Celeste sat petting a black-and-white Pekinese dog with a pink ribbon in its hair. With each stroke, diamond rings glittered on four of her fingers, and a diamond-and-ruby tennis bracelet dangled from her tawny wrist. “Drink up, Detective; you’ll die of dehydration in this heat. I had the devil of a time trying to convince a young couple from Washington that this is unusually hot weather for us. I thought Ed, the poor husband, might collapse from heatstroke.”
Riggs sipped her ice water, enjoying the tart lemon aftertaste, and wished she could stay and relax for a while. Dread for the upcoming autopsy simmered beneath the surface. Performing an autopsy on someone she’d come to know in film and television was almost like slicing into a family member. Shifting from the macabre thought, she asked, “You showed houses today in this heat?”
“Oh, I never take a day off. Not really.”
“Did you find a house for your clients?”
Celeste drained a martini glass with a graceful twist of her hand. “Made an offer an hour ago on a lovely little Tudor on the east side.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. But I don’t like to count my chickens. It’s never a close until it’s closed.” She sighed heavily. “Still … we had good numbers this week, so I was ready to celebrate, at least until I heard about poor Niki.”
The judge returned and stood at his wife’s shoulder. “Detective Panetta came by earlier with a warrant to search Niki’s property and told us the terrible news. It’s tragic. We’re heartbroken.”
“Then you knew her well?”
“We had all become quite good friends.” Celeste poured another martini from a metal tumbler. “I’d offer you a cosmo, Detective, but of course you’re on duty.”
“Thanks anyway.” Riggs handed the iPad to the judge. “This is a warrant for dental and medical records.”
Celeste shuddered. “To think you’re talking about our dear Niki.” Tears gathered, spilling over. She reached for her red linen napkin, dabbing at her eyes, black mascara running. “I’m sorry. This is just overwhelming. Niki murdered and buried … only to be eaten by a bear.”
She’d obviously been hitting the juice, Riggs thought.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Riggs noticed for the first time an ashen tinge under her tan. She really was in shock.
The judge patted his wife’s arm. “We were close friends of hers,” he explained. “Her property, Casa Blanca, is just up the road, and when she was in town, we often dined together, either here or at her place.”
Celeste leaned back in her chair. “I sold Niki her house five years ago. She bought the property hoping to get away from the prying eyes of Hollywood. She loved the ranch. She loved the privacy.”
“So, no big parties at her home?” Riggs asked. “Celebrities over for the weekend?”
“She was not into the whole party scene. The most important thing in the world to her was her craft. Maximizing her acting ability. She hired acting coaches to stay at the ranch for a week at a time. Very studious. Not many people knew that about her.”
“Any recent acting coaches staying with her?”
“No. Well, I’m not sure. I was in Hawaii for a week and very busy when I got back.”
“Does she have family or friends who visit her?”
“She has a son who visits from time to time. Mark is a stockbroker in New York. I passed along his information to Detective Panetta.”
“I assumed you knew her, but didn’t realize you two were such close friends. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You know everyone in town.”
“Yes. I do know a lot of people. It’s my business. But Niki was different. We really hit it off. We played tennis on the court behind her house twice a week. She often came over and lounged with me by the pool. She was a hoot. Always sharing some scandalous story she’d heard or seen while on set somewhere.” As if remembering those poolside chats, Celeste peered over the top of her martini with unseeing eyes. “You notice she managed to stay away from scandals. A very private person. Not many people knew she lived here. She was reclusive. Hardly left the ranch. When she did go into town, she usually had her bodyguard with her. With the surveillance at the house and her bodyguard, I don’t see how anyone could have murdered her.”
“Was she in conflict with anyone recently?”
She blinked suddenly; her gaze intensified, and Riggs thought she saw fear. “No. Unless … there’s a great deal of competition to get the big movie roles. Sometimes the fur flies, if you know what I mean.”
“So you think it’s possible a competing actress could be capable of eliminating the competition?”
