Imitation of Death (22 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Crane

BOOK: Imitation of Death
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Nikki crossed back to her mother’s property, then out the front gate, which was open because the servers assisting Ina had just been let in. She walked across the street to Mr. M.’s lovely three-story home. Built in the forties, with his widow’s walk, it looked like it should be on a spit of land jutting out into the ocean in Maine, rather than in Beverly Hills. Mr. M. had no gate; he had no security system.
Nikki walked up and rang the doorbell. She didn’t expect Mr. M. to answer his door, but she didn’t expect a gal who looked like she belonged at the Playboy Mansion in Holmby Hills to answer, either. She was wearing a short, tight black dress with the body to fill it out, black stiletto heels, and a tiny, frilly white apron.
“Hello,” the young—barely out of high school—woman said cheerfully.
Nikki smiled
the smile
. “Hi, I’m Nikki Harper. My mom lives across the street.” She pointed in the direction of the house. “Victoria Bordeaux.”
There was no recognition on the blonde’s face.
“Mr. M.,” Nikki chuckled, “that’s what we call him—”
“That’s what I call him, too,” she said in a ditzy voice.
“I was wondering if I could speak to Mr. M.? Just for a minute?”
“Please wait.”
Nikki was hoping she might be invited in, but the young woman closed the heavy black-and-gold door.
She was back in a matter of minutes. “Sorry,” she said. “Mr. M. isn’t seeing visitors.”
“You told him it was me?” she asked.
The young woman bobbed her head. “He said he wouldn’t see you.”
“Did he . . . say . . .
why
he wouldn’t see me?” Nikki asked.
“He doesn’t see guests,” the blond bombshell said sweetly.
“I see.”
The smile
again. “Well, could you please send Mr. M. my regards and tell him I’d really like to speak to him? That I’ll only take a moment of his time.”
“I’ll tell him,” she sang. “Have a nice day!” She started to close the door, then opened it again. “Oh! Mr. M. asked me to ask you how Ms. Bordeaux is. I didn’t realize she’s the woman we watch on DVDs all the time. Mr. M. loves Ms. Bordeaux’s movies. He once starred in one with her, did you know that?”
She was so sweet and seemed so . . . dumb . . . that Nikki couldn’t help but smile. “Actually, I did.” She started to back down the steps. “Please tell Mr. M. that Mother is doing well and that I’ll call on him again.”
“Okay.” The woman smiled and closed the door.
Nikki sprinted down the steps and out the driveway. If she wasn’t home and downstairs before Will and Jada arrived, she’d be in big trouble.
Chapter 22
“E
llen, so glad you could make it,” Nikki said when Ellen approached her and Jeremy. Victoria had just called for her guests to join her downstairs in the screening room, so everyone was on the move.
Victoria had built the screening room in the basement of her home in the days before media rooms were all the rage. There, she held movie night weekly, hostessing celebrities and political and social icons. The room sat twenty-five privileged viewers and was a thing of beauty, imitating the grandest theaters of bygone years. Decorated tastefully in an art deco style, with gilt trim and comfortable velvet seating, Nikki still felt a little thrill every time she joined her mother and her guests there. Some of her best childhood memories centered around the screening room. It was there where she had seen her mother’s first movies and shared her first real kiss with Jeremy when she was fourteen.
Nikki was glad she could finally catch a minute with Ellen. She’d waved to Ellen earlier, but had been so busy chatting with Victoria’s guests that she hadn’t had the opportunity to do more than wave across the room. “This is my Jeremy,” she introduced. “Jeremy, Ellen Mar.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeremy.” Ellen shook his hand. She was wearing an elegant jewel-blue sleeveless sheath dress that matched her eyes and sexy nude-colored heels. She looked like a runway model tonight in her chic dress; she reminded Nikki of Naomi Campbell.
Ellen gave Nikki a quick hug. “Thanks so much for inviting me,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling. Then she whispered under her breath, “Will and Jada were so nice. So . . .” She couldn’t seem to find the right word.
“Normal?” Nikki offered and then chuckled. “I know. I ran into Jada outside the powder room. She was complaining about her shoes being too tight.” She and Ellen laughed.
“My son is a big fan of the Food Network,” Jeremy said. “He’s excited about your new show. He’s fascinated by the way you can make sloppy joes look like pumpkin pie.”
They all chuckled.
Nikki slipped her arm through Jeremy’s. He was tall, with a full head of dark, wavy hair and warm brown eyes. He wasn’t movie star handsome like Marshall, but good-looking. And so darned nice that Nikki sometimes felt she didn’t deserve him. “I was telling Ellen at lunch that you got us reservations at The French Laundry next month. A weekend getaway.”
“I’m so envious,” Ellen said. “I’ve heard reservations there are impossible.”
