Imitation of Death

by Cheryl Crane

  “Nice to meet you, Jeremy.” Ellen shook his hand. She was wearing an elegant jewel-blue sleeveless sheath dress that matched her eyes and sexy nude-colored heels. She looked like a runway model tonight in her chic dress; she reminded Nikki of Naomi Campbell.

  Ellen gave Nikki a quick hug. “Thanks so much for inviting me,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling. Then she whispered under her breath, “Will and Jada were so nice. So . . .” She couldn’t seem to find the right word.

  “Normal?” Nikki offered and then chuckled. “I know. I ran into Jada outside the powder room. She was complaining about her shoes being too tight.” She and Ellen laughed.

  “My son is a big fan of the Food Network,” Jeremy said. “He’s excited about your new show. He’s fascinated by the way you can make sloppy joes look like pumpkin pie.”

  They all chuckled.

  Nikki slipped her arm through Jeremy’s. He was tall, with a full head of dark, wavy hair and warm brown eyes. He wasn’t movie star handsome like Marshall, but good-looking. And so darned nice that Nikki sometimes felt she didn’t deserve him. “I was telling Ellen at lunch that you got us reservations at The French Laundry next month. A weekend getaway.”

  “I’m so envious,” Ellen said. “I’ve heard reservations there are impossible.”

  Victoria appeared in the doorway, dressed in an amazing floor-length Vera Wang gown of spun silver silk. “There you are, Ellen. Don’t let Nikki keep you. I want you to sit with me.” She held out her hand.

  “See you later,” Ellen whispered.

  “Nicolette?” Victoria beckoned.

  “Coming, Mother.” She turned to Jeremy, and he caught her hands. “Are you coming to Marshall’s party Saturday night?”

  He groaned. Jeremy, who had been a child actor, hated the Hollywood scene and avoided it whenever possible. It annoyed him that even after twenty-five years, he was still considered a celebrity when the paparazzi were out. “Do I have to?”

  “No. You don’t have to.” She looked at him. “But I do.” She lowered her voice. “I thought you said the kids were going to spend the night with their grandparents. I thought we were having a sleepover.”

  He pulled her closer, bringing his nose inches from hers. “They are and we are,” he said in his best imitation of a sexy voice.

  “You don’t want to come to Marshall’s?” She whined, giving him her please, just for me pout. “Just for a little while?”

  “Black-tie? Hoards of people? Paparazzi?” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “No.”

  She laughed. “I do have to go. I promised Marshall. You know how he hates these dog and pony shows.”

  “So why does he have them?”

  “Because his publicist insists they’re necessary.”

  “Nicolette? Jeremy?” Victoria called from the doorway.

  “You go to Marshall’s, then come over,” Jeremy whispered. “I’ll have a bottle of wine open and the hot tub bubbling. Deal?”

  “Deal.” They kissed again.

  “We better go,” he said with a chuckle, glancing in the direction Victoria had gone. “Otherwise we’re both going to be in trouble with Mother.”

  Nikki was sitting at her desk Friday afternoon, trying to concentrate on a contract she was looking over on her computer, but her attention kept straying to the list of suspects that lay on her desk. She’d thought it was silly when her mother made her write the names down, but she’d been carrying the piece of paper around with her now for two days.

  She wasn’t ready to cross anyone off the list yet—aside from her mother—but she had added Wezley’s name and that’s the one she kept coming back to. Something wasn’t right with him. It was just a feeling she’d gotten when he’d paid her a visit. This morning, she’d called the rehab facility where Wezley and Eddie had gone, but she’d hit a dead end there. No one would speak to her about either client. Which was, honestly, what she expected. The way it should be.

  Now, Nikki was eager to talk with Jimmy to see if he’d come up with anything from the sister in his counseling session, or whatever it was supposed to be. She checked the time. She’d give him another twenty minutes and then call him.

  She forced herself to look at the contract in front of her again, but when her cell phone rang, she picked it up. Victoria.

  “Mother.”

  “Just checking in,” Victoria said.

  “You’re never just checking in. What’s going on?”

