The Bad Always Die Twice (6 page)

Nikki looked up and down the hallway. This was a bad idea, coming here. She’d have been better off questioning the bagels in her car. “No, ma’am.”

“That was Warren Beatty. In that movie with her. He slept with a lot of women, you know.” The eye squinted. “Probably with your mother. Between husbands, of course,” she added quickly.

The old woman knew her 1960s movies, Nikki would give her that. “Mrs. McCauley, could you open the door? I’d like to speak to you and I . . . I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Because your mother’s a movie star.”

“No, not because my mother’s a movie star. She isn’t
really
anymore, anyway. She’s pretty much retired.” Nikki heaved her bag from one shoulder to the other. “I don’t have a lot of time because I need to get home and get ready for work.”

The eye disappeared. Then, on the other side of the door, Nikki heard the same scraping and banging she’d detected when Mrs. McCauley first came to the door. The door slowly opened. Mrs. McCauley stood just under five feet tall and was accompanied by a walker. It was a plastic stool she’d been dragging . . . behind her walker. A stool that, apparently, allowed her to see through her peephole.

“Mrs. McCauley, thanks. For taking time to speak with me.” She tried not to stare. The old lady was wearing a very short pink and blue plaid kilt, red tights, tap shoes, and an A-Team t-shirt. Old-school TV. Not the Liam Neeson flick.

Mrs. McCauley shook Nikki’s hand, studying her suspiciously. The cataract-clouded eyes were blue. Her close-cropped hair was also blue, though a different shade. “Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter, eh?” She rolled the walker forward a couple of inches to get a better look at Nikki. The walker came equipped with a quilted bag holding multiple tabloid magazines, a copy of the latest issue of
The Economist
, and a toilet bowl brush.

“You’re tall,” she continued. “I liked her in
Fortune’s Wheel,
but not in
The Widow’s Daughter
. She should never have taken that part. I told my husband Sean that. I said ‘Sean, Victoria Bordeaux should never have agreed to be in that film!’ He’s been dead twenty-two years, God rest his soul.”

Nikki nibbled on her lower lip. “Um . . . I’ll be sure to tell her.” She looked up and down the hallway, then back at Mrs. McCauley. Apparently she wasn’t going to be invited in, which was okay. The apartment smelled of brining cabbage. “I was wondering. Um . . . did you . . .” Nikki sensed the need to work on her interrogation skills. “Did the police speak to you yesterday?”

“About the murder next door?” the old lady asked matter-of-factly. Despite the accent, her English was very good.

“Yes.”

“I think the police have lost their minds. But that’s obvious, isn’t it? Such behavior. Racial profiling. On the take. All you have to do is watch TV. Read the newspaper. You have nice hair. Red. I always wanted red hair. No one killed Rex March in that girl’s apartment,” she scoffed. “He couldn’t have been there. He was dead already. I’d certainly have known if a dead man was here.” She squinted her eyes. “I know everything that happens in the building. You know that, don’t you? Is your hair real or out of a box?”

Nikki wasn’t sure how to respond. “Um . . . it’s my natural color.” She didn’t think she needed to confess that she highlighted it every once in a while. “So . . . you didn’t see Rex March go into Jessica’s apartment? Or . . . anything else unusual?”

“All those policemen.
That
was unusual. We don’t get many cops here. It’s a quiet building, except for the loud music in 311 sometimes.” She leaned forward on her walker. Despite needing assistance to get around, she seemed pretty spry for a woman who appeared to be . . . a hundred, a hundred-and-twenty years old. She looked as if she were wearing a wrinkle suit, the wrinkles on her face and arms and hands were so pronounced.

Nikki gestured. “Before that. I meant, did you see anything unusual
before
the police came? During the day. Like . . . maybe Rex March going into Jessica’s apartment?”

“I already told you. I’d have noticed a dead man walking in the hallway. I usually keep my door open, you know. I have a gate I put up here to keep people out, but with the murder and all, the police say I should keep my door shut.” She held up a finger. “Oh, but you know what
did
happen yesterday that was out of the ordinary?”