Victoria appeared in the doorway, dressed in an amazing floor-length Vera Wang gown of spun silver silk. “There you are, Ellen. Don’t let Nikki keep you. I want you to sit with me.” She held out her hand.
“See you later,” Ellen whispered.
“
Nicolette?
” Victoria beckoned.
“Coming, Mother.” She turned to Jeremy, and he caught her hands. “Are you coming to Marshall’s party Saturday night?”
He groaned. Jeremy, who had been a child actor, hated the Hollywood scene and avoided it whenever possible. It annoyed him that even after twenty-five years, he was still considered a celebrity when the paparazzi were out. “Do I have to?”
“No. You don’t have to.” She looked at him. “But I do.” She lowered her voice. “I thought you said the kids were going to spend the night with their grandparents. I thought we were having a sleepover.”
He pulled her closer, bringing his nose inches from hers. “They are and we are,” he said in his best imitation of a sexy voice.
“You don’t want to come to Marshall’s?” She whined, giving him her
please, just for me
pout. “Just for a little while?”
“Black-tie? Hoards of people? Paparazzi?” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “No.”
She laughed. “I do have to go. I promised Marshall. You know how he hates these dog and pony shows.”
“So why does he have them?”
“Because his publicist insists they’re necessary.”
“Nicolette? Jeremy?” Victoria called from the doorway.
“You go to Marshall’s, then come over,” Jeremy whispered. “I’ll have a bottle of wine open and the hot tub bubbling. Deal?”
“Deal.” They kissed again.
“We better go,” he said with a chuckle, glancing in the direction Victoria had gone. “Otherwise we’re both going to be in trouble with Mother.”
 
Nikki was sitting at her desk Friday afternoon, trying to concentrate on a contract she was looking over on her computer, but her attention kept straying to the list of suspects that lay on her desk. She’d thought it was silly when her mother made her write the names down, but she’d been carrying the piece of paper around with her now for two days.
She wasn’t ready to cross anyone off the list yet—aside from her mother—but she had added Wezley’s name and that’s the one she kept coming back to. Something wasn’t right with him. It was just a feeling she’d gotten when he’d paid her a visit. This morning, she’d called the rehab facility where Wezley and Eddie had gone, but she’d hit a dead end there. No one would speak to her about either client. Which was, honestly, what she expected. The way it should be.
Now, Nikki was eager to talk with Jimmy to see if he’d come up with anything from the sister in his counseling session, or whatever it was supposed to be. She checked the time. She’d give him another twenty minutes and then call him.
She forced herself to look at the contract in front of her again, but when her cell phone rang, she picked it up. Victoria.
“Mother.”
“Just checking in,” Victoria said.
“You’re never
just checking in
. What’s going on?”
Victoria sighed loudly. “I taught you better conversation manners.”
“I’m at work, Mother. Working.”
“Two things. Those tickets for the Beaver concert. Not easy to come by. Amondo is picking them up at my agent’s office this afternoon.”
“That’s wonderful! Thank you so much.” Nikki sat back in her desk chair and kicked off her heels. They were black snakeskin, old Bruno Maglis and very cool, but not the most comfortable she owned. “They’re for this kid; his mom works for the Butterfields. Long story, but I think they’ll be appreciated.”
“I’m glad to be of assistance,” Victoria said warmly. “The other thing is I ran into Ginny at Chanel. I was returning that little sweater. Too much money for such a tiny sweater. The cost of clothing is just getting outrageous. It’s no wonder young ladies wear so little clothing.”
The mention of young ladies not wearing much clothing made Nikki think of the young woman who had answered the door at Mr. M.’s the previous day. “I know what I wanted to ask you. Have you seen Mr. M. lately?”
“How on earth would I see him? He’s a recluse. Silly question, Nicolette.”
Nikki chuckled. “Let me rephrase. Have you
spoken
to Mr. M. recently? I know you give him a call once in a while.”
“I think he was attracted to me once upon a time. Maybe still is. It’s the least I can do. We did work together.”
“But you haven’t spoken to him lately?”
“No,” Victoria confirmed. “That photograph he sold was unflattering.”
“I doubt Mr. M. was the culprit. I stopped at his house yesterday to speak with him. I wanted to find out if he happened to see anything last Friday night, but he wouldn’t see me.” She hesitated. “Would you mind?”
“He won’t see you unless I come as well,” Victoria said tartly.
“Ginny’s daughter says he has a telescope and that he watches her with it.”
“Not surprising.”
“Just give him a call, please?” Nikki asked, rereading a line on the contract. “Oh, you were saying something about Ginny, earlier?”
“Yes. I saw her at Chanel and she was acting odd. She asked me if I’d heard anything about Abe having lunch yesterday with Ellen Mar at The Palm in West Hollywood.”
