Sidney Sheldon's the Silent Widow

by Sidney Sheldon

  ‘You think you should go on a date with your ex-husband?’ Nikki asked.

  ‘It wouldn’t be a date.’

  ‘So why go?’

  ‘To reset things between us, like I said,’ explained Anne. ‘To show him we can be friends, that he hasn’t “lost me”, but that our lives have to move on.’

  It sounded so sensible, so rational the way Anne said it. And yet the alarm bells ringing in Nikki’s head wouldn’t stop. This was dangerous. This was wrong. Something bad was going to happen.

  ‘Philanthropy is one of the few things Luis and I have in common,’ Anne went on earnestly. ‘He cares deeply about the drug problems in Mexico, and all around the world. Remember, I told you about his sister?’

  Nikki nodded. She remembered. She was still having trouble squaring this image of Luis Rodriguez as the addiction-fighting hero with Williams’ alternate characterization of him as a cocaine and Krok magnate, whose life of luxury was built entirely on the misery and despair of others.

  ‘That’s why I thought this event might be a good place for us to start. His sister’s overdose changed his life for the better once. Maybe this could be the time for him to change it again? To begin a new chapter. What do you think?’

  This is my chance, thought Nikki. This is where I tell her what Williams told me. If she were ever going to warn Anne, surely this was the moment.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Nikki played for time.

  Meanwhile, Anne continued to wax lyrical. ‘Luis has donated millions of dollars to addiction charities and rehab programs over the years, like the one your husband ran,’ Anne smiled, the connection apparently only just occurring to her. ‘I know you don’t want to believe it, but he isn’t all bad, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not,’ Nikki heard herself saying, cursing herself for her cowardice.

  ‘So should I go with him to the gala? Or not?’ Anne’s big, doe eyes looked at her for guidance.

  ‘I can’t answer that,’ said Nikki. She felt bad ducking the responsibility, but really what choice did she have? She herself had never met Luis Rodriguez. She had no way of knowing whether Williams’ version of him, or Anne’s, was the accurate one. Or if, as Derek had implied, both sides coexisted. After all, even Robin Hood used to rob the rich before he could help the poor. ‘You must make up your own mind,’ she told Anne. ‘Hold on to your own conviction that you want your freedom. And then do whatever you believe is going to help you get it.’

  After the session, Nikki tried to process her own conflicting feelings. While the thought of Anne attending a function with her ex was terrifying, on another Nikki felt profound relief. Because the big take-aways from today’s therapy were surely that a) Anne’s marriage was finally over; in her heart. And b) She knew nothing whatsoever about Luis’s supposed ‘secret life’ as a drug baron. If indeed he even had one.

  Again, Nikki found herself beginning to doubt Derek Williams’ account of Luis Rodriguez’s past. Goodman had warned her not to trust Williams. And while the PI’s certainty in his own conclusions was definitely seductive, so far he’d provided no actual evidence of a link between Rodriguez and the missing au pair, Charlotte Clancy, or anything to indicate that Luis’s fortune was based on something other than real estate. Nikki wanted to believe Williams. She wanted to think that Anne’s controlling ex-husband was a criminal and a bad, bad man. But wanting to believe somebody was always a dangerous place to start.

  Turning on her phone, she scrolled through her old messages till she found the one she wanted. It was more than a month old, and it was from Haddon.

  ‘Dr Haddon Defoe cordially invites you to be a guest at his table for this year’s End Addiction Gala.’

  Nikki had already replied weeks ago, clicking the ‘No’ box. Since Doug’s death, she’d taken to automatically declining all social invitations. The only thing worse than having your life disintegrate from grief, and shame, was having it happen in front of an audience. The five words Nikki now hated most in the entire English language were: ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  How could you be sorry? She wanted to scream whenever she heard it. You don’t even know me.