Celeste shrugged. “We are talking about millions and millions of dollars, after all.”
Riggs nodded. She found that theory a little difficult to believe, but people had been killed for much less. “Yes, we can certainly keep that in mind. Anything else?”
“Not that I recall.” Celeste pursed her lips and looked away.
Riggs noted the evasiveness, the lack of eye contact, and wondered why. She pressed for more. “So, that’s it, then? Nothing else comes to mind?”
“No,” Celeste said swiftly. “I’m just trying to consider all the possibilities.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“A week ago when I got back from Hawaii. She came over for a swim. We talked about going back to Eden Retreat for a spa day and shopping at Assez Boutique in Ashland.” She twisted the stem of her martini glass between French-manicured fingers. “What a tragedy. I will miss her terribly. As will her fans.”
“Did she appear nervous about anything lately?”
Celeste shook her head. “No. Everything seemed fine. She was looking forward to going to New York to film her next movie. She had plans to spend time with her son there.”
“She was on good terms with her son?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
“When was the last time you heard from her?”
She frowned. “She tried to contact me four days ago while I was having lunch with a client. I always turn off my phone at mealtimes. I think it’s so rude that people talk on the phone right in front of you as if you’re not there.” She turned to the judge. “Don’t you think so, darling?”
The judge nodded, his expression one of long-suffering. As if Celeste might frequently drink to excess. Perhaps his wife could be something of a prima donna.
She continued. “Anyway, my phone was off for about an hour. She left three messages asking me to call her right away.” She shook her head sadly. “I wish she’d said what was so urgent, but by the time I called her back, there was no answer. I tried again that evening. A couple of days later I went over to her house, and Annie said they had just reported her missing. I’ve been worried sick ever since.”
Riggs pressed. “Are you sure you don’t have any idea why she called? She left no message at all?”
“No. Since Detective Panetta broke the news a few hours ago, I’ve been racking my brain, but I just don’t know. I keep having this wave of regret. It splashes over me, leaving me chilled to the bone.” She shuddered, spilling her martini; a bright-red stain seeped into the white linen tablecloth. “It’s so disturbing. I feel like I failed her. Maybe, just maybe, I could have saved her if I’d only answered the phone.”
With a pat on his wife’s shoulder, the judge tried to comfort her. “Don’t work yourself up, Celeste. You’ll only make yourself sick. It’s bad enough that Niki was murdered. You are certainly not responsible.”
In answer, she polished off the rest of her martini.
The judge signed the warrant and handed it back to Riggs. “We hope you find Niki’s murderer. Celeste and I will do whatever we can to help.”
Riggs collected her iPad. “I just came from the initial briefing. Detectives canvassed the campground and the few businesses in the Applegate. So far we have nothing, but I’ll keep you informed.”
The judge nodded. “This comes at such a difficult time
. Here I’m running for office, and now the media will descend on this town like locusts. Everything all of us do will be under a microscope. I’m not looking forward to that. Frankly, I find no joy in my bid for office now. Her death is a real blow.”
Celeste rose to walk Riggs to the door and suddenly winced, rubbing her neck.
Riggs asked, “You okay?”
“Yes. Just a pinched nerve, I think. It’s kept me from playing tennis this week, unfortunately. Well, anyway …” The Pekinese jumped down and trotted to the house, disappearing through a dog door. “I offered to help Niki’s son coordinate the funeral. He’s not handling it well. He refuses to accept it.”
Riggs dug a business card out of her back pocket and handed it to her. “If you think of anything at all that might help the investigation, please call me. Sometimes it’s the smallest details that solve a case.”
Celeste collected the card, tears welling once again. “If I’d only answered my phone when Niki called.”
“You couldn’t know,” Riggs reassured her. She walked away, the heat of the night heavy and miserable.
CHAPTER
6
FLOODLIGHTS ILLUMINATED THE perimeter of the brick driveway, momentarily blinding Riggs. She slowed past two white vans and five cruisers. Panetta’s department-issued Ford Taurus sat behind the vans. Near the front steps, blocking the turnaround, sat a dark-blue Mercedes, probably belonging to the vic.
