She dried off, opened the closet, and took out one of her new outfits—classic and cute—a light pink button down that pinned in tighter around the waist, so much better than the old-school, boyish button-downs she’d worn in the early eighties in high school. She pulled on a light gray striped pencil skirt and matching jacket, and for good measure she even went à la Sarah Jessica Parker, donning the pink carnation pin that came with the suit. Nice. She took it one step further and put on her size seven slingback Via Spigas. She looked at herself in the mirror, pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail, lined her blue eyes in an espresso colored eyeliner—that’s what the girl at the MAC counter called it—and matched it with a cream and then a mocha colored eye shadow in the crease—again, mocha was the salesgirl’s name for it. Nikki thought it looked like tan to her, or brown. She put some lipstick on—Spirit, now there was a name to get with—and studied herself for a minute. She still had it. Not bad at all, as she climbed the ladder to forty. Besides, wasn’t forty the new thirty? That meant her best years were only four years away. Thank God for Terri Hatcher and those Desperate Housewives.
But as she stood there in front of the mirror she had to wonder: who was she trying to impress? There was a man who loved her any way she was. He’d played the guitar for her just last night and he wanted to take her away and love her. She went back to the closet and opened it again. Did she really want to go to work all dolled up today?
The phone rang while she wrestled with this decision. She picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi, Nikki. It’s me, Robinson. We found Moran.”
“You did? Where?”
“Floating in the bay this morning.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know. I’m on my way to the scene and then back to put some more heat on Bloomenfeld. I’ll call you later.”
She hung up the phone, stunned. Bloomenfeld must’ve killed Moran. Was he that stupid? That greedy? Well, that solved that. Time to move on, she figured.
She went back to the closet to rifle through her clothes. There was the bag from the fire. Screw it. Look inside. Move on. She bent down and opened it. A few items she had no real feelings about—a sweater, a dime-store vase, a few trinkets. But one of the items stood out, and she pulled it from the bag and examined it.
Oh my God. Bloomenfeld hadn’t murdered either Georges or Moran. But Nikki suddenly knew who had. The cops had the clue to the real killer all the time. But of course, what she held in her hand they couldn’t or wouldn’t have tied to the killer’s identity. Why would they? Blood rushed to her head, which started pounding. She couldn’t believe it. She blinked her eyes several times, and then closed them. Yes, she knew who the real killer was, and she also knew why and how it had happened. A memory from the other day stirred in her.
She went to the nightstand, took out the phone book, and placed a call confirming that the killer would be at tonight’s dinner.
Chapter 26
The table was set and so was Nikki. The evening had arrived. Renee Rothschild came into the restaurant on Derek’s arm, dressed to perfection. When she spotted Nikki she let go of his arm and rushed over to her, as if the two of them had been the best of friends for years. “Have you thought any more about the book?”
Derek came up behind Renee. He put an arm around her. Nikki could hardly look at him. Mr. Dapper in his tuxedo. Did Renee know that Derek hated wearing what he referred to as monkey suits?
“I’m happy to see you feeling better. Renee tells me you’re interested in writing the book about the hotel and spa. I think that’s a great idea, and she mentioned that you were going to do it while in Spain. I take it that you’ve decided to go, then.”
Nikki looked at them. “I don’t know about that.”
“Which part? The book or Spain?” Derek asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, all right. I think we’ll go and grab a glass of wine. This just came up this morning, but I’m leaving for Australia tomorrow for a couple of weeks. I figure it’s time to expand the Malveaux dynasty. The Aussie wines are gaining in popularity, and I received a call from a colleague about a hot piece of property, so I thought I’d better take advantage.”
Renee rubbed his arm. “I’m going, too.” She eagerly looked up at Derek. “In the jet. I’m so excited. It’ll be great. When Derek told me, I said that I had plans to go there next month. I’ve got two great authors doing a ‘shrimp on the barbie’ kind of cookbook. They were thrilled. The Aussies are so hospitable.”