  But things were different now. Now she had a reason to go, a reason to put on her glad rags and smile and shake hands and tolerate the nauseating waves of sympathy. This would be her chance, perhaps her only chance, to see Luis Rodriguez for herself, in person. To form her own conclusions about him, not just blindly rely on Derek Williams’ information, or Anne’s. If there was even a remote possibility that he was involved in these Zombie Killings then she owed it to Trey and Lisa to learn whatever she could. Plus, she’d be in a better position to protect herself, and perhaps Anne too, if Luis really was the bad actor Williams claimed.

  Haddon will be pleased I’ve changed my mind, Nikki thought, as she tapped out a new email.

  What a rock Haddon had been since Doug’s death.

  ‘Hey,’ she wrote. ‘Is it too late for me to join your table tomorrow night?’

  The reply came back in seconds.

  ‘Of course not! Delighted. See you there. H xx’

  Nikki turned off her phone with a smile. She felt excited, and nervous at the same time. One way or another, things were starting to happen.

  It was about time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Ballroom at the Four Seasons Hotel on Beverly Hills’ iconic Rodeo Drive, is a grand, split-level room, dominated by a large, formal stage at one end. In the center of the ceiling a vast, spiral chandelier lamp hangs above a permanent dance floor surrounded by tables, illuminating a bright blue and gold carpet that wouldn’t look out of place in a sultan’s desert palace.

  Tonight’s charity, the luxuriously funded End Addiction, had spared no expense transforming the already lavish space into an enchanted vision of fairytale proportions. The flowers alone – vast arrangements of hydrangeas and white roses, each as tall as a grown man – must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Polished silver charges gleamed and glinted in the candlelight atop tables dressed with crisp white linens, crystal-cut glasses and priceless Spode china flatware. An eighteen-piece string orchestra played in white tie from the stage, while waiting staff who all looked like movie stars glided between the milling guests, offering caviar blinis and flutes of vintage champagne, as well as exotic ‘soft’ cocktails for the AA and NA crowd.

  The whole thing was so far over the top, it was like walking into a collapsing soufflé of decadence. Distasteful, in Nikki’s opinion, especially when one considered the lives of the poor, lost souls, their lives wrecked by drugs, that tonight’s event was supposed to help. But Nikki was an old enough hand at fundraising to know that, in LA at least, you had to spend money to make money. Yes, the indulgence was obscene, from the room to the Michelin-starred food to the couture dresses, some of which cost more than most of tonight’s waiting staff made in a year. But with tickets going for a thousand dollars a head, and tables for twenty times that, plus an after-dinner auction that was tipped to raise well into seven figures, from the charity’s point of view the evening was already a roaring success.

  ‘Nikki! Darling. I’m so glad you could make it.’

  Haddon Defoe, looking as dapper as ever in a beautifully cut Armani tux and pale blue silk tie, was all smiles as he glided over, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘I could use the support, to be honest,’ he confided. ‘They’ve asked me to give a speech tonight, and I’m panicking. That was always more Doug’s thing than mine.’

  Nikki hugged him warmly, inhaling his smell of expensive aftershave mingled with mouthwash. Haddon had always been one of those people who ought to have been attractive but somehow just wasn’t. ‘You’ll do fine,’ she assured him. ‘It’s an honor they asked you to speak.’

  ‘Yeah, an honor I couldn’t refuse. End Addiction was one of our biggest donors this year.’

  Nikki raised an eyebrow. In the past Haddon and Doug had struggled to find backing from the big, umbrella slush-funds that so man
y other small drug charities relied on. Largely because their own clinics were fiercely autonomous, and any donations they accepted had to be strictly no strings attached.

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ she looked at Haddon questioningly.

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, intermittently looking over her shoulder to scan the arriving guests. ‘I don’t know. Maybe Doug wouldn’t have approved. But these guys had so much money to give away this year. They got a couple of big new donors themselves. And they eased up on the whole needle-sharing thing, plus you know, with opening Venice we needed the cash really badly.’

  ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me,’ said Nikki, touching his arm. She looked beautiful tonight, Haddon thought admiringly, in a floor-length, off-the-shoulder red dress, with her dark hair pinned up and drop diamond earrings casting brilliant flashes of light over the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders. These were no widow’s weeds, that was for sure. Was the dress some sort of statement? Was her official mourning period now over?

