by Cheryl Crane
“Nope.” She began to roll backwards. “But that doesn’t mean Picard didn’t beam him into her apartment, does it?”
Nikki was still standing at the door when Mrs. McCauley closed it. “I need some sleep,” Nikki muttered as she walked away.
The next apartment she tried was 324, on the other side of Jessica. She was surprised when she rang the doorbell and someone was actually home. It was close to nine o’clock. She assumed most people would be at work.
“Yeah?” came a male voice from the other side of the door.
“Hi. I’m Nikki—”
“I know who you are.” The door opened a second later. “I’m Pete Toro.”
Pete was nice looking: dark hair, medium build with a suntan that didn’t appear to be sprayed on. He thrust out his hand to shake hers vigorously. “And you’re Nikki Harper, Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter. Jessica’s told me all about you.”
“She did?” That was funny; Jessica had never mentioned him before.
“Sure. You’re her best friend.” He finally let go of her hand. “What can I do for you?”
Nikki hung onto her bag for emotional support. “I guess . . .” She gave a humorless laugh and started again. “I guess you know what happened next door yesterday. I mean, not what happened, but . . . what Jessica’s been accused of.”
“Yeah. Right. Oh, my God. Poor Jessica.” He touched his forehead. He had nice hair, thick and wavy. “I can’t believe the police arrested her. There’s no way Jessica could have done a thing like that. Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.”
“She’s okay. They didn’t arrest her. At least, not yet. They just took her to the station and questioned her. She’s staying with me right now.” She glanced in the direction of Jessica’s door, barred with yellow crime-scene tape, a piece of paper sealing the door. “She’s not allowed to go back to the apartment. Not yet.”
He glanced at the door, then back again. “Right. Sure. Well, tell her I was asking for her. Tell her maybe she and I can have that drink when she gets back. We’ve been trying to hook up, she and I. To have a drink. We’re just so busy, both of us. Her with her real estate job and me at the store. I work retail.”
“Listen, Pete.” Nikki looked him straight in the eye. Victoria always said that was the best way to get honesty out of someone; she said it took them by surprise and they didn’t have time to lie. “About this thing with Jessica yesterday. You didn’t . . . happen to see anything, did you?”
“See anything?” He leaned on the doorjamb. He had nice biceps.
“Anything unusual.”
“Like Rex March?” He laughed. “No. I didn’t see him. Hey, you want to come in? I’ve got coffee.” He pointed inside.
“I can’t. Thanks. Gotta go home, pick up Jessica and then get to work. You were saying you didn’t see anything unusual yesterday?”
“I didn’t get home until six-thirty. I was heating up a bean burrito when I heard the sirens. The next thing I know, the cops are banging on my door and telling me I need to stay inside. That someone would be by to talk with me. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I was afraid something had happened to Jessica.”
So he hadn’t seen anything. Something told Nikki that if she banged on every door on the floor, she’d get the same answer. Either people weren’t home, or they were home but didn’t see anything.
She stepped back. “Well, thanks. I was just checking around. You know.” She gave a quick smile. “Making sure the police didn’t miss anything. But I guess they didn’t. Since you didn’t see Rex.”
“I wouldn’t tell the cops if I did see him. He deserved to die. Both times, however the heck that happened. I gotta tell you, I was just glad he was gone. Jessica deserved better than that jackass, I don’t care how famous he was.”
Nikki was just starting to turn away, but she turned back, giving Pete Toro her full attention. “I’m sorry . . . Jessica deserved better?” When she tried the “look him straight in the eyes” thing this time, it didn’t work. He suddenly became preoccupied with his shoes.
“It’s none of my business.”
“Pete, the police are saying Jessica killed Rex March. You don’t want her to go to jail for a murder she didn’t commit, do you?” She got in his personal space. “You’ve seen Rex March before? With Jessica?”
He still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Before he was supposedly killed in that plane crash. He used to come by here. He was a complete ass. He would never give an autograph or anything like that. Jessica deserved better than that old geezer.”