Nikki looked at Derek. Was he thrilled to have her company? He must be. He wasn’t the kind of man to take a woman halfway across the world without meaning it. “That’s great. Oh, looks like a few more people have joined us. I want to make sure they get a glass of wine and find their seats.”
Derek nodded and Nikki hurried off. Good for them. New love, going to Australia to stoke the coals on the barbie and drink Aussie liquid grape. Lovely. They were perfectly suited for each other. Both beautiful. Both from money. Both highly educated. Yes. Perfectly suited.
Nikki walked over to Baron, whose eyes hadn’t lit up since Georges’ death. “Hello, Miss Sands. How are ye?”
“I’m good, and you? Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No. Thank ya. Whiskey, though. That would temper the ole tummy a bit. I may have wine with dinner, though. It is always nice.”
“I’ll get you that whiskey.” Nikki turned to go to the bar. Baron reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute. I owe ya an apology.”
“You do?” Nikki fidgeted with the clasp on her purse.
“I do. I was mighty testy with ye the other night in the church and that is no way for a good Catholic to act. Ye see, I have done some horrible things recently. I was in church for forgiveness and the priest reminded me of what I needed to let go of, and knowing that be the truth, it was still hard for me to take.” He glanced toward the front door. In walked Lauren. He looked back at Nikki. “I do apologize.”
She touched his arm. “These things happen. No worries.”
She went for his drink and when she returned he was talking with Lauren. Nikki overheard her say, “I understand. Ireland is the best place for you. Certainly. But it was fun while it lasted.” She took the whiskey from Nikki and passed it on to Baron. “Hello, Ms. Sands.”
“Hi. Enjoy, Baron.” Nikki turned around, knowing that Lauren Trump would soon be in bed with a new man in hopes of finding something she’d never had. Poor Baron with all that guilt.
Five minutes before seating time, the last guest hadn’t arrived. Nikki took her seat. On one side sat Trevor and next to him Janie. The seat to her left was still open. “Did you get ahold of the estate attorney?” Nikki asked the young couple.
“I did,” Trevor said. “Everything is good to go.”
“That’s great. So you’ll be able to get the DNA samples?”
Janie nodded eagerly. “Yeah. The attorney told Trevor that he’d contacted the morgue and that before my dad’s body is shipped back to France next week, they’ll be able to get a sample. I just have to go to Georges’ attorney’s office and have a sample taken.”
“You may not have to go that far,” Nikki replied. “Here’s Georges’ attorney now.” She stood. Everyone else had taken their seats. The waiters were getting ready to serve the first course of pan-fried crispy calamari with pancetta and pesto with a glass of Malveaux Fumé Blanc. “Oh, Mr. Kingston. Right here.” Nikki walked around the table. She caught Simon’s eye. He gave her a dirty look. She hadn’t been able to get ahold of him to explain why Kingston was here. He’d understand later.
“Excuse me, Ms. Rothschild? I’m here to meet Georges Debussey’s other attorney. I got a call today from a Nikki Sands. I was unaware he had any other attorneys.”
Nikki stretched out her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Kingston. I’m Nikki Sands.”
“No. You’re Renee Rothschild.” Kingston’s light blue eyes formed into slits.
“No she isn�
��t. I’m Renee Rothschild,” Renee chimed in.
Kingston’s head snapped around to see Renee seated next to Derek, both of them looking rather confused. In fact, they all appeared confused.
“Nikki, what’s going on? Did this gentleman just say that you’re Georges’ other attorney?” Derek asked. “And, why does he think you’re Renee?”
She shook her head and smiled. “I can explain everything. It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t know what to think,” Derek said.
“Me neither,” replied Renee.
“This is going to be good. You go, Doris!” Simon exclaimed.
“What the hell is your name? Renee, Nikki, Doris?” Kingston asked.
In unison everyone at the table answered, “Nikki.”
“It’s an amusing story and there is a point. I promise,” Nikki said. “So, please have a seat, Mr. Kingston, and enjoy our honorary dinner for Georges, and let me explain.”