  ‘Doug’s gone,’ she said, reading Haddon’s mind. ‘These are your decisions to make now. Besides,’ she smiled, ‘Doug wasn’t perfect. Not all of his decisions were the right ones.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Haddon. And nor are all of yours, Nikki, he wanted to add, doing a double take as the rotund figure of Derek Williams, her obnoxious PI, suddenly appeared at the entrance to the ballroom. What the hell is he doing here?

  Haddon had considered telling Nikki about his visit from Derek Williams, and the wild, offensive accusations the PI had decided to lob at him. But in the end he decided against it. If Williams ended up sharing his version of their interview with Nikki, then Haddon would be prepared to push back and defend himself. But if he didn’t, then it would be better all round to let bygones be bygones. The last thing Haddon wanted was to re-open the Doug/Lenka conversation with Nikki. The dead should be allowed to rest in peace.

  Following his gaze, Nikki frowned too. Williams hadn’t mentioned anything to her about attending tonight. Then again, perhaps he didn’t know that she was coming? She’d only added herself to the guest list at the last minute, after all, to have a chance to check out Luis Rodriguez. Was Derek doing the same thing? She hoped he hadn’t forgotten that his priority was supposed to be finding out more about Lenka.

  ‘I’ll see you at our table later,’ said Haddon, making his excuses and slipping off to glad-hand some of the other VIPs. Nikki was about to go over to Williams when she suddenly spotted Anne at the back of the room, deep in conversation with one of End Addiction’s founders.

  Walking over, Nikki waited patiently for the two of them to finish talking before approaching her.

  ‘Surprise!’

  ‘Nikki?’

  For a moment Anne looked almost angry. In a short black flapper-style dress with a silk tasseled hemline, she looked even younger than usual, although her pale face seemed strained. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I had a last-minute invitation,’ Nikki blushed. Somewhat taken aback by Anne’s reaction, she bent the truth a little. ‘Doug’s partner, Haddon Defoe, asked me to join his table.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Anne, softening a little. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Nikki asked. ‘You look a little tense.’

  Anne exhaled. ‘Luis isn’t coming,’ she said, disappointment etched on her face. ‘Something came up, apparently, and he had to pull out.’

  Nikki did her best to conceal her own disappointment. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d hoped to achieve by seeing Anne’s husband face to face, but his absence left her feeling cheated.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she told Anne. ‘I know tonight meant a lot to you.’

  Anne ran a hand through her hair in frustration. ‘Eugh, I don’t know. When I heard he wouldn’t be here, I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or disappointed. I mean, I want to see him, but at the same time I don’t. I hate that he still has this much power over me. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Sure I do,’ said Nikki truthfully. Doug still exerted enormous power over her emotions and actions, and he was dead. She could only imagine how hard it must be to break free from a complicated, controlling man like Luis Rodriguez, when he’d decided he didn’t want you to.

  A bell rang, indicating it was time for guests to take their seats for dinner. Nikki glanced around again for Derek Williams, but couldn’t seem to see him anywhere. Meanwhile, Haddon was waving, beckoning her over to his table.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Anne, noticing Nikki doing a double take.

  Behind Haddon, standing by the entrance like sentries, were Detectives Goodman and Johnson. Looking up, Goodman raised a hand in greeting to Nikki across the room. He looked preposterously handsome in his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, a taller version of a young Frank Sinatra. Flustered, Nikki nodded briefly in reply.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said casually to Anne. ‘I just saw an old friend. Try to enjoy your evening, even without Luis. Maybe we can talk again later, after dinner?’

  Something was up tonight. First Williams and now the cops?

  The thought suddenly occurred to Nikki that perhaps she was that something. Were Goodman, Johnson and Williams all here because of her? Watching her? Protecting her? And if so, from what? Or from whom?

  Or perhaps there was another reason, some other link between one of tonight’s guests and Lisa and Trey’s murders that she hadn’t yet grasped. Another strand in the web.

  And could it really be a coincidence that the police were here but – at the very last minute – Luis Rodriguez, the man of the hour, was not?

  Dinner was delicious.

