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

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  “I’m sure. I’ll see you at the station later.” I watched as she walked to her car, got in, and drove away. I didn’t see any cars start up and follow. It was dark and cold. I went inside, hoping I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life.

  I undressed and let my clothes fall to the floor. I set the alarm to go off in two hours. I pulled on an oversize T-shirt and went to bed. I started to drift off then had a sudden realization I should’ve thought of before. As far as I knew, five other people knew I had the fan mail. Bernie, Mike, and Mac made three. The fourth person, Billi Jones, was dead. The other sat in his castle of a house, strutting around with his Bluetooth jammed in his ear. Time to wake him up. I hopped out of bed.

  I paced as I called Bernie. It went to voice mail. I felt a bit of relief because I wasn’t sure how he’d react. He’d already indicated that I should get some sleep. I had an obligation to at least call since we were partners. I told him few people knew I had the mail and that one was dead and the other was missing. Unless Curtis Walker told others, and he may have, he was the logical person to talk to about it now. My heart pounded, and I rushed to get the words out. I disconnected and decided to go see Walker. I wondered if I’d made a mistake in calling Bernie. I didn’t have time for sleep, like he’d suggested. Neither did Mac.

  I pulled on the Levis and T-shirt I’d left on the floor earlier then grabbed my Glock and holster. My phone buzzed. Bernie. I stared at the display then put the phone in my pocket without answering. After thinking about it, I decided he would have surely tried to talk me out of it. I knew he cared about Mac, but she wasn’t his sister. He also wasn’t the one feeling guilty that he’d spoken harshly to her not that long ago. I needed to find her.

  I would be on the road for a while, so I decided to grab something from the fridge to eat on the way. I looked inside my nearly empty fridge and sighed. Nothing appealed to me. I preferred to grocery shop in the evenings after work when it was less busy, without entire families crowding the aisles. Next to vacuuming and cleaning toilets, grocery shopping was my least favorite thing to do. That philosophy had finally bitten me in the ass. With a rumbling stomach, I left my apartment.

  Within moments, I was rolling out of my neighborhood. The sun would be up soon, and traffic was light. I figured I could make it there in thirty or forty minutes. My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. After checking the display, I answered it.

  “Detective Valentine, this is Curtis Walker. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  I doubted that. “What can I do for you, Mr. Walker?”

  “Have you found out who killed Teena?”

  “The investigation is still ongoing.” I stopped at a red light and glanced at my gas gauge. I had less than half a tank. Not enough.

  Walker continued to talk as my mind drifted to the Pink Panther and how quiet he’d been when I used to watch the cartoons as a child. I shouldn’t have been thinking about that and forced myself to snap out of it.

  “When do you think you’ll have a suspect?” he asked sharply.

  “I don’t know. Are you at home?” The thing he seemed to care about most was his precious show and ratings. That was the reason for his interest in us finding Teena Travis’s killer.

  “I’m at home. I don’t mean to seem insensitive to Teena’s family, but I’m concerned about what her death will do to our ratings.”

  And there it was. Wow. “Mr. Walker, your ratings aren’t my concern. My concern is finding out who killed her.”

  “You don’t understand, Detective. The investors are threatening to cancel support of the show if the ratings dip. I need you—”

  “We’re still investigating. When we make an arrest, you’ll hear about it with everyone else.”

  He sighed. “You’re not much help, but I didn’t expect you to be.”

  Whatever. “That’s all I’ve got. I’ll be in touch.” I disconnected without telling him about Billi’s death. He would find out soon. I wanted to read his face when I told him.

  I pulled up to a pump at a Mobil station and went inside. I bought a large Diet Coke and an expensive container of strawberry Yoplait yogurt from the bleary-eyed male cashier. I gave him a twenty for gas. I contemplated playing the lottery, but it didn’t feel right in light of what was currently going on with my sister. My phone rang while I stood outside my car, spooning yogurt into my mouth as the tank was filling. Bernie again. I wavered on whether or not to answer. I tossed the spoon I’d grabbed from the store in the garbage along with the empty yogurt container. Bernie was my partner and friend. I needed him to help me through this. Mac’s life, and mine, might depend on it. I answered the phone as the numbers on the pump rolled by.