“I thought he was staying home this week. Sitting
shiva
.”
“Apparently not, if he was having lunch with Ellen.”
Nikki frowned. “So . . . why didn’t Ginny just ask Abe? Why would she be asking you?”
“Because she knows I’m good friends with the maitre d’,” she whispered.
Nikki had no idea why Victoria was whispering. Didn’t ask. “She thinks you see him regularly . . . or he calls you to tell you who had lunch with whom?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s Ginny Bernard. Who knows what she was thinking?”
“What did you say to her?” Nikki asked.
“I told her I hadn’t heard anything and then I told her how attractive the tweed jacket she was trying on was. Then, when I got the car, I called Charles at The Palm. I used Amondo’s cell phone. They’re really quite handy.”
Nikki wanted to remind her mother that she’d bought her a cell phone, more than one, and Victoria either misplaced them or declared them inoperable. Meaning
she
couldn’t operate them. “What did Charles, the maitre d’ at The Palm, say?”
“Abe did have lunch with Ellen!”
Victoria acted as if it were a shocking piece of information.
“So? Abe is producing her cooking show. Maybe they had business to discuss.”
“Perhaps,” Victoria said.
“Did you call Ginny and tell her?”
“Certainly not, Nicolette. I called you. I’ve been suspicious of her since day one. If I were you, I’d have a closer look at Ginny Bernard. Maybe she’s the one trying to frame Jorge.”
The phone clicked in Nikki’s ear. Not surprising. Victoria rarely said good-bye when she completed a phone conversation.
Nikki set down her phone; it rang again almost immediately.
Elvis
appeared on the caller ID screen. “Hey,” she said into the phone. “I thought I was supposed to call you.” She ran the mouse over the mouse pad and corrected a misspelling on the contract. “How’d you get my number?”
“You afraid I’m going to start stalking you?” he asked.
The thought had crossed her mind. “No, no, of course not, E.”
“I saw your number when I put mine in. You know me. I have a thing for numbers.”
He had a thing for
repeating
numbers when he got upset. “So how was your session at the Church of Earth and Beyond?” she asked.
“The sister, Jennifer Butterfield, was really nice. I was very impressed. And she had a lot of interesting things to say about the church’s beliefs. It made a lot of sense. I’m going to a service on Sunday.”
Somehow, Nikki wasn’t surprised. But Jimmy was who he was, and it had really been nice of him to try to help her out. “So the sister, could you get anything from her about her brother?”
“Not a fan,” Jimmy said. In Elvis’s voice, of course. “Erica was right. They’re barely civil. Serious sibling rivalry between her and Wezley. She’s a year older than he is, but he’s been the blessed child from the beginning. Because he’s a boy, the only son. You know. That nonsense. Wezley has been a screwup his whole life, and Jennifer’s been the one who has worked tirelessly for her father. With no credit. Her father barely gives her the time of day.”
“Wow. I’m surprised she opened up to you like that.”
“I wore the gold suit,” he said. “1957—”
“The concert at International Amphitheatre in Chicago,” she chimed in.
“She found me irresistible.”
“As many women do. So, did you find out anything about Wezley with regards to Eddie? Or the party?”
“She had another appointment, so we didn’t get to talk as long as we wanted to. And I was fascinated with the whole concept of multiple lives and humans being alien life forms.”
Here we go, Nikki thought. Down the slippery slope . . .
“But?” she interrupted.
“But, she did say one thing. She didn’t even know until later about Eddie’s murder and Wezley being there that night, but she said that when Wezley came home—apparently they both still live with their father—he was really upset because he was wearing Eddie’s clothes.”
“He was wearing Eddie’s clothes?” Nikki repeated. She thought back to Saturday morning. Wezley had been in a pair of ordinary shorts and a t-shirt. But . . . at his office, and yesterday at her office, he’d been wearing black, head to toe. Sort of like a priest—minus the collar. “Interesting,” she said.
“I thought so. We’re meeting again next Friday. I’m fascinated by the whole idea that alien spirits could be negatively affecting us today, right here in Los Angeles.”
And down the slope he would go.
“I really appreciate this, E,” Nikki said. “Listen, I need to run, but it was good to talk to you.” She paused. “And it was good to see you. Good to see you doing so well.”
“Good to see you, little lady,” he crooned. “Call me anytime you need me. Or anytime,” he added in his own voice.
 
Nikki left the office a little after six and took the elevator to the parking garage. She was checking her e-mail on her phone as she stepped off the elevator into the poorly-lit, slightly creepy parking garage. She knew better than to look at her phone in a place like this. She knew she should have her bag held tightly to her body, keys in her hand, ever vigilant. So she deserved what she got.

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