  After a first course of tuna tartare and smoked sweet potato chips, Nikki was presented with a mouthwatering platter of thinly sliced Kobe beef and freshly made spaghetti with shaved white truffles, all washed down with crisp, vintage Chablis. The combination of the food, the wine and the stimulating company helped Nikki start to relax. The man next to her was quite fascinating, a neuroscientist from Berkeley specializing in neuron pathway regeneration after drug-induced brain damage. By the time Haddon got up to speak, Nikki realized to her own surprise that she was actually enjoying herself. She’d forgotten all about Luis Rodriguez, and even about Anne, although she still had half an eye on Detective Goodman, not least because she was aware of his eyes on her.

  ‘I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for an amazing man that many of you knew: the late, great Dr Douglas Roberts.’

  Haddon’s voice washed over Nikki like warm water. Even as he told stories about Doug and the old days, something that a few weeks ago would have reduced her to tears, she found she felt oddly fine, cocooned in a sort of fuzzy numbness. Maybe I’m drunk? As Haddon’s speech drew to a close and the auction began, her attention wandered and her vision began to blur. Faces merged one into another, all bathed in a lovely, mellow light from the candles. She was supposed to be looking for someone. Who was that again? Someone …

  Lou Goodman watched as Nikki Roberts leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She looked stunning tonight, sexier than ever in that clinging red dress. It was a struggle to take his eyes off her even for a second. But he knew he must.

  Two tables across from Nikki, right up against the stage where the auctioneer was whipping the crowd into a money-spending frenzy, Nathan Grolsch sat holding court beside his hollow wreck of a wife. Merely looking at Old Man Grolsch’s wrinkled, spiteful, hypocritical face, yukking it up with his ‘friends’ was enough to turn Goodman’s stomach. Surrounded by some of LA’s best known super-rich – the Grolsches’ table included a Bel Air real estate mogul, a legendary Vegas casino boss and his wife, and the new Russian owner of LA Galaxy, among others – the old man was obviously enjoying playing the part of the generous philanthropist.

  Goodman thought back to his brief interview with Brandon’s parents at their home. He would never forget Nathan Grolsch’s brutal lack of compassion for addicts, and how it even extended
to his own son.

  ‘Brandon was an addict. A useless, lying, no-good scumbag who threw his life away for drugs.’

  Fran, Brandon’s mother, had had more empathy, perhaps because she evidently had some sort of tranquilizer problem herself. But her husband’s bullying had broken her down over the years, and she’d been no more use to poor Brandon when he was alive than his cold, self-righteous father. Yet now that he was dead, here they both were, at an End Addiction event, of all things, with Nathan throwing his money around as if he actually gave a shit.

  ‘Psst, Goodman,’ Johnson, back from the bar, whispered in his partner’s ear. ‘You wanna hear a good joke?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s a joke. That’s a joke,’ said Goodman, gesturing with distaste towards the very public bidding war between Nathan Grolsch and one of the men on Nikki Roberts’ table over a weekend on a super-yacht in Sardinia. The price had already passed the two hundred thousand dollar mark, and neither bidder seemed inclined to stop anytime soon. ‘Grolsch is such a showboat. He turned his back on his own son. If he really cared, he’d write an anonymous check and be done with it.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ grunted Johnson. He wasn’t inclined to shed too many crocodile tears for a rich, spoiled addict like Brandon Grolsch. So his dad was an asshole. Big deal. Whose wasn’t?

  ‘Look who’s back,’ he remarked, dragging a reluctant Goodman’s attention away from the bidding towards the less expensive tables to their right, farthest from the stage. Derek Williams, looking not unlike Tweedle-Dee, squeezed into a cheap dinner suit at least two sizes too small for him and with the buttons on his white shirt gaping in the middle, was mingling with diners, taking notes and handing people his business card like a pesky used-car salesman.

  ‘I’ll get rid of him,’ said Johnson, putting his beer down with a clatter.

  ‘No,’ said Goodman, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Let me do it. You keep an eye on the tables.’

  Johnson opened his mouth to protest but Goodman had already gone.