“I don’t appreciate shenanigans, Miss . . . whoever you are,” Kingston replied.
“I assure you, Mr. Kingston, this is not a shenanigan. Now have a seat.”
The lawyer sat down apprehensively next to Nikki.
Waiters brought the first course. “I don’t know what you’re pulling here, Ms. Sands.”
Nikki picked up a piece of the tender calamari and followed up with a sip of the Fumé, enjoying the way everyone was beginning to squirm.
“Nikki, we are all waiting to hear what you have to say,” Derek said.
“Of course.” She set her wine down and stood. “Mr. Kingston here is quite an intelligent man. So smart, in fact, that he planned and helped to carry out the murders of Georges Debussey and Rick Moran.”
“What in the hell? This is ridiculous! Who is this crazy broad? Why in the hell would I want my star client dead? And, Rick Moran? I only met him one time.”
“Money. Georges was worth more to you dead. He was worth lots of money for you . . . and your son.” Nikki shot a glance at Trevor, who buried his face in his hands.
“What is going on?” Janie asked.
Nikki put her fingertips on the table. She faced Janie, who deserved the truth more than anyone she’d ever known. “Trevor is Mr. Kingston’s son.”
“What? No. His parents died in a fire,” Janie insisted.
“No. His mother died. But not his father.” Nikki took out a photograph from her purse and handed it to Janie: the same family photo Kingston had in his office that she and Simon noticed the other day while in the attorney’s office, only smaller. On the back the photo read: Trevor, Mom, & Dad ’90. The same year Mrs. Kingston died. The picture was scorched around the edges, but it was still clear, and Nikki knew when she pulled it out of the bag Robinson had given her the other day why Kingston’s eyes reminded her of someone else. Leonard Kingston and his son, Trevor, both possessed those same ice blue eyes.
Janie looked at Trevor. “What is this all about?”
“You moron. Can’t you do anything right?” Leonard Kingston bellowed. “Why does she have that?” He turned to Nikki. “This means nothing.”
Nikki shrugged. “Whatever. I would sit down, Mr. Kingston. You can tell it to the police.” Jonah Robinson and two uniformed officers entered the building.
Nikki had phoned Robinson before the guests started arriving and told him it was important he show up at the dinner and at what time. At first he balked, but she told him it was of the utmost importance he come over.
“Janie, do you remember the other night after Georges was killed and you were on the phone with Trevor? I overheard your conversation about which suitcase you were using, and you told him his. Well, that photo was in the suitcase. I assume tucked in one of the smaller side pockets that you probably didn’t use.” Nikki looked at Kingston. “It bothered Trevor, and he didn’t want to take a chance on you finding the photo and asking questions about it. Plus, he knew that eventually you would be meeting dear old dad when you went to sign the papers regarding Georges’ estate. Trevor knew that he should have destroyed it; that’s why he burned my house down. But as luck, karma, or whatever might have it, the suitcase made it through the fire. The police returned it to me. The photo was in a plastic baggie. I’m certain the police and fire marshall assumed the suitcase and its contents were mine. For all they knew, Trevor, Mom, and Dad were my relatives. So they gave it back to me. Suffice it to say, Mr. Kingston also has that same photo in his office. I’m certain he would have removed it before you came in to claim your money. By the way, Janie, your DNA is a match with Georges’. Dad and son were able to confirm this when you had a blood test to get your marriage license. Before that, they were hoping you were Georges’ daughter, but once it was confirmed, I’m sure Trevor rushed you to the altar.”
Everyone at the table watched in awe, not taking their eyes off the scene. Jonah approached the table.
“I did some further investigating and it seems that Trevor here has a problem with matches. He burned his house down the night his mother was killed in that fire. He was a juvenile and his father helped build his defense, saying it was an accident. But I wonder if it was an accident at all, and I wonder if the Debussey guesthouse fire was also his fault, and not caused by Bernadette Debussey.”
