He paused a moment and seemed to be considering it. “Maybe she did, but not with me. Looking back on it,” he added, “it wasn’t so much losing her that bummed me out as the betrayal.”
Nicole told him about her divorce—the short version—and admitted that Brad, her ex, had been into wholesale betrayals.
The waitress appeared, cleared away their empty cups and dessert dish, and placed the check on the table. “We’re closing in a few minutes,” she said.
Nicole looked at her watch. “11:30? I had no idea it was so late.”
Josh paid for dinner, and they walked out of the restaurant to the street where her car was parked. His was a few spaces ahead. Every business in the area seemed to have closed; the block was pretty much deserted.
“My place is just a few blocks away,” he said. “You could stop for a drink.”
“Anymore and I won’t be able to drive home,” she said.
“I’ve got a couch.”
They both smiled. It was pretty much what Rick had said, but coming from Josh it was something else entirely.
“I’ll follow you,” Nicole said, gesturing to her car.
His house was a small craftsman-style bungalow, the front yard smartly fitted out with a picket fence, a stone path bordered with flowers, and glass-haloed garden lights. When they stepped inside the house, Josh closed the door and reached over to push a button that turned on dim, recessed lighting. He pushed another that closed the blinds in the living and dining rooms. Then he pressed her against the door and kissed her. She kissed him back, putting her arms around his neck. With surprising speed, he took off his sports coat, tossed it behind him and began unbuttoning his shirt. Nicole started on the small buttons that ran down the front of her dress.
While this was going on, he still managed to keep kissing her. Nicole had begun to giggle, realizing it was a race to see who could get undressed first. When most of her buttons were undone, she kicked off her shoes and let her dress drop to the floor, leaving just her sheer, lacy bra and panties.
“Whoa!” Josh said. “Stop right there. I think the next step requires my personal supervision.” They both laughed as he pulled her toward the couch.
Afterward, he grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch and pulled it over them. They held each other, dozing.
A while later, Nicole woke with a start and sat up. He stirred.
“What?” he said.
“I’ve got to call my sister,” she said. “She’ll wonder what happened to me.”
“Can you spend the night?” he said. “I have to leave tomorrow morning for a family get-together. But I’d really like it if you stayed.”
She regarded him for a moment. She really did like this guy, his earnest blue eyes, his easy smile.
“OK.” She got up and sent her sister a message saying she was spending the night with “the new guy.” She thought Steph probably had figured it out already. With that out of the way, they moved up a short flight of stairs to his bedroom and made love again.
Nicole woke up at 9:00 a.m., confused at first about where she was. When Josh came into the bedroom, he was already dressed. He’d brought her a cup of coffee, which he put on the night table next to her. He also had her clothes, neatly folded over his arm, her shoes dangling from two fingers. He placed them on the bed.
“I have to go, and I wanted to say goodbye,” he said. “My folks have a place up at Tahoe, and we’re going to spend the weekend skiing. I wish I could cancel and spend the day with you, but it’s a family get-together that’s been in the works for months.”
“Oh,” she said, “I have to get back to Stephanie’s anyway.” This wasn’t true, and she felt disappointed, even though she hadn’t given any thought to what would happen next when they’d ended up in his bed the night before.
“Stay as long as you’d like,” he said. “Breakfast is in the oven, keeping warm. The key is on the table next to the front door. Just lock up and drop the key in the mail slot.”
He leaned over to kiss her. “Can we have dinner Monday night? We can eat here. I’ll cook.”
“Sure,” she said. “Have a great time.”
Josh kissed her again, and after another round of goodbyes, he was gone.
She got up and put her clothes on. Then she walked around, getting her first good look at the house. This was a sample of his work as an architect, and she was impressed. From the area, she knew it had probably been one of the many identical tract houses built after World War II. He’d made it cozy and charming, with a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace in the living room; hardwood floors; and a surprisingly large, well-equipped kitchen. The furniture was spare, modern, and tasteful. Everything looked new, and the house was tidy and clean—another point in Josh’s favor.
