, which we hadn’t touched. There was still a bit to read, but I didn’t see any more stationery like we’d been seeing. I rubbed my eyes. “Let’s call it a night. I’m beat.”

  Mac stretched her arms above her head. “Me too.” She slipped her feet into her shoes and stood.

  My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it. Dispatch. I held up a finger to Mac, indicating to her to wait. “Valentine.” I listened. Another homicide. I jotted down the address on a scrap of paper then disconnected. I knew where I was headed because Bernie and I had been there that morning.

  Mac studied me. “Homicide?”

  I nodded. “Teena’s house.” I hurried down the hall and into the bedroom to change into a pair of Levis and grab my Glock, holster, and a jacket.

  Mac was standing by the front door. She eyed my pistol. “I can stay here for a while and keep reading.” She opened the door. “Is that okay?”

  “It’s fine with me. Thanks.” I left her there and headed to the scene.

  Chapter Nine

  When I arrived at Teena’s house, Bernie was already there, standing on the sidewalk under a streetlight in front of the house. The stars sparkled against a dark sky. The moon appeared eerie as the smoky-looking clouds seemed to drift past it. When we were kids, Mac and I called that a werewolf moon. I shivered and zipped my leather jacket, closing out some of the chill in the air. Bernie had his notebook out and was talking to a tall woman who had her back to me. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that trailed down her back. I approached, and the woman turned.

  Bernie touched her arm. “Veronica, do you remember Detective Valentine?”

  “I do. Hello, Detective.” She dabbed at her nose and swiped at tears. We knew her from another case several months ago. She was married to someone we’d interviewed in connection with a murder. Veronica Tenley had broad shoulders and a lean, muscular build. She was one of the people Billi had said was related to Teena. They were sisters.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Bernie.

  Bernie flipped a page in his notebook. “Veronica called it in.”

  “Called what in?” I studied Veronica, who looked at Bernie.

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning, Veronica?” he asked.

  She sighed. “I came to pick up some things that belonged to Teena. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

  I pulled out my notebook and started writing. “Who was here?”

  “I don’t know who she is.” She glanced at Bernie. “I didn’t stay in there long enough to get a good look. I got out of there and called 911.”

  “What time did you arrive?” I asked.

  She peeked at her watch and shrugged. “It’s been less than an hour.”

  I wrote that down and looked at my watch. It was almost eleven p.m. “Was the door locked?”

  “Just the one on the doorknob. The deadbolt wasn’t. I had a key to both, so I unlocked the door and went inside.”

  “What were you planning to take?” Bernie asked.

  “The painting and portraits of Teena and Chico.” She sniffled. “That’s all I wanted.”

  I looked around the street. A silver Honda Accord was parked across the street, two houses up. Hunh. Billi drove that type of car. Maybe she didn’t want anyone to know she was at Teena’s. Why not, and where was she now? Did she leave it because she had mechanical problems? “What did you see when you arrived?”

  “A woman was lying on the floor in the kitchen. I wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the light being on in the kitchen. I thought the police left it on or something. That was stupid of me…to check. It could’ve been a burglar. Anyway, I went in there to turn the light off and saw her. The blood. It was everywhere.” She shuddered and hugged herself.

  I studied her hands, looking for blood, cuts, or scratches. It was difficult to see in the dark. “Please hold out your hands.” I pulled out my flashlight and shined it on her hands and clothing. There was no evidence of her being in an altercation. Her nails were manicured, and none were chipped or
broken. I ran the light over her white New Balance sneakers. She lifted her shoes, showing the bottoms. There was no blood visible to the naked eye. She should’ve had visible blood on her if there was as much as she said in the house.

  “I had nothing to do with this.” She was crying. “You have to believe me.”

  “Can you excuse us?” I stepped away and signaled for Bernie to follow. “Did you talk to her inside the house?”

  “Yes, I did. I don’t think she did it.” He glanced back at Veronica, who was on her phone. “The victim is Billi. Her car is over there.” He pointed down the street.

  “Yeah, I saw it. She was stabbed?”