  Bernie sounded out of breath. “Syd, are you on the road?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That’s what I thought. Come get me. I’ll be waiting outside my condo.” He disconnected.

  Well, that settles that. At least he didn’t argue with me.

  We arrived at Walker’s house forty minutes later. He ushered us into his living room, and we sat down. He was wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, which was soaked. His legs were pale and hairless, and a white towel was draped over his narrow shoulders.

  “Detective Valentine, I just spoke to you, and you had nothing of significance to tell me. Why are you here?” He gulped Dasani bottled water and wiped his mouth with the towel edge.

  “Billi’s dead.” I studied him as I got my notebook out and cleared my throat.

  He flicked a glance at Bernie. “That’s unfortunate.” Walker removed the towel and scrubbed his face.

  So, he either didn’t care, or he already knew. “Where were you last night between ten and midnight?” I wrote down how he was reacting.

  He shrugged. “I was here, working. Alone.” He bent his head and ruffled the towel through his hair.

  Bernie was writing. He looked up. “When was the last time you saw or spoke to Billi?”

  “I haven’t seen her in several days. I spoke to her yesterday about the DVDs you requested.”

  I scanned his apartment. Except for two thick binders sitting on the round glass coffee table with a wagon wheel embedded inside of it, everything appeared as it had when we’d been there previously. “Did she have any conflicts with her coworkers?”

  He frowned. “Not that I know of.”

  That was interesting. I mentally shook my head. I didn’t recall ever seeing this man show emotion about anything except his precious Mega Star. “Who, besides you and Billi, knew we had the fan mail?”

  “My investors knew. You already have their contact information.”

  I had a thought. “Did Mr. Lane, your security guard for Mega Star, know?”

  “There would be no reason for him to know. If he knew, I didn’t tell him.”

  I was done questioning him. We needed to get to Billi’s house to look around. The wheels were turning, and I had an idea I wanted to explore further.

  Chapter Twelve

  I dropped Bernie off at his condo to get his car then I went through a McDonald’s drive-thru. I got a fruit and maple oatmeal breakfast for myself before going home to eat, shower, and change. I arrived at the station an hour later and reviewed Billi Jones’s personal effects that had been logged into evidence. Her car keys were with her impounded car.

  I jumped up and looked over the cubicle. “Bernie, we’ve got to go to Billi’s house. There were no keys, other than Teena’s, found in Billi’s purse, car, or on her body. That tells me the person who killed her took the key to her apartment. The person might’ve been looking for something. Let’s go!”

  We arrived at Billi’s apartment complex thirty minutes later. We went to the leasing office, notified them of her death, and requested entry into her first-floor apartment. We stepped through the door, which opened into her living room. The apartment smelled of strawberries. The room was orderly with no clutter, almost as if it were a staged home. The furniture was in soft peach- and cream-toned fabrics. Thick throw rugs in
the same tones covered the hardwood floor. The room felt peaceful, light, and airy. I could see myself lying on one of the cozy rugs to take a nap. I rubbed my burning eyes. The sun coming through her vertical blinds made the glass and chrome coffee table and end tables sparkle. I usually closed my blinds in the evening. She may have left when it was still daylight. She never made it home to close them.

  I walked into her kitchen. A bowl and spoon sat in the sink. The white Formica counters were clean. Bernie looked in the living room closet, and I headed down the hall after turning on the light. I checked the bathroom and hall closet before continuing down the hall. Something in the corner at the end of the hall caught my eye. As I got closer I saw it was a pink running shoe. I turned around and hurried toward the living room, my heart racing.

  “Bernie!” I pulled out my Glock, my hands shaking. “Bernie, come here!” I rushed back down the hall and stopped at the bathroom.

  Bernie ran after me. “What is it?”

