Just Another Pretty Face (HT 459) (18 page)

"Do you do that kind of thing?" He nodded toward the reports.

Nikki shook her head. "I'm not a good interviewer," she said, and shifted the report on M&E Pool Maintenance to the bottom of the stack. She flipped open the next folder. "Maids For You," she said, and skimmed through the information Bender Security had compiled on the various people who had helped Mrs. Gil-more clean Pierce's house over the past year. She read bits and pieces of it aloud, noting, finally, that there were four among the staff of Maids For You whose exact whereabouts the night of the fire couldn't be verified by Bill Bender's investigators. "Two of them are Latinas, neither of whom read or write English, although both of them speak it a little. One got married and moved away. The other one quit the service the day before the fire and hasn't been heard from since. Not uncommon in the business, apparently. She's a long shot, but Bill thinks it's worth persuing. At least for a while. He assigned an operative to track her down."

Folder two was shuffled to the bottom of the stack.

"Janice Bressler," Nikki read, flipping open the next folder. "Started her own lawn service company five years ago after a very nasty divorce in which her husband managed to get just about everything. She has three children. Two boys, sixteen and fourteen, who help her with the business when they're not in school, and a ten-year-old girl. She started back to school last year to get her degree in landscape design. Sounds like she'd be way too busy to run around after you with her tongue hanging out, doesn't it?" Nikki commented, flashing a teasing look at Pierce from under her eyelashes .

He scowled at her.

"The report includes some samples of her company stationery. Letterhead. Invoices. Notepaper. It's similar," she commented, referring to the paper the fan letters had been written on, "but I'd say it's more of a dusty blue than pastel blue, wouldn't you?" she asked, handing Pierce a sheet of the notepaper to look at for himself.

He laid it down on the table without comment.

"I'd be inclined to discount her as a suspect," Nikki said then, "except for the way she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching. And the fact that the investigator couldn't find out exactly where she was on the night of the fire. She hired a baby-sitter for her daughter that night and supposedly went out on a date."

"Supposedly?"

"No one actually saw the date. If there was one, she might have met him somewhere rather than have him pick her up at her house. Bill's going to have someone keep an eye on her to see if we can find out anything more concrete."

"Oh, my God," Pierce said, appalled at what he considered the invasion of an innocent woman's privacy.

Nikki reached over and patted his hand. "We're almost finished," she said soothingly.

"And the worst is yet to come."

"Mrs. Marjorie Gilmore," she said, quickly perusing the file. "Nothing incriminating here."

"Thank God," Pierce said.

"She was born in Bloomington, Minnesota. One sister, Barbara, mother of Lisbeth. She married an army drill sergeant when she was nineteen. Well," Nikki muttered to herself, "that explains why she always makes me feel like a raw recruit. Let's see, she was widowed fifteen years ago and has been working as a housekeeper ever since. Excellent references. Excellent work record." She put the report aside. "If it wasn't for the fact that she was here on the night of the fire, she wouldn't even be on our list of suspects," Nikki said, and picked up the fourth file folder.

"Lisbeth Greene," she read aloud, glancing at Pierce to see how he was holding up. He seemed to be fine. Disgruntled but fine. "Only child of Dr. and Mrs. Greene. Born in Edina, Minnesota, a wealthy suburb of Minneapolis. She was a high achiever all through high school. Honor roll, pom-pom squad, student government, drama club. She apparently had some trouble with anorexia during the last two years of high school. She was hospitalized for it once, and she and her mother—but not doctor dad, apparently—went regularly to a family therapist. After high school, she enrolled at the University of Minnesota but dropped out after six months—oh, this is interesting."

"I don't think I like that tone of voice," Pierce said.

"There was some trouble with one of her teachers. A male teacher," Nikki said, giving him a significant look from under her lashes. "She says they had an affair. He claims it was all in her mind." She read a little further. "Oh, Lord, that poor girl."

"What?"

"She tried to commit suicide by taking an overdose of barbiturates. Her mother found her before it was too late and rushed her to emergency. She was seeing a psychiatrist twice a week until last fall, when she transferred out here to go to school." Nikki closed the report. "I hate to say it after all the problems she's already had in her life, but it looks as if she's still our most likely suspect. She does seem to have quite a few problems with the male figures in her life. Starting, I suspect," she said, tapping the folder with her finger, "with her father."