She found her breakfast in the oven, a plate of French toast and bacon, lightly wrapped with foil to keep it from drying out. She smiled, thinking about the previous night with Josh. He cooks, too. He was almost too good to be true.
After Nicole ate, she took another tour of the house. She had a strong impulse to snoop around but limited herself to opening closet doors and checking bathroom cabinets and dresser drawers for any sign of a woman staying here or leaving things to mark her territory. She found no such evidence, just that Josh was neat and given to storing his possessions in boxes, lined baskets, and other organizers.
When she ended up in his office and saw his computer, the temptation was too much. She sat down in front of it and turned it on. To her surprise, it wasn’t password protected. What a trusting soul he was—leaving her alone in his house with free access to his computer.
His files all seemed to be work-related: plans and proposals for architectural projects. She looked at his email account. Among the messages he’d already opened were a number from friends, several offering to fix him up. Then she noticed an unopened one that had come in that morning. The “from” line—[email protected]—caught her eye. It said, “I miss you. Please call me.” It was signed, “All my love, Elle.” Nicole closed it and took care to mark it unread, so Josh wouldn’t know she’d been snooping. Then she saw an earlier message from Elle, dated ten days before. It said, “Why don’t you return my calls?” One more was dated a week before that. It said, “I broke up with Tate. I realize now I made a terrible mistake. I’m still in love with you. I know you’re angry, but can’t we get together and talk?”
She clicked on Josh’s outgoing mail. He hadn’t replied to any of these messages. Even so, Nicole didn’t like this development. Maybe Josh hadn’t answered his ex, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually do so. Well, Nicole told herself, this was what she got for snooping around. She quit out of his email and turned off the computer. Then she put her dishes in the dishwasher, made the bed, and left.
She got to Stephanie’s at 10:00 a.m. As soon as she opened the front door, Arnold’s excited barks woke up Steph.
“So how was it?” she wanted to know. Nicole smiled and felt herself flush. “That good, eh?” Steph said.
“Truly,” Nicole said. “God, I am such a slut.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You had a good time. That’s exactly what you needed.” Stephanie regarded Nicole for a moment, then went on, “You know, when someone’s life is completely upended like yours has been, it’s natural to look for a way to ease the pain. This guy was it. I can’t imagine why you’d feel guilty about it.”
“Oh,” Nicole said, eager to change the subject, “things have quieted down on the media front. The paparazzi have pretty much exhausted the story and abandoned me for fresh kill. So I’m moving home today. Would you mind keeping Arnold until Sunday? I just want to go home and sleep.”
“Sure,” said Stephanie. “Arnold likes it here. He’s asked me to adopt him. I’m seriously thinking it over.”
Nicole laughed, then went to the room she’d been using and started packing.
Nine
Back home, Nicole spent the rest of the day in bed, catching up on
her sleep. She got up to eat dinner—leftovers she found in the freezer—then went back to bed with her book.
She woke up at 7:00 a.m. on Sunday, pulled on some old jeans, a T-shirt, sunglasses, and a floppy-brimmed hat for a trip to the nearby supermarket. She badly needed to restock her kitchen, but she didn’t want to run into anyone who might recognize her from the news.
When Nicole got back to her place, it took two trips from the garage to carry up the groceries. She was just putting them away when her phone beeped, and she looked at her messages. There were two, both from Daniel Freeman. One was from Friday. She wondered how she’d missed it. It said, “Blair’s death certificate came. Drop by after work to sign the papers for his bequest.”
In the second message, which had just come in, Freeman said he was in the office this morning catching up on some work, and she could drop by if she wanted to take care of the paperwork.
Nicole called him. “I’m still not ready to accept the money,” she said. “I need more time to think about it.”
