Carmen was the oldest of her sisters. I knew next to nothing about Nina, only that she was the youngest and several years ago had distanced herself, at least publicly, from both Carmen and Mimi. Any news on how Carmen and Nina got on was simply nonexistent. I couldn’t find anything besides old family photos of the three girls together from much younger days. As for Carmen and Mimi, their rivalry dated back to childhood, according to Sheri. Mimi and Carmen were close in age, Nina much younger. Growing up, the two older girls had been dressed alike and comparisons were inevitably made. After their mother died and their father committed suicide, it was Carmen who kept the family together. Ultimately, as I knew, she’d played matchmaker, setting her sisters up with wealthy men. Diaz, Sheri said, was supposed to be Mimi’s beau, but when Carmen met him for the first time, she shoved her sister aside and took Diaz for herself. Something Sheri thought Mimi had never gotten over. The relationship between the sisters would have been destroyed were it not for Diaz’s money, and the fact that Carmen made certain both Mimi and Nina were well taken care of financially.
Carmen’s publicist, Penny Salvatti, was standing at the entrance to Los Caballos Grandes in front of a large ornate iron gate ensconced with images of horses. In her hand, she held a clipboard with a list of invited guests. Her eyes narrowed as I pulled forward and flashed my station ID. She peered into my red Jeep, her gaze settling on Sheri.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Childs. I’m afraid it’s invite only.”
I smiled back confidently and lied through my teeth. “I guess you didn’t get my message. This is my assistant, Sheri Billings. Her name should have been added to the list. There’s no way I can cover this event alone. Too many stars, and we wouldn’t want to leave anyone out. I’m sure her name’s there somewhere.”
Behind me, someone in a black Bentley honked impatiently. The line of the cars was beginning to back up to the freeway exit.
“Look, I’m sure there’s been a mix-up. She won’t be a problem, I promise.”
Penny’s cheeks began to flush. Another honk and she looked anxiously back at me. I shrugged innocently. Penny waved us through like she was batting a fly, anxious to have us move on.
Once beyond the gate, we were directed by men in golf carts toward a large green equestrian field—a Grand Prix arena—behind the stables. Inside, hundreds of white folding chairs had been set up. On the seat of each was a single long-stem white lily. In front of the chairs, a makeshift podium stood next to a large color photo of Carmen and an even larger bouquet of white roses. The crowd was somber, dressed in black mourning attire; the weather, by contrast, was a balmy seventy-five with clear skies and a soft breeze that belied the seriousness of the gathering.
Sheri and I made our way toward the podium. I wanted to have a good view of the crowd from the front. As we approached, I noticed a group of men standing in front of the first row of chairs, like groomsmen dressed in dark suits at a wedding, and huddled in small groups with their backs to us. I was almost to the first row when one of the men turned. Our eyes met like magnets.
It was Eric. My heart beat a little faster. I whispered to Sheri that I’d catch up and strode forward. Coming to stand next to him, I smiled silently. Without a word, I did an abrupt about-face, and standing shoulder to shoulder with the man I loved, stared out at the crowd. There was an awkward silence between us, like a brick wall. We hadn’t spoken since Eric had called the station after Carmen’s death and said we’d be in touch. But clearly we weren’t.
I can take a lot of things, but being ignored isn’t one of them. I whispered under my breath, hoping a little humor might melt the ice between us, “Just so you know, I’m not stalking you.”
“I get that.” Eric continued to look forward, like a wooden soldier, his hands neatly folded in front of him, his face expressionless.
“And I know we can’t be talking about things.”
“That’s right.”
More silence passed between us. I watched as people walked past us in various states of mourning, men and women in black, some with hats, some not, all politely avoiding eye contact, looking downward.
Finally, frustrated with his short answers, I joked softly, “So…do you think the killer’s here? I’ve heard murderers like to show up at memorial services.”
Eric’s eyes slid sideways then snapped forward. I caught a slight twitch in his jaw, a partial grin he quickly wiped from his face. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “This is a group of Hollywood actors and agents, Carol. What do you think?”
I bit back a smile. We were still in sync. I noticed his focus on the far end of the field. My eyes followed his gaze.
Beyond the back row of white chairs, Mimi stood with Diaz, and next to him was another woman I didn’t know. This had to be Nina. She was slightly built and much less stylish than either of her sisters, but the family resemblance was undeniable. She had the same raven-dark hair, pale skin, and delicate features. She was dressed in a simple black sheath, her hair in a neat little bun secured at the nape of her neck. She held a large black hat and sunglasses.
By contrast, Mimi was clad from head to toe in white. She was wearing a shiny pearl white jacket, a knee-length chiffon skirt, and white ballet flats so that she might walk on the grass without a problem. She looked as though she’d just stepped off a cloud. On her head, she wore a large dramatic sequined hat that shaded her face. I watched as the three advanced in unison, like a bridal party, with Diaz in the middle and a sister on either arm. Together they walked smoothly down the center aisle atop a white satin runner toward the podium.