"Thank you, Dr. Freud."

"I'm not saying she's absolutely the one. In fact, right now, Janice Bressler is as much of a suspect. But I am saying we need to keep an eye on her. Surely you can see the logic in that?"

Pierce sighed. "Unfortunately, yes, I can." He propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands, covering his eyes for a moment. "Are we almost finished with this?"

"Just one more," Nikki said. "Kathy Frye." She paused to take a sip of her cooling coffee before opening the folder. "Hmm," she said after a moment, "this is interesting."

"I don't think I want to hear this. You thought the last report was interesting, too."

"Not ominous interesting," Nikki assured him. "Just interesting interesting. Kathy used to be an actress. Her stage name was Cherie Bombe. B-O-M-B-E. Does that ring a bell?"

Pierce thought about it for a second. "Nope. I can't say that it does. Maybe Claire would recognize it. She seems to remember the name of anyone who ever worked in Hollywood."

"Well, it was nearly twenty-five years ago. Obviously, her career never went anywhere or she'd still be—oh, my," Nikki said, and slapped the photograph she'd just picked up facedown on the table.

"Now I
know
I don't want to hear this," Pierce said, reacting more to the shock in her voice than her abrupt action.

"My offer still stands," Nikki said. "I'll take it to my room and finish reading it by myself, if you want."

Pierce shook his head and reached out to pick up the photograph. Very reluctantly, he turned it over.

It was a black-and-white publicity still of a very voluptuous young woman in her late teens. Despite the long blond hair, exaggerated makeup and black leather peekaboo outfit, complete with thigh-high boots and a whip, it was undoubtedly the woman they knew as Kathy Frye.

Pierce put the picture facedown on the table. "Judging from that, I'd say she must have done porno flicks."

"Vixen With A Whip. Lady Dangerous. Cherry Delight,"
Nikki read the movie titles from the report. "There are about a dozen more. It looks like she did the last one over... let's see—" Nikki mentally counted backward"—over twenty years ago. After that, nothing. Cherie Bombe completely disappeared from sight. Three years later Kathy Frye went to work as a receptionist at a casting agency. She worked as an extra for a while, too, under the name of Kay Fielding. All legitimate films," Nikki said, "but it looks like she never really caught on. She quit acting altogether in—" she ran her finger down the list "—it looks like her last role was a good sixteen years ago. After that she went to work for Universal as a secretary. A very good secretary, apparently, since she stayed there for nearly fourteen years. She quit Universal to go to work for you." Nikki paused, her head tilted consideringly. "That seems a bit strange, don't you think, to quit a company after fourteen years?"

"Not if you consider that I'm probably paying her twice what Universal was."

"Are you?"

Pierce raised an eyebrow.

"Paying her twice what Universal was?"

"You'll have to ask Claire that question. She takes care of all the bills." He looked down at the file containing the report on his secretary. "Does this mean Kathy goes to the top of the list of suspects?"

"Not necessarily," Nikki said. "Not because of this, anyway. But it doesn't mean that we mark her off, either," she warned him. "She's still one of the few people who has access to the details of your private life. She was here on the night of the fire. And she started working for you about the same time the letters started arriving, give or take a month. That's enough to keep her name on the list as far as I'm concerned."

Pierce sighed. "When this is all over, I want you to destroy that report," he said. "Burn it. And I want you to get in touch with Bill Bender and tell him to do the same thing. I want every copy destroyed, especially the pictures. No matter what happens, Kathy must never know that we know about that." He flicked a hand at the picture lying facedown on the table between them. "She's obviously worked very hard to put her past behind her and make something good out of her life. I think that past should stay where it is. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Nikki said. She gathered all the materials together and stood up. "I'll go call Bill."

* * *

"IS IT REALLY NECESSARY to have lunch in the Polo Lounge?" Nikki asked as they pulled up in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel. "Couldn't we have eaten at home?"