  “Mac’s shoe.” I pointed to it.

  I eyed the closed door at the end of the hall. We crept toward it. I slid across the wall until I was near the doorknob. Bernie was on the other side of the door. My gaze met his. He nodded, and I turned the doorknob. Locked. I shook my head. I took a couple of steps away from the door and kicked it in. Wood splintered, and I gave it another kick to finish the job. The door burst open. I crouched with my Glock aimed in front of me as I scanned the room. Bernie looked in the closet and under the bed. A door was closed, and I assumed it must lead to the master bathroom.

  “Bernie,” I whispered. I jerked my head toward the door.

  He silently stepped across the room and stood outside the door. I opened it.

  “Mac!” I slid my pistol in its holster and rushed to Mac. She didn’t respond. She was lying in the tub on my bedroom comforter. “Mac!”

  I shook her. She was pale, and her lips were dry and cracked. She smelled of urine and vomit. Vomit had stained her red T-shirt and pink sweatpants. Green twine bound her wrists and feet. A length of twine was also attached from the base and pipes of the toilet to her feet. She wouldn’t have been able to reach the door. The toilet seat was askew, as if it had been kicked. Maybe Mac had tried to get loose. Without shoes, kicking a toilet would’ve been painful. The tub, floor, and toilet base had dried vomit on them.

  Her eyes fluttered open. Her usually beautiful green eyes were dull and sunken, with a gray tinge underneath. “Syd?” Her eyes closed.

  I held onto her. “I’m here. I’ve got you, Mac.” I smoothed her tangled hair. “I’ve got you.” I removed my knife from my belt and attacked the twine, making slow progress.

  Bernie came into the bathroom, holding a larger knife. “I got this from the kitchen. Let me get in there.” I moved aside, and he sawed the twine attached to the toilet and cut her loose from it. He cut the twine from her wrists and feet next. She had abrasions on her skin.

  Together, we pulled Mac out of the tub and laid her on the tile floor. We left the comforter in the tub undisturbed. If her abductor had transported Mac in the trunk of his or her vehicle, fibers may have clung to the comforter. Retrieving strands of hair and other forensic evidence was also a possibility.

  “Do you want to call an ambulance or take her to the hospital ourselves?” Bernie asked.

  “No.” Mac shook her head slowly and barely opened her eyes. “You take me, Syd.” Then she closed her eyes again, and her head lolled to the side.

  I watched her shallow breathing. “There you have it. I’ll call Mike on the way to San Sansolita Memorial.”

  We arrived at the hospital in less than thirty minutes because we’d flown down the 10 with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Mac was immediately admitted. The doctor told us she was dehydrated and had suffered a concussion, but she expected Mac to make a full recovery. I didn’t understand how she could be dehydrated when she had access to water from the bathtub faucet. Maybe she’d become too weak or disoriented to get to it.

  Bernie and I sat in her room and watched her sleep. I’d scooted my chair up to the bed and held her hand. An IV had been inserted into Mac’s arm to help rehydrate her. She had bruising on her wrists and ankles, and a laceration and bump on her head. She’d been groggy since we’d found her. She had a little more color to her skin.

  Bernie was able to take a minimal statement from her. From what she said, she didn’t know who took her and never saw a face. She remembered being in the bathroom at my apartment with the door closed. She’d knocked over her purse, bent to pick it up, and heard a noise in my bedroom. She thought I’d come home and went to talk to me. She saw a man in there with his back to her and screamed. She stumbled and hit her head near the door as she tried to get away. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the bathtub at Billi’s. She had no idea how long she’d been there.

  “Bernie, whoever took her was probably going to Billi’s anyway,” I said. “They might’ve killed Billi for information.”

  “And that information had to do with the fan mail or whatever else they thought was in the boxes.” Bernie scratched his chin. “The only thing is they didn’t get all of it. I still have mine.”

  “Right. Maybe Billi told someone I had it, but her killer must’ve already had my address.” I studied him. “I wonder if they have yours.”