It was Nikki’s turn to stare at her own shoes. She tried to think through what Pete had said. Jessica and Rex? Was it true? What reason would this guy have to lie?
She glanced up at him. “Listen, thanks. You have a good day.” She walked away.
“Tell Jessica I said hi,” he called after her. “I’ll keep that drink cold for her.”
Nikki waited until he closed his door and then went back to Mrs. McCauley’s. She rang the doorbell and Mrs. McCauley went through the same routine of dragging the stool to the door so she could look out the peephole. Nikki waited patiently until the door opened.
“It’s you again. Natalie Wood’s daughter. You should have been in the movies. Pretty enough.”
“Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter. Nikki Harper. Mrs. McCauley, did you ever see Rex March in this apartment building?”
“Of course. But that was before he was dead. The other time,” she added.
Nikki stared at the little old lady. “Why didn’t you say that before—when I asked you if you’d seen him?”
“You asked me if I’d seen him yesterday.”
Nikki closed her eyes for a second. Taking a breath, she opened them again. “So you didn’t see him yesterday, but you’ve seen him here before. Before he was killed in the plane crash?” she asked, pretty certain she was pushing her luck with that last bit.
“He used to come to Jessica’s apartment.” The old lady nodded. “With either Jimmy Stewart or that cute Frank Sinatra.”
Nikki forced a smile. This was going nowhere. Fast. If the police had assumed Mrs. McCauley would be no help in the investigation, they would have been right.
“Well, thanks again. You have a good day.”
Nikki took the steps instead of the elevator, tired and frustrated. Jessica and Rex? She couldn’t believe it.
Of course she could believe it, when she really thought about it. Rex was sooo Jessica’s type: rich, married, a total ass. Nikki had lost count of the number of men like him that Jessica had gone through. And now Edith’s coolness with Jessica made total sense. Jessica had been having an affair with her husband before he died.
The first time.
Chapter 6
“I’m so sorry,” Jessica said, sounding truly contrite.
Nikki gripped the steering wheel as if she were maneuvering a tank, which was sometimes an excellent skill, driving in L.A. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. We were representing him, Jess.” She shook her head. “That is so not cool, starting an affair with a client.”
Jessica was silent long enough that Nikki glanced over. “What?”
Jessica nibbled on her berry-red lips. She looked entirely too put together for someone who had spent the night in jail being interrogated, slept less than two hours, and used the makeup in her purse to do her face. The new pencil skirt and silk tunic from K-Dash didn’t hurt. Nor did the fact that she was so drop-dead gorgeous that she could have come out of a night of interrogation in a Dumpster and looked good.
Jessica spoke in a meek voice. “It kind of started before he asked us to sell the house for him.”
Nikki rolled her eyes and concentrated on the black Benz convertible in front of her. The blond driver was on her cell and paying no attention whatsoever to the traffic ahead of her. “How could you, Jess? How could you, and then not tell me?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I swear to God I am.” She was teary now. “I know this
is hard for you to believe, but he was really sweet to me, Nik. At least in the beginning. And Edith didn’t understand what he was going through with his career and—”
“Oh, please,” Nikki groaned. “Do not tell me you fell for the ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ line. Not again.”
“It wasn’t like that. Not this time. He made me feel good . . . at least at first,” she added in a tiny voice.
Nikki pressed her lips together and signaled to pull over in front of the shoe repair shop. Jessica had a pair of Jimmy Choos that she insisted had to be dropped off today. She’d fished the box out of her car when they’d stopped for her shopping bags. “I’ll wait for you here.” Nikki put the car in park.
Jessica reached around to grab the bag with her shoes off the back seat. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” Nikki said. And she wasn’t. But she was disappointed in her friend. It was wrong to go out with a married man, period, end of discussion.
“But you are disappointed in me.” Jessica looked her in the eye. “Oh, God, that’s why I didn’t tell you—I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” She sniffed. “Again.”