As Mimi approached, a shimmer of light caught my attention. Beneath the shadow of her hat and the open collar of her suit jacket, a red ruby diamond necklace reflected a rainbow of colors. Carmen’s necklace? Her sister’s body was barely cold and already she was wearing it. I felt my throat tighten and watched as Diaz offered Mimi his hand as she placed one dainty foot on the podium. I looked down at the ground. I didn’t want the shock of what I was thinking about Mimi to play out on my face.
Moments later, a portly man with thin red hair, dressed in a long black robe with a clerical collar, approached the podium. He looked like he had come directly from central casting, a Hollywood priest for hire. Someone, perhaps Mimi, may have plucked from the internet for the occasion. He stood before the crowd and, raising his hands above his head, asked for a moment of silence.
Clearly this priest hadn’t known Carmen, and he admitted as much in the eulogy. He said in talking with her family and friends about her good works he took great comfort and hoped to offer us all the same as we gathered to remember her. He praised her for community involvement and her various charitable projects, which, far as I knew, were in name only. The type of events Hollywood socialites were paid to endorse, where they show up, smile at the camera, and sign autographs before making a quick escape. Not exactly philanthropic. He ended with a touching reminder of how when death had taken Carmen’s parents at a very early age, she had stepped up to take care of those closest to her and shouldered the responsibility of holding the family together. “While her life, like her parents’, was short, her gift of kindness, love, and the importance of family will be remembered by many.”
I wondered just how true that might be. As the priest completed the service, I took my mic from my bag and found a quiet corner where I could broadcast an account of the event. Tyler would retrieve bits and pieces of my report and include them in Kari’s show as needed. In hushed tones, I recapped the scene. The lush green equine training field. The rocky biscuit-colored hillside. The palatial Tuscan mansion with its fountains and Spanish-tiled courtyards. The crowd in their funeral black—with the exception of Mimi in white—tight-faced and somber. When the last amen was uttered, I went into the crowd to solicit comments. I waited until Diaz, Mimi, and Nina had bid goodbye to the hired priest then watched as they descended from the podium. They looked like a family boun
d together by grief, their arms about one another, their heads bowed, eyes moist with tears. I approached Diaz and asked if he had anything he wanted to say.
He took the mic softly from my hand and delivered the equivalent of another long eulogy. I thanked him, told him I was sorry for his loss, and turned to Mimi. Did she have anything she’d like to add?
“Only…” Mimi appeared to be choking back tears. “…that there was no one like my sister. I may have two sisters, but Carmen was an original. There will never be another like her.”
I was tempted to ask about the necklace Mimi was wearing, then sensed Nina was about to pull away and turned to her. Nina shook her head and backed away from me, her eyes searching for a quick retreat. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk. Diaz put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, then together with Mimi, exactly like they had entered, the three started in the direction of the hospitality tent. Halfway there I noticed Nina slip from beneath Diaz’s shoulder and separate from the two, heading off in the direction of the barn. Curious, I followed.
Chapter 17
“Excuse me, Nina.” I quickened my step to catch up. “Could we talk?”
Nina stopped and stared at me. She looked irritated, her lips pinched together as though she was holding back something she might regret saying.
“I know this must be difficult for you, but I was in Beverly Hills the morning of the bombing, and I was hoping I could talk to you about your brother-in-law.”
“You mean do I think he did it?” She laughed a little and shook her head. “Or maybe just caused it to happen?”
I hoped my shock wasn’t registered on my face. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to her.
“I don’t know, you tell me. Did he?”
“How would I know? Carmen and I weren’t exactly close.” She turned her back and stomped ahead of me.
“But you did talk?” I was glad I’d thought to wear flats. Heels on grass would have made it impossible to keep up with her.
Nina entered the barn ahead of me, a huge Mediterranean-style structure with a rounded two-story entrance that looked more like the gateway to a castle than a barn. I followed her inside and stood in the foyer. This was unlike any barn I had ever been in. A twelve-foot crystal chandelier hung from the dome above my head, while imported carpets lined the entry. On either side of me were two identical stable wings, each easily the length of a football field, home to two dozen horses. There wasn’t a fly or a stray piece of hay anywhere.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it talking. But since you’re a reporter and I know you’re going to snoop around, I will tell you we saw each other regularly.”
Nina stopped at one of the stalls. A beautiful bay with a brass nameplate that read “Chino” hung his head out over the yoked door. He nuzzled her as she ran her fingers through his short mane.
I placed my hand on the other side of the horse’s neck and slowly stroked him. “So if you didn’t talk, what did you and Carmen do?”
Nina picked up a groom’s brush from a bucket outside the stall door and began brushing the big bay’s neck. “Carmen was a control freak. You must know that. She was driven. Status. Money. Fame.” The pacing of her words matched the long strokes of the brush.
“I suppose she did what she thought she had to do. From what I understand, your father left things in a bad way financially,” I said.