  He nodded. “In the abdomen. The knife is still in her. There’s one missing from the set on the counter, and the handle on the one inside Billi is covered with blood.”

  “Ah, man.” I shook my head. “I don’t know what to think or say.” I sighed. “What was she doing here?” I slid my notebook in my pocket. “It hasn’t been that long since I spoke to her.” I replayed the conversation in my mind. She’d hung up without saying goodbye and had seemed distracted or angry. Maybe she had company. And they killed her. “She asked for my address to send the DVDs. I told her to have them sent to the station.”

  “I wonder if they’re in her car and if she was here when she called you,” Bernie said.

  “She could’ve been on her way here at the time.” I shrugged. “I want to go inside.” I headed toward the door. “Veronica didn’t recognize Billi. I thought they knew each other.”

  “Billi never said that. I believe her contact with Teena’s family was on the phone. It’s hard to believe they’d never met, though.”

  “Well, if we look at it as Billi being Teena’s employee, it seems plausible,” I said.

  “My brothers have never met the Chief of Police,” Bernie said.

  We left Veronica outside in her car and pulled on our disposable gloves and shoe covers. I checked for forcible entry and found nothing. We went inside Teena’s house. The temperature was cool but not as chilly as it had been when we’d found Teena. The air was filled with the coppery scent of blood and human waste. I breathed through my mouth.

  Bernie walked across the room and glanced at the thermostat. “It’s seventy degrees in here.” The painting of Chico lay against the wall near the door. He stopped to look at it, shaking his head. The portraits leaned against the wall beside it. Except for the fingerprint powder, nothing else in the living room appeared any different than when we’d been there earlier.

  I walked to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. “Billi, what happened to you?” She lay on her back, and her eyes and mouth were open. Her hands were at her sides and appeared sticky with blood. Blood had oozed from the abdominal wound, soaking her thin yellow top and pooling on the floor around her.

  I scanned the spacious kitchen. The appliances were all stainless steel, including a double oven and a large sink that was built into the granite counter on the island. The cutlery block sitting on the counter was capable of holding twenty knives. One slot was empty. Bernie had indicated the missing knife was the one currently protruding from Billi’s abdomen. I agreed.

  “What a shame,” Bernie said. “Do you think George was around? Maybe looking for something to steal?”

  I sighed. According to Billi, he didn’t have a key and Teena had changed the locks. “I just don’t know. We planned to talk to his friend Javier tomorrow. George claimed he’d been staying with him for a couple of days.”

  “Javier will say whatever George needs him to say,” he said.

  “Maybe, but his wife might not. We’ll see.” I turned to go, heading down the hall to check out the rest of the house. Bernie went into another room. Moments later, we met in the hall and walked toward the living room.

  Dr. Lee had arrived while we were walking through the house. She was in the kitchen and waved us over. She told us Billi had died within the last couple of hours. I agreed because I’d spoken to Billi during that timeframe. I told Dr. Lee about that.

  “Any thoughts?” Bernie asked.

  “I asked for her key to the house and she gave it to me. How did she get in?” I asked.

  “She had another key, obviously,” Bernie said. “Or it wasn’t locked. There’s no way to tell if it was locked now.”

  “That’s probably true about the key.” I nodded. “She could’ve made an extra one a while ago because she’d want a backup, and she didn’t have it on her when I asked.” I sighed, shaking my head. I should’ve requested all of her keys.

  “It’s not your fault, Syd.” Bernie studied my face. “What was she doing here? Could she have been looking for the DVDs we requested?”

  “I doubt it. I was under the impression Billi had them with her or she had access to them.”

  Bernie was reading his notes. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Are we done with Veronica?” I pulled out my notebook and wrote down Billi’s estimated time of death.

  “We are. She called me when I was in one of the rooms. She wanted to know if she could go home. I told her she was free to leave, but we’ll need to talk to her soon.” We headed outside.

  We looked in Billi’s car before it was towed but didn’t find the DVDs. So, why was she calling me, asking for my address?