Nikki dropped her hands to her lap. “I only want what’s best for you, and men like Rex—”
“I know, I know. I swear to God that I’ll never do it again.” She gripped the shopping bag containing her $1800 shoes, given to her, no doubt, by one of her admirers. Maybe even Rex. “Just get me through this and I swear I’m done with married men. I’m done with Sugar Daddies, married, unmarried. It doesn’t matter.” She rested her hand on Nikki’s arm, her second display of affection in the same day. “Help me, Nikki. Help me get through this and I’m turning over a new leaf. I swear to God I am.”
Nikki stared straight ahead. “Did you know he was alive?”
“Rex? Oh, sweet Jesus, no. I didn’t. You have to believe me. I didn’t know. We had a fight, and then . . . then the next thing I knew, his plane went down and he was gone. He . . . he was just gone.”
Nikki exhaled and glanced at her friend. “Enough with the tears. Your mascara will run.”
Jessica sniffed and laughed. “You believe me?”
“Of course I believe you,” Nikki said gently. “Now drop off the shoes and let’s go to work. We’ve got estates to sell and a murder to solve.”
Nikki punched in the security code and waited as the white iron gates swung open, admitting her onto her mother’s property in Beverly Hills, north of Sunset. It was an older, well-established neighborhood, the residence of the stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age, like Jimmy Stewart and Lucille Ball.
Nikki had arrived home to find that the doggies had not been dropped off. It had taken three phone calls, one in which Victoria accidentally hung up on her, to learn that Stan and Ollie were still visiting. According to Victoria, Amondo had been busy all day with errands for her and hadn’t had time to run them home to Nikki’s. It was a ploy, of course, on Victoria’s part, to get Nikki to come over. It worked. As tired as she was, she wanted to see her dogs, so she’d left Jessica with the TV remote control and a bag of take-out Chinese and headed over to the 1000 block of Roxbury Drive.
Nikki maneuvered her car around the piles of twigs and yard debris that her mother’s gardener, Jorge, had left in the circular driveway. “Really, Frank? Really?” Nikki muttered, her favorite line from Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
Jorge wasn’t just her mother’s landscaper/gardener. He was the son of Victoria’s housekeeper, Ina, who’d been with Victoria since the golden years of her cinema days. Nikki had practically grown up with Jorge, and in a lot of ways, she was closer to him than her half-siblings. Nikki had spent a great deal of her childhood hanging out in Ina’s cozy kitchen playing go fish, then old maid, then gin rummy with Jorge. He had been the first boy she ever kissed—purely a rehearsal for the real deal.
As Nikki slalomed around the piles of cuttings, her phone rang on the seat. It was Jeremy. It was the fourth time he’d called since the previous night. She studied the phone for a moment. She didn’t even know why she was avoiding him.
That was a lie. She did know.
She hadn’t picked up or returned his multiple messages because she didn’t want to deal with him right now. That was always a bad sign in a relationship, wasn’t it?
She answered on the third ring as she parked her car in front of the two-story, white Georgian with a two-story entry. There was no sign of Jorge or any of his utility trucks. Over the years, Jorge had expanded his business from one guy and a pickup truck to four vans and utility trailers and twelve to fifteen employees, thanks to a personal loan from Victoria.
“Hey,” she said into the phone.
“Nikki, I was beginning to worry. Why didn’t you call me back? I left four messages.”
“And how was your day, dear? Mine was terrific.” She shifted the car into park and turned off the engine. “Except for the part when my best friend found a dead man in her bed and then was accused of killing him and hauled off to the slammer.”
Jeremy sighed on the other end of the line. “Sorry. It’s just that I really was worried about you. And no one calls it ‘the slammer’ anymore, no one but eighty-year-old men, hon.”
She smiled. It was nice to hear his sexy dentist voice. “Sorry about being so touchy. I’m fine. I didn’t call you back because I haven’t had time—” She stopped and started again. “I know you’re not a big fan of Jessica’s. I guess I just didn’t want you to judge.”