  Victoria sighed loudly. “I taught you better conversation manners.”

  “I’m at work, Mother. Working.”

  “Two things. Those tickets for the Beaver concert. Not easy to come by. Amondo is picking them up at my agent’s office this afternoon.”

  “That’s wonderful! Thank you so much.” Nikki sat back in her desk chair and kicked off her heels. They were black snakeskin, old Bruno Maglis and very cool, but not the most comfortable she owned. “They’re for this kid; his mom works for the Butterfields. Long story, but I think they’ll be appreciated.”

  “I’m glad to be of assistance,” Victoria said warmly. “The other thing is I ran into Ginny at Chanel. I was returning that little sweater. Too much money for such a tiny sweater. The cost of clothing is just getting outrageous. It’s no wonder young ladies wear so little clothing.”

  The mention of young ladies not wearing much clothing made Nikki think of the young woman who had answered the door at Mr. M.’s the previous day. “I know what I wanted to ask you. Have you seen Mr. M. lately?”

  “How on earth would I see him? He’s a recluse. Silly question, Nicolette.”

  Nikki chuckled. “Let me rephrase. Have you spoken to Mr. M. recently? I know you give him a call once in a while.”

  “I think he was attracted to me once upon a time. Maybe still is. It’s the least I can do. We did work together.”

  “But you haven’t spoken to him lately?”

  “No,” Victoria confirmed. “That photograph he sold was unflattering.”

  “I doubt Mr. M. was the culprit. I stopped at his house yesterday to speak with him. I wanted to find out if he happened to see anything last Friday night, but he wouldn’t see me.” She hesitated. “Would you mind?”

  “He won’t see you unless I come as well,” Victoria said tartly.

  “Ginny’s daughter says he has a telescope and that he watches her with it.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “Just give him a call, please?” Nikki asked, rereading a line on the contract. “Oh, you were saying something about Ginny, earlier?”

  “Yes. I saw her at Chanel and she was acting odd. She asked me if I’d heard anything about Abe having lunch yesterday with Ellen Mar at The Palm in West Hollywood.”

  “I thought he was staying home this week. Sitting shiva.”

  “Apparently not, if he was having lunch with Ellen.”

  Nikki frowned. “So . . . why didn’t Ginny just ask Abe? Why would she be asking you?”

  “Because she knows I’m good friends with the maitre d’,” she whispered.

  Nikki had no idea why Victoria was whispering. Didn’t ask. “She thinks you see him regularly . . . or he calls you to tell you who had lunch with whom?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s Ginny Bernard. Who knows what she was thinking?”

  “What did you say to her?” Nikki asked.

  “I told her I hadn’t heard anything and then I told her how attractive the tweed jacket she was trying on was. Then, when I got the car, I called Charles at The Palm. I used Amondo’s cell phone. They’re really quite handy.”

  Nikki wanted to remind her mother that she’d bought her a cell phone, more than one, and Victoria either misplaced them or declared them inoperable. Meaning she couldn’t operate them. “What did Charles, the maitre d’ at The Palm, say?”

  “Abe did have lunch with Ellen!”

  Victoria acted as if it were a shocking piece of information.

  “So? Abe is producing her cooking show. Maybe
they had business to discuss.”

  “Perhaps,” Victoria said.

  “Did you call Ginny and tell her?”

  “Certainly not, Nicolette. I called you. I’ve been suspicious of her since day one. If I were you, I’d have a closer look at Ginny Bernard. Maybe she’s the one trying to frame Jorge.”

  The phone clicked in Nikki’s ear. Not surprising. Victoria rarely said good-bye when she completed a phone conversation.

  Nikki set down her phone; it rang again almost immediately. Elvis appeared on the caller ID screen. “Hey,” she said into the phone. “I thought I was supposed to call you.” She ran the mouse over the mouse pad and corrected a misspelling on the contract. “How’d you get my number?”

  “You afraid I’m going to start stalking you?” he asked.

  The thought had crossed her mind. “No, no, of course not, E.”

  “I saw your number when I put mine in. You know me. I have a thing for numbers.”