  “Khrystal and I have an alarm system, and I told her to keep it on.”

  “One more thing. Whoever killed Billi already had her apartment key by the time they got to my place.” I shook my head and watched Mac breathe. She seemed to be resting peacefully. “Mac was in the wrong place. Again.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Syd.” Bernie said.

  Mike rushed into the room. He was flushed and sweating. “MacKenzie!” He hurried to her bed and hugged her while she slept. Tears streamed down his face. “Oh, my God!” He smoothed Mac’s hair.

  I got up. “Take my chair.” I left the room, and Bernie followed.

  “I’m going to go to the cafeteria for coffee. You want anything?” Bernie asked.

  “Hot tea with sugar. Thanks.” I leaned against the wall and waited for Mike to come out. He’d want to know where we found her and what had happened. I paced outside the door and called my parents. It was easier to call with good news.

  A nurse went in, and Mike came out. “They’re checking her blood pressure and stuff. The nurse said she’s doing okay, but they want to keep her.” He shoved his hands through his hair and sighed. “Tell me what happened to my wife.” His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat.

  “Do you want to go to the waiting area or cafeteria?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” He breathed heavily. “I’m not leaving MacKenzie!”

  “Calm down.” My gaze shifted to the nurse writing on the clipboard in Mac’s room.

  Mike pointed his finger at me. “Don’t tell me to calm down!” He whispered but spoke harshly. “What happened?”

  I sighed then slid down the wall and crouched. It was as if the strength and bones had left my legs. “Mac was in the wrong place.”

  He towered over me. “I knew it!” He jabbed a finger at me. “This is because of your job.”

  I felt at a disadvantage. With all of the energy I could manage, I stood and faced him. “We found her in the apartment of last night’s murder victim.”

  “She’s been in an apartment with the dead body you went to investigate last night? How did you miss seeing Mac there, Sydney?”

  I told him my theory about Billi’s key not being listed in the inventory and what I thought had happened.

  He nodded as I spoke. “Has she said anything? Did she wake up?”

  “She said my name and doesn’t remember much. When Bernie and I were talking about calling an ambulance, she said she wanted me to bring her here. That was it.”

  He let out a long breath and shuddered. “We were supposed to go to Disneyland. Josh is with my parents. I told him his mom had to work again today. I could see the worry in his
eyes. He wanted to cry, but he was trying to be a big boy.”

  The nurse left the room, and Mike hurried in. He held Mac’s hand to his face and sat by her side. I walked in and stood next to the bed as he studied her face, probably hoping she’d open her eyes.

  He looked up at me. “I’m not going anywhere. Just find the scum who did this.”

  Bernie was standing by the door with our beverages.

  I leaned close to Mac’s ear. “Mac, I’m leaving for now.” I squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to find out who did this to you.” I headed for the door then turned. “Mike, if you need anything, let me know.”

  He looked up at me, blinking tears from his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  I joined Bernie in the hall and took the tea he handed me. My phone buzzed, and I answered. Brad asked if I wanted to get breakfast at IHOP. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything substantial, and I recalled Bernie and Theresa’s words to me about taking care of myself. I agreed to meet Brad there, but I intended to make it quick. I had crimes to solve.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I rolled into the IHOP parking lot and slid into the space next to Brad’s truck. I was relieved that Mac was getting care and that Mike was with her, but all I wanted now were double-blueberry pancakes. I should’ve asked Brad to order for me to save time. I got out of the car and hurried inside. A hostess greeted me and eyed the pistol on my hip. Brad waved from across the room. He sat in a booth, which was what I preferred. Tables in the middle of the room seemed too open. Booths were cozier.

  “I see my friend over there.” I pointed. “I’ll seat myself. Have a good day.” I smiled when I walked past. As I approached the table, a waitress arrived and placed a plate of double-blueberry pancakes across the table from Brad. He’d ordered scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon for himself. He had a glass of orange juice. A glass of milk and ice water awaited me. Awesome.