A Vintage Murder (18 page)

With a paring knife, form pockets on top of roast. Push fresh ginger into pockets.

In a bowl, mix together extra virgin olive oil, ground ginger, and salt. Place pork in shallow roasting pan and brush with olive oil mixture. Bake at 350° for 2¼ hours on a barbecue grill.

Brush entire roast with honey and continue cooking for 15 more minutes or until internal temperature is 160°.

Let pork roast stand 15 minutes before slicing.

Serves 4-6.

“You were awfully quiet during dinner, at least after you didn’t get the answers you were looking for,” Derek said as they drove back to the hotel. Simon had told them he’d catch a ride with one of the crew. A group of them were going out for drinks. Nikki couldn’t help be a bit envious that he’d made friends so fast, and so far most of the cast and crew seemed to be tiptoeing around her. If she only had an oven back at their hotel room she could bake her world famous brownies for an icebreaker.

“What does that mean?”

“You were hoping that someone at that dinner would buy into your theory that Lucy was murdered.”

“Maybe I was, because I do think she was murdered.”

“You promised me that you would not do this, that you would let it go. Please, you have to, and if the police are convinced that there was nothing devious involved, then trust them.”

“The police aren’t always right you know, and Detective Von Doussa seems more interested in drinking good wine than solving any crime.”

“I think Von Doussa is on top of it. I think that the best thing you could do for yourself and for
us
is go with that.”

Let it go. Right. She probably should. She didn’t want to ruin things between herself and Derek.

“I’m sorry. You’re probably right. I think I was tired and you know how I get. I know I’m inquisitive. I felt bad that no one was saying much about the fact that Lucy just died out there. It’s almost as if she’s been dismissed.”

He took her hand. “You sure that’s all it is?”

“Yes.” She didn’t want to get into her real thoughts with him, because she knew it would only lead to an argument.

“How did it go today?”

“Fine.” Again, not another topic she wanted to delve into. So she changed it. “What about you? Business with Liam moving along?”

“We’ve actually got it all tied up. I’m thinking, since you’ll be working on this movie for a bit longer, I might take a trip to western Australia—the Margaret River—and see if there isn’t a winery there I’d like to negotiate with. They make fabulous wines in that area.”

“Oh. When do you plan to do that?” She didn’t like the sound of this at all.

“Tomorrow. That way I can check things out, you can focus on your movie, and then we can hopefully have some time to really enjoy ourselves.”

She was being paranoid again. He wasn’t trying to get away from her. No. In fact, he was trying to give her time and space to do the job she was now committed to, and also get more winery business done.
Grow up
, she told herself. If she was going to be in a mature relationship, she knew it was time to act like a mature adult. “I wish I could go with you.” That sounded mature.

“I wish you could, too.” He turned the corner and pulled into the hotel’s parking lot.

“Wait a minute,” she said before they parked and got out. “This morning there were some paparazzi hanging out.”

“I meant to ask you about that. What happened?”

She gave him a brief overview.

“Jeez, Nik, I think Kane might not have a bad plan with you staying out there. At least while I take this side trip.”

“Funny thing is, I was hoping that if I had to stay there, you would stay with me. I kind of thought that Simon could have the hotel room and that we would finally have a place to ourselves.”

“That would be nice. I’ve already made my plans for tomorrow, but I’ll be back in a couple of days. I like the way you’re thinking, though.”

“Really?” she said.

“Really. Believe it or not, I always wanted to take a camping trip in one of those monster RVs.”

“Why don’t you have one then?”

“It doesn’t seem . . . prudent.”

“And a jet is?” She laughed.

“Well, we don’t have to wait in lines.”

“True. You ready?”

“Why do you ask that with such trepidation?” Derek asked.

“Because I don’t know who we’ll find in that hotel lobby. Hopefully the paparazzi got their photos of me this morning, have written their crap about me being heartless for taking Lucy’s place, and that will be it.”

“I’m here with you, and I’m sure you’re right. They’re probably all too busy putting tributes together for Lucy Swanson like they did Anna Nicole Smith.” He opened the door for her. They walked hand in hand into the lobby, hoping not to be greeted with flashbulbs. Fat chance.

A camera was shoved in Nikki’s face as someone snapped photos, but even more disconcerting was a voice off to the side. A voice Nikki felt sure she recognized. “Hello, Nikki Sands. Who would have ever thought this is where we’d meet again?”

Nikki swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and knew that her real nightmare was about to begin.

Derek whispered, “Who is that?”

“Marne Pickett.”

A petite, blonde woman whose hair was coiffed into a bun and probably white under her dye job, shoved her manicured hand into Derek’s. Her hands were the only dead giveaway that the woman was ancient. She’d been pulled, plucked, and injected so much that Nikki wondered how she ever blinked her evil brown eyes. “I’m a journalist. You must have heard of me.”

“Marne, what a surprise,” Nikki muttered.