“All right,” said Freeman, “but he did leave an envelope of material for you. He said it includes a personal letter and information about the property. I should have given it to you when you came in before, but it slipped my mind. Perhaps there’s something in it that will help you decide.”
“What time should I come by?” she said. She looked at her watch. It was 10:30 a.m.
“I’ll be here until noon or so,” Freeman said.
Nicole quickly changed into something more presentable—a red sweater, short navy skirt and heels—and went down to get her car. As she reached the street, she noticed a gray SUV pull away from a nearby no-parking zone. It looked just like the one that had almost run her down the day she met Josh. It was clearly following her, and whoever was at the wheel wasn’t trying to be subtle about it.
Once again, she remembered her interview with Detective Miller. He’d thought she was Robert’s girlfriend, and that she knew more about Robert’s murder than she admitted. He’d warned her that the killer might draw the same conclusion. Robert had photos of her in his house, which the detective said the killer had searched. Photos identifying her and where she worked had been in the news. The man following her could be with the media. But he might also be Robert’s killer. Whoever he was, she had to get him off her tail.
She tried the trick of turning into the Beverly Hills Hotel driveway, but the man seemed to anticipate this and followed her in, along the road fronting the hotel and out again. She wove around the residential streets for perhaps ten minutes, passing one mansion with sprawling gardens after another, but she couldn’t shake him.
Finally, as Nicole was turning back onto Sunset Boulevard, she managed to sail through the light just after it turned red. She almost got into a wreck, and several cars that had jumped the green light screeched to a stop. But the maneuver was successful. Cross traffic trapped the gray SUV in the middle of the intersection, sending up a prolonged chorus of honking. She turned on Beverly Drive and made her way over the hill and into the valley, driving as fast as she could. Traffic was relatively light. By the time she reached Ventura Boulevard, she was sure she’d lost him.
If it was the same SUV she’d seen a few days before, she reasoned, he would know where she was headed, even though he might not have the exact address. She took the extra precaution of leaving her car in a parking structure near Freeman’s office so it wouldn’t be seen on the street.
To Nicole’s annoyance, Daniel Freeman once again tried to talk her into signing the papers and accepting the inheritance. “I could have the money transferred directly into your account,” he said. “It would be available to you tomorrow.”
“As I said,” she told him, “I’m having a lot of hesitation about accepting it. I’ll let you know as soon as I decide.”
“Of course,” he said. He placed the papers back in their folder. Then he got up and went over to a framed landscape hung on the wall. He slid it aside, revealing a wall safe. He put in the combination, then opened it and took out something. He closed the safe, spun the dial, and straightened the picture. When he turned back to her, he was holding a large, tan mailing envelope. “Given the notoriety of this case, I’m keeping Mr. Blair’s file locked up.” He sat down again and placed the envelope on his desk, pushing it toward her.
“As I mentioned, he left this envelope for you. He said it included a letter explaining certain matters he wanted you to know if anything happened to him.” He paused to take two sheets of paper out of a desk drawer and put it on top of the envelope. “Here are his instructions for burial and his death certificate.”
“Didn’t you think it was odd?” she said. “I mean, how often do people walk in here out of the blue and make out a will?”
“At the time, I didn’t think anything of it,” he said. “In my experience, people are uncannily aware when it’s time to record their last wishes. Of course, as things turned out, it was very strange, considering the way Mr. Blair died. I’ve never had anything like that happen before.”
“He knew someone wanted to kill him,” she said, almost to herself. “Someone must have threatened his life, and he took it very seriously.”
Freeman gave the envelope and papers another push toward her, and she picked them up. The envelope was fat and seemed packed full. A square object inside gave it an irregular shape.
They both stood up. She thanked Freeman and told him she’d be in touch. He walked her to the door and, once again, shook her hand while sandwiching his left hand over hers.
Back in her car, she made her way along Ventura Boulevard, remarkably devoid of traffic, even for a Sunday morning. She turned onto Beverly Glen, heading home.