  He had a thing for repeating numbers when he got upset. “So how was your session at the Church of Earth and Beyond?” she asked.

  “The sister, Jennifer Butterfield, was really nice. I was very impressed. And she had a lot of interesting things to say about the church’s beliefs. It made a lot of sense. I’m going to a service on Sunday.”

  Somehow, Nikki wasn’t surprised. But Jimmy was who he was, and it had really been nice of him to try to help her out. “So the sister, could you get anything from her about her brother?”

  “Not a fan,” Jimmy said. In Elvis’s voice, of course. “Erica was right. They’re barely civil. Serious sibling rivalry between her and Wezley. She’s a year older than he is, but he’s been the blessed child from the beginning. Because he’s a boy, the only son. You know. That nonsense. Wezley has been a screwup his whole life, and Jennifer’s been the one who has worked tirelessly for her father. With no credit. Her father barely gives her the time of day.”

  “Wow. I’m surprised she opened up to you like that.”

  “I wore the gold suit,” he said. “1957—”

  “The concert at International Amphitheatre in Chicago,” she chimed in.

  “She found me irresistible.”

  “As many women do. So, did you find out anything about Wezley with regards to Eddie? Or the party?”

  “She had another appointment, so we didn’t get to talk as long as we wanted to. And I was fascinated with the whole concept of multiple lives and humans being alien life forms.”

  Here we go, Nikki thought. Down the slippery slope . . .

  “But?” she interrupted.

  “But, she did say one thing. She didn’t even know until later about Eddie’s murder and Wezley being there that night, but she said that when Wezley came home—apparently they both still live with their father—he was really upset because he was wearing Eddie’s clothes.”

  “He was wearing Eddie’s clothes?” Nikki repeated. She thought back to Saturday morning. Wezley had been in a pair of ordinary shorts and a t-shirt. But . . . at his office, and yesterday at her office, he’d been wearing black, head to toe. Sort of like a priest—minus the collar. “Interesting,” she said.

  “I thought so. We’re meeting again next Friday. I’m fascinated by the whole idea that alien spirits could be negatively affecting us today, right here in Los Angeles.”

  And down the slope he would go. “I really appreciate this, E,” Nikki said. “Listen, I need to run, but it was good to talk to you.” She paused. “And it was good to see you. Good to see you doing so well.”

  “Good to see you, little lady,” he crooned. “Call me anytime you need me. Or anytime,” he added in his own voice.

  Nikki left the office a little after six and took the elevator to the parking garage. She was checking her e-mail on her phone as she stepped off the elevator into the poorly-lit, slightly creepy parking garage. She knew better than to look at her phone in a place like this. She knew she should have her bag held tightly to her body, keys in her hand, ever vigilant. So she deserved what she got.

  Less than three steps from the elevator, she almost walked right into a guy. As she looked up, startled, she realized he wasn’t moving. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  He still didn’t move.

  Nikki took a step back, her heart fluttering in her chest. She knew him.

  “Rocko,” she said.

  He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and sunglasses. People didn’t generally wear sunglasses in parking garages at six at night unless they were coming from or going to the Oscars and were big celebrities . . . or they didn’t want to be recognized.

  “Ms. Harper,” he said.

  She clutched her phone, wondering how good a weapon it would make. Not as good as a key in her hand, for certain. Of course, all she had was a key fob for the Prius, so that wouldn’t have helped.

  The elevator closed ominously behind her, making it seem darker in the garage.

  “Rocko,” she repeated, her gaze darting in search of another human being. The garage was nearly empty. Friday night. Who stayed at work late other than her? “Can I . . .” She narrowed her gaze, deciding the best thing to do was to look right at him. “Were you . . . looking for me?”

  He looked away, then back at her, stuffing his hands into his jeans. “I was. Sorry if I startled you. I didn’t think I should come to your . . . Ms. Bordeaux’s house.”

  She waited.

  “I wanted to talk to you because . . . because you were asking about Eddie and me and . . . and I really feel guilty. With him, you know, being dead and all now.”