Casa Blanca Ranch spread across sixty-seven acres, with horse pastures, stables, guesthouse, pool, and tennis courts—all the amenities of the rich and famous. A wide-sweeping porch graced the two-story country estate. Every window was aglow, casting pale-yellow shadows into the night as detectives searched the most intimate places of Niki’s home.
The famous recluse had moved to this quiet town in the Rogue Valley to lead a very private life. Now, every dark secret would be exposed to the eyes of strangers. Her privacy, probably every famous person’s most prized possession, now onstage, spotlights glaring into every crack and crevice.
A police officer stood at the front door, watching Riggs park her car. As she approached the steps, he greeted her. “Good evening, Detective Riggs.”
“Hey, Gunter. How’s it going?” She waited while he logged her in. Gunter was in his midtwenties, first year on the job.
“Not a lot of progress in there, from what I hear. Detective Panetta is in the study. Just make a right down the hall and through the kitchen. Fancy place. There’s even a home theater that seats twelve people! Must be nice.”
A light breeze smelling of damp earth stirred the night air.
Riggs glanced up at the house. “Yes, except it didn’t end well.”
She climbed the porch steps and paused on the veranda, taking note of the white wicker furniture and an impressive display of colorful flowers in hanging pots. No Hollywood glitz here. She imagined Niki sitting on the patio in the morning with a cup of tea, relaxed, away from prying eyes. What a shame. Now the beautiful actress lay in a body bag, her life over without warning.
At the door, she slipped a pair of paper booties over her shoes and stepped inside.
The dark, cherry-stained hardwood floor glistened under a glowing chandelier showcasing a sweeping staircase. Across the room, a row of glass doors led to what she presumed was the back porch. A uniformed officer stood guard. She waved and proceeded down the hall.
“I don’t care! Just bag it!” Panetta stormed from another part of the house.
Riggs followed his irate voice through an enormous kitchen with a stone fireplace, where a huge Great Dane was resting in the doorway. The dog hardly lifted his horselike head as she stepped over his legs, the brown eyes disinterested, as if somehow a dark depression had settled into his soul. Poor guy would never see his owner again. Maybe he knew.
She moved down a curving hall and passed two disgruntled uniformed officers carrying brown paper bags wrapped in plastic. She nodded as they passed. Eventually she found a book-lined study. Here the air smelled richly of firewood. No gas fireplace for Niki. Stacks of wood and kindling sat on the grand hearth. She’d had no need of a fire the past few months, but the books had picked up the smoky scent from previous winters.
The room had an open-beamed ceiling, a red leather sectional, a flat-screen television on the opposite wall, and several tables stacked with reading materials. The two-story walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. A tech guy hunched over a computer desk in the corner, loading a laptop into a box.
“Hey, Panetta. Anything new?” she asked, pretty sure of his response.
His dark frown said it all. “Blackwell’s hell on wheels. The DA is breathing down his neck on this one. So far, the mayor, the chief, and the governor have put their two cents in, so Blackwell was forced to welcome in the FBI. He’s briefing them now. Which is smart anyway. We’ll have access to so much more with their help.” He cursed under his breath. “After two hours of combing through everything here, we’ve found nothing of overt usefulness.”
The tech guy hurried away down the hall with the computer, as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
“I’ve never seen you so intense.” She studied his scowling face. “You’re stressed about your divorce. When’s it final?”
“Yesterday.” He rubbed tired eyes. “Twenty-seven years of marriage … gone.”
Riggs tried to encourage him. “You did everything you could to save it. After your wife went through two rounds of failed addiction recovery, you retired earlier than you wanted to and moved here so Ellen could be with her family. I don’t know anything else you could have done. She has a disease, and there’s nothing you can do about that.” This high-profile case would put all of them under a lot of stress. He needed to stay focused. “It will get better in time. For now, just try to put your mind on your work so you’re not dwelling on your divorce.”