“You are insane, lady!” Trevor stood up.
“No. You are. You and your dad planned this entire thing. You would woo Janie once Dad put you to it, after discovering that she was indeed Georges’ daughter, and continue to do so after Georges placed her in his will. Seems daddy’s business has been suffering some. A few million would help.
“You knew exactly where Georges would be the afternoon you killed him, because Janie kept detailed schedules for herself and Georges in her notebook. You drove out here, located the bath area, climbed up onto the verandah, hid behind the plants on the balcony, and waited for the moment you could take him out.
“And Moran? That was dumb. He was just a pawn. Were you afraid he’d stumble onto the money trail and figure things out? Or was Georges on the phone with Moran when you came into the room, and you picked up the cell to see what number he had just called? Oh, and by the way, another thing—finals were over two weeks ago at all the local colleges and universities. You never told me where you were going to school, so I had to make several phone calls. I thought it was a few weeks past graduation. Makes me wonder if you graduated or if you were even in school, Trevor. My guess is no, that you were too busy devising your wicked scheme with dear old Dad.”
Trevor’s eyes bulged and the veins on his face stood out as he looked at Kingston, who bowed his head.
Nikki continued. “So, you sweep Janie off her feet, murder her father, and you and Dad have yourself a nice stream of cash. Just when did you plan to burn the house down with your wife in it?”
Trevor lunged at Nikki and grabbed her around the neck. Janie cried out, “Dammit, Trevor, stop it!”
Robinson drew a gun. “Let her go. I will shoot.”
“No!” Trevor screamed. “Dad! You said that it would work! You always mess things up for me.”
“Let her go,” Robinson yelled again.
Nikki’s stomach clenched; her mouth went dry. Then everything slowed down. She could hear screaming, and suddenly Trevor released her and she dropped into her chair as he crashed to the floor. Had Robinson shot him?
Renee Rothschild stood over Trevor, a broken wine bottle in her hand, the other half of it on the ground. She laughed. “I couldn’t let the man kill my next star author, could I?”
“Oh, God, can someone get me a drink?” Nikki exclaimed.
Chapter 27
After Kingston and Trevor had been carted away, Jonah Robinson returned. He shook a finger at Nikki. “You are sneaky, girl. Sneaky. Why didn’t you tell me about all of this until an hour ago?”
“What if I was wrong?” She picked at the Salad Nicoise, which one of the waiters brought over. It was meant as the second course.
“That’s right. What if you were wrong?”
“I probably would have lost my job or at the least looked like a fool,” Nikki replied.
“Uh-huh. But you knew, didn’t you, that you weren’t wrong?”
“Maybe.” She picked up her wine glass. “Don’t go giving me any lectures. I know what I did was dangerous. I’m sorry. Okay? Besides, something you said the other day tipped me off. In reality, you did help figure this out.”
“How so?”
“I know you can’t forget our encounter at Derek’s place after my cottage burned down. You mentioned the theory someone torched it to destroy evidence.”
“I did, didn’t I? We’d make a good team, Sands. Why don’t you join the police force?”
“Nah. I like it on the down low.” She figured Mr. Cool knew what she meant by that. It was like being covert, quiet about shifty operations.
He laughed. “You’re not only sneaky but a nut. I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you after all, like your friend Mr. Malveaux asked me to.”
“Derek?”
“Oh hell. Yeah, him. I figured you knew. The way the dude looks at you, it’s obvious he has feelings.”
Nikki set down her glass. “He doesn’t look at me any way. Besides he’s got a new friend.”
“I see.” Jonah glanced at Derek and Renee. An officer was taking their statement. “You be careful around these vineyards.”
“You’re telling me.” She laughed. “Hey, you know, we didn’t get off on the best foot. Want to share dinner with me? There’s plenty in the kitchen with the party not going exactly as planned.”
“Are you asking me out for dinner? Like a date?”
“Not my style. Besides I’ve got my hands full in that department, and something tells me you’re nothing but trouble, Detective.”
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