  “You feel guilty?” She tried not to get too excited. He said he felt guilty, not that he was guilty.

  He was now looking down at his boots as if he were a kid, shuffling his feet. This was not Eddie’s killer. Nikki didn’t know if she should be disappointed or relieved. At least she wasn’t going to be murdered in a parking garage.

  “I lied,” he said.

  Chapter 23

  “To me?” she questioned.

  “To everyone. My friends. Mr. Bernard. That detective.” He looked as if he might cry. “Worse thing is, I lied to Mac.”

  “Mac?”

  “My boyfriend. It was last November. We were going through a rough patch.” He massaged his temples. “I was hanging out at The Python a lot. Mac didn’t like it. And he didn’t like Eddie.”

  “But you did?”

  He looked away, then back again. “Please don’t say anything to Ms. Bordeaux. I’d hate for her to be disappointed in me. See, I liked the free cocaine. I liked hanging out with Eddie because he had cool friends. Not really friends,” he corrected. “But you know, the guy with the free drugs is never alone. I liked being a part of that scene.”

  The elevator behind Nikki opened and she stepped aside. She wasn’t afraid to be alone in the garage with Rocko anymore. She nodded to the guy getting off the elevator as he walked past them. She waited until he disappeared into the rows of cars. “So what did you lie about?”

  “About everything.” Rocko scuffed his black boot. “The whole thing with Eddie.”

  “The . . . affair?” she said, for lack of a better word. She heard a car’s engine start.

  He nodded. “Mac and I were fighting a lot and there was this cute guy at the coffee shop who kept asking him out and I was jealous. I was jealous,” he repeated. “And I wanted to make Mac jealous, so I told him that Eddie and I had sex.”

  Nikki actually felt badly for Rocko. He really was upset.

  “After that, the lie sort of took on a life of its own. Mac told someone at work, who told someone else. It got back to Eddie.”

  Nikki tucked her phone into her bag. “That’s how you ended up in the fight at The Python Club?”

  “It wasn’t really a fight. I tried to talk to Eddie. He punched me. Then I got all pissed and called the police.” He exhaled. “It was all the drugs I was doing. Coke to get high, then downers so I could sleep. I wasn’t thinking right. I kept wanting to tell the truth, b
ut the lie snowballed. Next thing I know, I’m meeting with Eddie and Mr. Bernard and Mr. Bernard is offering to buy me a new motorcycle to keep my mouth shut.”

  “About a liaison that never took place?”

  Rocko nodded.

  “But . . . you said you met with Mr. Bernard and Eddie. Didn’t the fact that Eddie hadn’t had sex with you come up?”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t Eddie’s money. He didn’t care. He just wanted me to keep my mouth shut. He didn’t want people thinking he was bi, or whatever.”

  Nikki thought for a moment. “So what you said about the argument with Eddie this last Friday was true? You didn’t crash the party?”

  He shook his head. “No. Everyone in town was talking about the party, about going. Eddie e-mailed a lot of people, inviting them. I had no intention of going. I only stopped by because I had to make the service call. I couldn’t find anything wrong; the filter was working fine. Then I left.”

  “And you didn’t go back later that night?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said firmly. “I went home and had a Lean Cuisine and watched a Big Bang Theory marathon on TV with Mac.”

  “You didn’t kill Eddie.”

  He shook his head again.

  “And you don’t know who did?”

  Again, she got a no.

  Nikki squeezed his muscular forearm. “Go home, Rocko. Have a nice evening with Mac.”

  He gave her a half-smile and walked over to a green crotch rocket parked near the elevator. She watched him put on his helmet, start the bike, and drive away before she walked to her Prius, two rows over. She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and was climbing in when movement caught her eye. Someone lunged toward her. She was almost in the car, prepared to slam the door, when Kaiser caught her by the arm and pulled her back out.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said in a gruff voice.

  She tried to jerk her arm from him. “Jeez! You scared me half to death.” She backed up against the car, feeling like an idiot. Her phone was now in the car, in her bag. How was she going to call the police to tell them where to find her dead body? “What do you want?”