"We could have," Pierce said as he put the Lamborghini into Park, "but I wanted to get out of the house for a while." He tossed the keys at the valet and took Nikki's arm to lead her into the lobby.

"Other side, please," she said, slipping around behind his back, so that her right hand was free.

Pierce frowned at her, disliking the reminder that she was wearing a gun under her bright red blazer.

"You were the one who wanted to get out," she reminded him with a wide grin. "So stop sulking. It's very unbecoming. And smile, darling," she said as they swept into the star-studded Polo Lounge.

The maitre d' hurried over to greet them. "Right this way, please, Mr. Kingston," he said, bowing slightly. "We have your usual table ready for you."

Nikki felt as if every eye in the place were on them as they crossed the gallery. Or on Pierce, anyway. And she couldn't blame them. Dressed in one of his brand-new outfits, he was definitely a sight to see. A tall, golden Greek god, splendidly turned out in Calvin Klein's latest version of men's casual wear—white linen boxpleated trousers with a woven leather belt, a cream silk-knit Henley shirt, a linen blazer in a color called "natural" and a pair of Mexican leather sandals worn without socks. Or one Mexican leather sandal, anyway; his left heel and ankle were cradled in the heavy canvas and plastic of his cast.

Only a man as naturally beautiful and elegant as Pierce Kingston could manage to look so damned debonair and sophisticated in pure linen, Nikki thought as she strolled along beside him to their table. When she wore linen, the only look she seemed able to achieve was wrinkled.

It was undoubtedly those Kingston genes again; they had to be one of the great mysteries of the universe.

"Thank you, Craig," Pierce said to the maitre d' and motioned for Nikki to slide into the booth. "Would you have the waiter bring us a bottle of champagne," he asked, naming a vineyard and a vintage that had the maitre d' smiling in approval. "And a bowl of fresh strawberries, please."

"Very good, sir," the maitre d' said, and went away.

"Is that all I get for lunch?" Nikki asked. "You make me get dressed up like a store mannequin—" she indicated the stark white silk tank top and sarong skirt she was wearing under her red blazer "—and all I get out of it is strawberries and champagne?"

"Strawberries and champagne and..." He paused on the brink.

"And?" she asked, looking up at him expectantly.

It was the opening he'd been waiting for, the reason he'd wanted to get her out of the house. "And kisses," he said, turning his words into action.

His mouth captured hers for a long, sweet moment. Lightly, playfully, asking for nothing more than the giddy pleasure of a stolen kiss. At this rate, thought Nikki, I'm going to be too far gone to appreciate the champagne.

"We had a deal," she said when he finally raised his mouth from hers.

"We still have a deal."

"If I remember it rightly, our deal was that everything was going to be strictly business between us." She skewed him with a look. "That didn't feel very businesslike."

"Didn't it?" Pierce said, feigning shock. "I must be losing my touch. It was supposed to be very businesslike." He leaned closer to her, putting his lips to her ear. "If you'll recall, sweetheart, part of our business arrangement was that we're supposed to convince my public that we're lovers, remember? Ah, Craig—" he straightened as the maitre d' returned with the champagne. "You brought it yourself. Thank you."

Nikki waited silently while the maitre d' opened the champagne, filled their flutes and snuggled the bottle down into the silver ice bucket.

"After everything that's been in the tabloids lately, I don't think anyone needs convincing on that score," she said when the maitre d' moved away from the table.

Pierce shook his head, his eyes sparkling at her over the rim of his champagne glass. "It's obvious you don't understand Hollywood," he chided her as he set his glass down on the heavy linen tablecloth. "If we just sit here, talking in a calm and businesslike manner with no billing and cooing, some reporter's going to write that the romance of the decade has gone into a deep freeze." He took another sip of his champagne. "Someone might even print that we were overheard discussing the details of the palimony agreement."

"Billing and cooing?"

"An old Hollywood term for making out. Ah, here comes the waiter with our strawberries. Quick, kiss me," he said, and leaned forward to capture her lips again, just as the waiter set a crystal bowl of plump red strawberries on the table.

He tasted of champagne and sunlight and something, Nikki thought, that was uniquely him. She was smiling when he lifted his lips from hers.