“Really?” She arched her eyebrows. “Come now, Nikki. You had to have known that you starring in a film by Nathan Cooley and Kane Ferriss would have gotten me on a plane to the Down Under. I was already on the way after the events that led up to you receiving the role. I’d love for us to sit down and have an interview.
Spoonfed
is willing to pay you a nice fee for an exclusive.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I’m confused.”

Nikki turned to him. “Ms. Pickett is a gossip columnist. Her
articles
are syndicated to all the major newspapers across the U.S., and she’s also a reporter for the tabloid
Spoonfed
.”

“Ah. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Pickett. But Ms. Sands is tired.” He pulled her toward the elevator, with Marne Pickett in tow.

“And you are whom exactly to Ms. Sands?”

“Marne, I’m not interested in an interview,” Nikki said.

“I don’t have anything to say. I guarantee you won’t find anything good on me. Not a thing.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Marne said and laughed. “Come now. Why don’t we have a nightcap and discuss the goings-on with Hollywood here in the outback.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I figured. You always did think you were above the rest. I would have thought you’d learned by now. Not many actresses get second chances. Especially at your age.”

“You are such a—!”

The elevator doors opened and Derek dragged Nikki inside. He stared at her for a few seconds after they closed. “Well?”

“What?”

“Care to elaborate?” he asked.

“Can we get to our room first?”

He nodded. But the minute they walked in, the phone started ringing. Derek answered it then slammed it down. “Reporter.”

“Marne?”

“Maybe.”

It rang a second time. He picked it up, slammed it down again, and then took it off the hook. Before long someone was knocking at the door. Derek cracked it to see a bellhop standing there. “Yes?”

“Note for Ms. Sands.” He handed it to Derek.

Nikki read it:

Boy, and how Nikki remembered. She handed the note back to Derek.

“I think you better tell me what’s going on, but first I can see that this is going to be a problem. After what you told me about this morning, and now this.” He pulled her suitcase from the closet.

“What are you doing?”

“I think Kane is right. If you’re out there at the vineyard, you will be able to be on time and focus. Plus, the paparazzi can’t touch you.”

“I don’t want to be there without you.”

He crossed his arms. “I’ve already made plans for the next few days, so we’ll be apart as it is.” He blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s all a sign.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, not liking at all what she was hearing.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand. “Maybe you picked the wrong guy, Nikki. Maybe you should have gone to Spain with Andrés.”

“What?” Oh no, no, no! He wasn’t going to do this to her.

“Look at everything that’s happened. Maybe this is God’s way of letting you know you made the wrong choice. We haven’t even had a moment alone together.”

“Oh no. No. You’re kidding me, right? You with the what ifs and this movie thing won’t change a thing? Please. Why do you do this?
Why?
Every time things start to head in our direction, like we might actually succeed in a relationship together, you balk at the first sign of trouble.”

“What are you talking about?” He dropped her hand. “I don’t do that.”

“Since we’ve met, we’ve done this roller-coaster ride—up and down, with the same old question: Will we get together, won’t we get together? Drives me crazy. You know it and I know it.”

“You were involved with another man—”

“For a while, yes, I was. Because no matter what kind of signal I was sending, you weren’t exactly doing anything about it. But then you’d do something, some little thing, like make a joke that you knew only I would understand, or have me to dinner and we’d hang out and watch movies . . . but nothing. You never made a real move. I finally had a man go after me, and I liked Andrés. I did. He made me feel wanted. And, hell, who knows, maybe I could have fallen in love with him. He has it all. Charm, passion, brains, and looks. He was my friend, too, but dammit—he wasn’t you. He isn’t you, and
you
have this thing over me. I don’t know what it is, but I also don’t know if
I
have a
thing
over you. If you can, at the first sign of any trouble, just make stupid-assed comments like ‘maybe you picked the wrong guy.’ Maybe the question should be, are you happy you picked me?”

He hesitated. “Of course I am.”

“Okay then. Derek, it’s time to shit or get off the pot. Your words are words and your kisses, well, they are beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.” She choked back the emotion catching in her throat. “But either you’re in, even when we have a bumpy road—and you and I both know it hasn’t ever been exactly smooth going—or you’re out. I got on that plane to come here with you because I am
so
in. Then all this happened.” She waved her arms in the air. “Who knew that it would? I didn’t even know a movie was being made here, and then Lucy and all of it . . . well, it’s craziness. Total craziness, and now we’re caught up in it. But if I’ve learned anything from life at this point, it’s that everything changes. It’s all temporary and it will pass. We won’t have jackass reporters hounding us, and I won’t become the next big star, and we will get back to Napa Valley, and life will be what we’ve dreamt it will be.”

He stared at her for a long time. “What if you’re wrong?”

She started pulling her clothes from the closet and tossing them into her suitcase. “And what if I am? Does it matter? You were the one who said that nothing would change, that it wouldn’t matter, and now you’re flipping the switch on me. When you’re in love with someone, does it really matter? You might want to think about that. Oh and practice what you preach.” She didn’t wait for his answer as she closed her suitcase and slammed the hotel room door behind her.