“I wouldn’t judge. Innocent until proven guilty. I just wanted to know what was going on and make sure you were okay. When Victoria called, she said—”
“My mother called you?” she interrupted. She put the window down. The evening breeze felt good. The air was filled with the scent of bougainvillea and fresh-cut grass and she could hear the bubble of the massive three-tiered fountain in the middle of the front lawn. “Why, for heaven’s sake, did she call you?”
“You’re getting touchy again,” he warned. “She cares about you, that’s all. You don’t always give her enough credit.”
Nikki eyed the second-story windows on the end of the Paul Williams Georgian. Her mother’s room. Victoria didn’t like it when her daughter sat in the driveway on her cell phone. It meant Victoria couldn’t hear what was being said, leaving her uninformed. A fate worse than overenthusiastic eyebrow waxing. It would only be a matter of time before Victoria was down here, staring in the car window at her.
“I’m sorry, Jeremy,” she said. “You’re right. I’m just beat, that’s all.”
“So did the police really arrest Jessica for killing Rex March?”
She rubbed her temples and eyed the window again. She thought she could hear Stanley and Oliver barking . . . in the backyard, maybe. “She wasn’t arrested. Not yet at least. But she was held all night at the Hollywood precinct for questioning.”
“Crazy question, but I went to his memorial service with you. How did Jess kill him if he was already dead?”
“Jess didn’t kill him!” It came out louder than she intended. “It doesn’t make any more sense to me than it does to you,” she said, softening her tone.
“But he was definitely the dead man found in Jessica’s apartment? The police didn’t make a mistake in identifying the body?”
“Oh, it was him, all right.” She began to dig in her bag, hoping to find something to eat. The hot Szechuan chicken hadn’t smelled the least bit appetizing when she’d picked it up for Jessica, but suddenly she was starving. “I saw him with my own eyes. Dead as a doornail—more like a swollen carcass—in Jess’s bed.”
“Aw, Christ, I’m sorry you had to see that, Nik.”
She heard the distinct crackle of a food wrapper and dug deeper in anticipation of what the Prada might give up. “Yeah. Me, too. It was pretty awful. And it was definitely Rex.” She tried not to think about the hole where his eye had been or the ridiculous underwear he’d been wearing; either would make her nauseous.
“Did . . . did the police offer an explanation as to how he could have been dead in Jessica’s apartment when he supposedly died in a plane crash?”
“Well, obviously, he didn’t die in a plane crash,” she said, unable to curtail her sarcasm. “But the cops didn’t really address that issue.” Bingo! She pulled half a pack of peanuts from her bag; they were probably stale, but she was too hungry to care. “They were more into the whole ‘Why did you kill him, Miss Martin?’ ”
“And Jessica says she didn’t do it?”
Nikki rested her BlackBerry between her shoulder and her ear so she could attack the bag of peanuts. “Of course she didn’t do it. She was at a real estate seminar all day. I’m sure she’s got plenty of witnesses who saw her there.”
“That’s good, then,” he agreed. “As long as the coroner can pinpoint when he was murdered, and she’s got an alibi for that window of time.”
“Right.” Nikki groaned. Leave it to Jeremy to always get right to the crux of the matter. “The thing is, that’s going to be an issue. I didn’t exactly understand what Jessica was trying to tell me this morning, but somehow Rex’s liver temperature was an issue. Jess said the cops acted like her alibi wasn’t that strong. Especially since she apparently spent a long lunch hour shopping.” She munched on the peanuts. “I’m going to look into it. Once we know what time he died, I thought I could retrace her ride down Rodeo. Surely some clerk remembers her.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. Go back. You’re going to talk to the sales clerks? Nikki, that’s not up to you. I agree with Victoria.”
As if on cue, the upstairs window opened and Victoria popped her head out. She was never late on a cue.
“I know you’re Jessica’s friend,” Jeremy went on, oblivious of the peanuts or Victoria’s entrance. “But you can’t get involved in a murder investigation.”
“You coming in or do you plan to sit out there all night?” Victoria hollered down. Her voice carried well for a woman her age.