Just before she reached Mulholland Drive at the crest of the hill, she saw, with a shock, that the same gray SUV was behind her. How on earth had he found her? While they were stopped at the signal, she got a look at him in her rearview mirror. He was big with jowls and a shaved head. The light turned green, and she started up so fast her tires screeched. He was just as fast, close behind her as they sped past Mulholland and down the sharply twisting road. She could see he was deliberately tailgating her, forcing her to go faster. Using the shoulder of the road, he pulled along the passenger side of her car and sideswiped her. The maneuver pushed her car toward the line of cars on the other side of the road and the steep cliff beyond it. She corrected her steering just in time to avoid a head-on collision. She sped up until he was behind her again. Holy shit, she thought, he’s trying to get me killed and make it look like an accident. She kept ahead of him with her foot on the accelerator, going a terrifying sixty, then sixty-five down the winding road.
At last they neared the bottom of the hill at Sunset where cars were waiting at a red light. Nicole spotted a gap in the flow of cars on the other side of the road where traffic was headed in the opposite direction. She wasn’t sure she could manage it, but desperation prompted her to execute a quick U-turn. She barely made it into the space between two cars. This prompted loud honking from the drivers behind her, who had to hit their brakes. She was now headed back to the valley. Meanwhile, her pursuer was stuck between other cars waiting at the signal, facing south.
She’d planned to reverse directions again at the small shopping center at the crest of the hill and head home to Westwood. But by the time she got there, she realized what a bad idea that was. Whoever was tailing her knew where she lived. It was too dangerous to go home. She got out her phone and, once again, called her sister to ask if she could stay a few more days. Not wanting to alarm Stephanie, Nicole explained that she was still being hassled by paparazzi.
Nicole came back down the mountain, this time through Laurel Canyon. Construction crews seemed to be working on every major street. It took a while for her to battle her way into West Hollywood. Before she went into Stephanie’s apartment, she opened the trunk of her car and pulled out one of the tote bags she kept for grocery shopping. She dropped Robert’s envelope into it.
Once inside, she greeted her sister and Arnold, who was as excited as ever to see her. Stephanie was sitting at the table eating lunch.
“Hey,” Stephanie said. “You hungry? I have leftover tuna casserole.”
“Sure,” Nicole said. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She disappeared into the room where she slept and put the tote bag in the closet.
While they ate, Nicole told her sister about the inheritance, swearing her to secrecy. She didn’t mention the man in the gray SUV. Stephanie would demand they call the police, and Nicole wasn’t up for that. So far the police had been less than helpful, and they weren’t about to assign her a bodyguard. Nor did she say anything about Robert’s envelope. Stephanie would insist on opening it right away, and Nicole wanted to put it off as long as possible. Most especially, she didn’t want to read Robert’s letter. Maybe she would turn it over to her lawyer so she wouldn’t have to deal with it. She had decided, however, that Stephanie might as well know about the bequest.
“Oh, my god,” Stephanie said when she heard the news. “You’ll never have to work again in your life. Tell me again: How much is it?” Then, after Nicole repeated the amount, Stephanie said, “Oh, my god” again. She was even more flabbergasted when Nicole told her she didn’t want the money. “It makes me sick to think about it,” Nicole said. “His crazy fixation on me.”
“What difference does that make?” said Stephanie. “This could be so great for you! You know Marja, this friend of mine? She helped out a neighbor, an old woman who didn’t have any family or friends. Then the woman died and left Marja almost a million dollars. She bought a little house, and she travels. She took a job that she loves with an art gallery. It doesn’t pay much, but that doesn’t matter because she doesn’t need the money. It’s a total win-win!”
“This is not the same,” Nicole said. “It just feels wrong. I mean, where do you think he got all that money? Helping out in a soup kitchen or visiting cancer patients? It was probably something like dealing drugs or arms trading. He could have been a hired killer.
The Bequest Page 9