He sighed. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s just that … not to sound arrogant, but I’ve always achieved whatever I put my mind to. But I can’t beat this, no matter how hard I try. For the first time in my life, I feel like a failure. I can hardly say the word out loud. It doesn’t sit well.”
“You can’t win against your wife’s addiction. That’s something she has to face on her own.”
“Yeah. But I feel responsible, because I was gone so often on missions. She was lonely, always afraid I would come back in a body bag. Between the military and my service with the Bureau … let’s just say I wasn’t home much. She practically raised our son on her own. In the end, she attempted suicide.” He shuddered at the memory. “That’s when we moved here, to be near her family. I was so sure we could fix it, but now that I look back, I think my marriage was the one thing in my life that I didn’t give a hundred and ten percent. My most intimate mission, failed.”
Those brown eyes, which reflected the wars he’d battled, focused on her, and for a moment she glimpsed the hard edge of a warrior’s heart, his steel determination, and realized just how far he had fallen from his own personal grace. He was no longer an admired and envied member of the elite Delta Force or the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. Now he was a mere detective in a small town, recently suspended from active duty and with a wife who’d left him for a drunk. She could see it on his face. Shame cast its humiliating shadow over his impeccable accomplishments.
Riggs would not stand for it. “You did what you were put on this earth to do, Panetta. You served in two of the most respected military units in the world. Few people are cut out for that kind of life. And instead of retiring, you were in a position to move up the chain to a top political post, and you know it. But you’ve chosen to support your family. Granted, a little too late, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. There are lots of wives who cope with men in action and don’t turn to alcohol. She knew who she was marrying when she married you. You both just misjudged her strength. Like I said, it will get better. Just give it time.”
He half smiled, his dark-brown eyes crinkling at the corners,
his voice calm and controlled. “I bet you mothered your older brothers too.”
She nodded, relaxing a little. “You might say I was the peace-keeper. Someone had to be.”
“That fits.” He cocked his head to the side, thinking. “What about your mother?”
“She died of cancer when I was eight.” The thought never failed to tighten her throat, faded grief skimming just under the surface. “Dad did his best; he was a cop too, you know, but working two jobs, he wasn’t around much.”
“Sounds like cancer runs in the family?”
“Yeah.” She glanced down at the tattoo on the inside of her wrist, inexplicably reassured at the sight of the cross and rosary beads. Not that her family had attended church much when she was growing up, except maybe on holidays. She had distinct memories of her mother praying for her father, and the Bible tucked into her mother’s nightstand. A Bible she still held dear and kept in her own nightstand drawer. It wasn’t much of a legacy, but she felt it was an important one.
A strident voice raised in anger carried down the hall.
“That’s the vic’s son.” Panetta grimaced as if in pain. “He showed up an hour ago. He jumped on a plane from New York as soon as he heard his mother was officially missing late last night. He’s decided to challenge my search warrant, because he doesn’t believe his mother is dead. In denial or something. He’s somewhere in the house ‘making a few calls.’ Probably to an attorney. I’m having one of the patrol officers escort him to the morgue for viewing. I advised him against it since the housekeeper already ID’d her, but he’s insisting.”
“I guess you can’t blame him. Once the guy sees his mom, he’ll probably calm down and let us do our job.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Did you get a chance to question the housekeeper again?”
“Yeah. Pretty much the same info from the missing persons report.”
“What about the bodyguard?”
“He was helping the horse trainer with a couple of the horses that afternoon.” He sighed, working his shoulders in a rotation, as if alleviating the stress in his muscles. “One thing I know, this is not the murder scene. We’ve reviewed the video cameras from the front and back entrances, and no one came in or out before or after we saw Niki get into her car and drive away at one forty-eight on Monday afternoon, except the housekeeper. When the vic left the house on the video, she was wearing the same clothes we found her buried in.”
A Desperate Place Page 5