“Yeah, he gambled our fortune away, and Carmen arranged for my sister and me to marry wealthy businessmen. She used us. I was barely eighteen when she married me off for the first time. And when my first marriage didn’t work out, she arranged for my second. But after that ended, I’d had enough. That’s when I settled up with Carmen, gave her half of everything I had and started over. Told her I didn’t want to be part of her little Hollywood celebrity act and went back to school.” Nina stopped brushing the horse and put her hand on his neck. “I got a job and bought a small place for myself out here in Simi Valley. I work in a bank now. Carmen would come by once a month. Not to visit me, mind you, but to visit her safe deposit box. So you see, we didn’t exactly spend quality time together.”
Nina sounded angry. I couldn’t blame her if she hated her sister, but what I didn’t get was how at home she seemed in the barn. From the way she handled herself around the horse and appeared to know where things were, she’d obviously been here before.
“And you kept in touch with Diaz? Even though you and your sister were estranged?”
“Why not? He’s always been good to me. I probably spend more time here visiting with the horses than I ever did with Carmen. Diaz knows I love them. I come and go as I please.”
I wondered if Nina really suspected her brother-in-law, or if she was still reeling from the sudden death of her sister and just lashing out. People said odd things when a loved one died suddenly, out of fear or anger. Either way, her relationship with Diaz struck me as odd.
“Did you know your sister was a courier for Diaz, and that she was making a delivery the morning of the bombing?”
“So? She had a business arrangement with Diaz, what of it?”
“A moment ago you seemed to question his involvement in her death. Maybe Carmen did something that angered Diaz, and he killed her.”
Nina turned her back to me and began brushing the horse again, her strokes longer and harder than before. It was obvious she didn’t like my question.
“Do you think Carmen might have been skimming off the top?” I asked.
Nina stopped abruptly and looked at me.
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“And do you think Diaz knew?” I kept thinking about the ring Carmen had sent Eric to get from her room the night she died. She was supposed to have given it to Churchill the day of the robbery, but she had apparently forgotten to bring it with her. Maybe that wasn’t an accident.
“Perhaps. I don’t know for sure. They had a kind of mutual respect for one another. Things happened long ago, and they were there for each other. I don’t know if he would have killed her if she cheated him or not, but I doubt he would have had to. There were a lot of women who didn’t like my sister.”
Nina glanced down at the end of the aisle where a horse in crossties stood surrounded by a group of men and an attractive-looking young woman in riding breeches, the same woman I’d seen at the polo matches. From the look of disgust on Nina’s face, I felt certain the woman was Donatella, the trainer. The fact that she hadn’t attended the memorial didn’t surprise me. I couldn’t imagine that Diaz would show up at his wife’s memorial service with his girlfriend on his arm.
But what did surprise me was one of the men in the group. He was clearly one of the mourners, dressed in a black suit and looking very out of place among a group of grooms. He was standing very close to Donatella. The two appeared to be studying the horse’s hoof and whispering. I looked closer and realized the man in question was Paley, the gray-haired security guard from Henry Westin’s.
“What’s that all about?” I nodded in the direction of the horse.
“That’s Six Pence. He’s Diaz’s favorite, but he’s got a problem with one of his hooves. They’re working on him now. I’m afraid it’s not good.”
I knew a little about horses. Growing up, I’d ridden at the local stable. Like most young girls, I had dreamed of one day owning a horse of my own. I’d spent my summers with trainers, mucking stalls, carrying feed and water. And I knew hoof and leg problems, if not properly cared for, could spell big troubles for a horse.
“And that’s Donatella with them, right? His trainer?”
“Trainer?” Nina laughed. “I suppose you could call her that. In my book, she’s simply some little gypsy-trick Diaz picked up in Spain.”
I glanced back again in the direction of the horse. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Hardly harsh enough. She’s Euro-trash. Just som
e little wannabe actress he brought back from Europe. But the only role she’s been auditioning for is that of Diaz’s wife.”
“You think she could have killed your sister?”
“I don’t have any proof. Sometimes I think it was Donatella, but it just as easily could have been Mimi. There wasn’t much love lost between my sisters. I don’t like that I think that, but the truth is, both Mimi and Donatella have been after Diaz and his money for a long time.”
“Is that what you meant when you said Diaz might have caused it?”
“Diaz is a womanizer. He can’t help himself. Women flock to men like that. Carmen understood it. As for Donatella and Mimi, I think he drove them crazy. And with Carmen out of the picture, they each think he’d be free to marry again.”
“And you think he might?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. I didn’t have a lot of respect for Carmen, Carol, but she was my sister. And much as I didn’t like what she did, she didn’t deserve to die. I want whoever killed her to pay for it.”
“You realize, of course, the coroner has yet to rule on a cause of death. It may very well be she died of—”
“What? Natural causes? Don’t kid yourself, Carol. My sister was in great shape. She didn’t have any allergies or heart problems. I hardly think she died of natural causes at thirty-two. Somebody killed her, and if you want to talk to me, I want you to find out who it was. Promise me you’ll find out who killed my sister.” She put the horse’s brush down and reached into a small shoulder clutch for a business card and handed it to me. “Call me when you know something.”
Without a Doubt Page 10