  “I’m going to run another background check on Billi.” I went to my car and fired up the laptop. Our department had recently begun issuing them to us. We had an internet connection to the station, which made it easier to inquire about court records, plates, serial numbers, national and state criminal justice databases, and lots of other stuff. I could’ve also used my smartphone, but I found it quicker to use the laptop. My eyes felt dry and tired. Dealing with the little smartphone screen was not going to happen. I rubbed my eyes.

  Bernie climbed into the passenger seat and leaned toward the laptop. “Well, look at that.” He pointed to the screen.

  “Yep.” Billi had filed a civil restraining order against George the year before. He’d violated it once several weeks after it had been filed. We’d only run a criminal background check on her earlier.

  “I guess we’re going to Javier’s tonight.” He got out of the car. “I’ll see you over there.” He jogged to his car.

  A satellite TV truck for channel five rolled up as we were leaving.

  We arrived at Javier’s house in half an hour. We had Hernandez, a uniformed officer, meet us there because she spoke Spanish. The house was in a run-down area, and broken-down cars on cinder blocks sat on the street in front of several homes. Javier’s was no exception. A tire swing hung from an oak tree, which was twice the height of the single-story house. The porch light was on. We parked close to the house and approached the front door, with Bernie in the lead. He banged on it for several moments. Voices echoed beyond the door.

  “Police,” Bernie said. “We need to speak to George Stone.”

  I recognized the loud voice of the woman I spoke to on the phone. She was speaking Spanish and screaming at someone. Locks disengaged, and someone peeked out through the blind slats in the front window. My hand was on my pistol. My gaze slid to Hernandez, who was about five foot six and sturdily built. She’d rested her hand on her pistol. Bernie had his badge in his hand. The door opened a crack.

  “What’s going on?” the man asked. He spoke with a Spanish accent. He had medium-length dark hair, and it was in disarray. Dark stubble covered his face.

  “Are you Javier?” Bernie asked.

  “Yes. What’s this about?” He squinted then rubbed his eyes. “My wife and I are sleeping.”

  “I’m Detective Bernard of the San Sansolita PD. Is George Stone here?”

  Javier looked behind him. The woman was speaking to him in Spanish again. We hadn’t seen her yet. She hid behind the door and off to the side. The curtains to the right of the door shifted.

  “She said that she warned him George would be trouble,” Hernandez said.

  “He’s not here now. I’m sorry.”
He pushed the door forward.

  Bernie stuck his arm out and shoved his boot in the door’s crack, stopping its motion. “When was the last time you saw George?”

  Javier opened the door wider but still hid partially behind it. He was shirtless, and his chest was hairy. Maybe he was naked, or he had the Despicable Me Minions on his boxers. He lifted a shoulder. “I saw George tonight, but he left.”

  “What time was that?”

  Javier said something in Spanish to the woman, and she responded. “We think he left about three hours ago. We were ready to go to sleep, but he wasn’t. He was bored and said he wanted to party so he left. He was noisy early this morning and woke us up to get in the house.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where he went or when he’ll be back. He doesn’t have a key. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while. He took some pills and was high.”

  The woman started up again.

  “She told him George can’t stay here anymore,” Hernandez said. “He’s bringing the police to their house, and she doesn’t like it. If George stays, she’s leaving. She said she’s going back to bed.”

  Bernie pulled out a business card. “Has he been living here?”

  Javier nodded. “Sometimes.”

  “Was he living here yesterday and the day before that?”

  “Yes. I don’t keep track of when he comes and goes. I don’t know what he does.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is he in trouble? Is this about his sister?”

  “He might be able to provide us with information.” He handed Javier the business card. “Please call me when you hear from him.”

  “I will.” Javier pushed the door forward while staring at Bernie’s foot.

  Bernie stepped back as he closed the door. We headed to our cars.

  “We’ve got nothing.” I rubbed my eyes. “It’s time to get some sleep.”

  Chapter Ten

  I arrived home in minutes. Mac’s silver Chevy Cruze was still parked near my apartment. I didn’t expect her to still be there so late. Maybe she fell asleep or her car wouldn’t start, and Mike picked her up.

  I walked in and flipped on the entry light. My eyes were bleary. The boxes of mail were gone. That was odd. Mac would’ve called if she had wanted to take them home.