Nikki waited.

“Jean-Luc Picard was in the garden. In the back. I saw him from my balcony. I see a lot from my balcony. 209 sunbathes without his shorts. You know him, don’t you?”

Nikki wasn’t sure if she meant the nude sunbather or the TV/movie character. She shook her head in confusion.

“Of course you do. Captain of the
Enterprise
. The new starship, not the old one. Kirk blew that up.” She smiled slyly, balancing with one hand so she could waggle a finger with the other. “Very handsome man, that Captain Picard. Wouldn’t mind if he beamed himself into
my
boudoir, I’ll tell you that.”

Nikki took a step back. This was more like it.
This
was the Mrs. McCauley she knew. “He
is
handsome—Patrick Stewart—the actor . . . who plays Jean-Luc Picard.” She studied the old woman’s wrinkles on her face. “So, Picard was here, but you never saw Rex March?”

“Nope.” She began to roll backwards. “But that doesn’t mean Picard didn’t beam him into her apartment, does it?”

Nikki was still standing at the door when Mrs. McCauley closed it. “I need some sleep,” Nikki muttered as she walked away.

The next apartment she tried was 324, on the other side of Jessica. She was surprised when she rang the doorbell and someone was actually home. It was close to nine o’clock. She assumed most people would be at work.

“Yeah?” came a male voice from the other side of the door.

“Hi. I’m Nikki—”

“I know who you are.” The door opened a second later. “I’m Pete Toro.”

Pete was nice looking: dark hair, medium build with a suntan that didn’t appear to be sprayed on. He thrust out his hand to shake hers vigorously. “And you’re Nikki Harper, Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter. Jessica’s told me all about you.”

“She did?” That was funny; Jessica had never mentioned
him
before.

“Sure. You’re her best friend.” He finally let go of her hand. “What can I do for you?”

Nikki hung onto her bag for emotional support. “I guess . . .” She gave a humorless laugh and started again. “I guess you know what happened next door yesterday. I mean, not
what happened
, but . . . what Jessica’s been accused of.”

“Yeah. Right. Oh, my God. Poor Jessica.” He touched his forehead. He had nice hair, thick and wavy. “I can’t believe the police arrested her. There’s no way Jessica could have done a thing like that. Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.”

“She’s okay. They didn’t arrest her. At least, not yet. They just took her to the station and questioned her. She’s staying with me right now.” She glanced in the direction of Jessica’s door, barred with yellow crime-scene tape, a piece of paper sealing the door. “She’s not allowed to go back to the apartment. Not yet.”

He glanced at the door, then back again. “Right. Sure. Well, tell her I was asking for her. Tell her maybe she and I can have that drink when she gets back. We’ve been trying to hook up, she and I. To have a drink. We’re just so busy, both of us. Her with her real estate job and me at the store. I work retail.”

“Listen, Pete.” Nikki looked him straight in the eye. Victoria always said that was the best way to get honesty out of someone; she said it took them by surprise and they didn’t have time to lie. “About this thing with Jessica yesterday. You didn’t . . . happen to see anything, did you?”

“See anything?” He leaned on the doorjamb. He had nice biceps.

“Anything unusual.”

“Like Rex March?” He laughed. “No. I didn’t see him. Hey, you want to come in? I’ve got coffee.” He pointed inside.

“I can’t. Thanks. Gotta go home, pick up Jessica and then get to work. You were saying you didn’t see anything unusual yesterday?”

“I didn’t get home until six-thirty. I was heating up a bean burrito when I heard the sirens. The next thing I know, the cops are banging on my door and telling me I need to stay inside. That someone would be by to talk with me. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I was afraid something had happened to Jessica.”

So he hadn’t seen anything. Something told Nikki that if she banged on every door on the floor, she’d get the same answer. Either people weren’t home, or they were home but didn’t see anything.

She stepped back. “Well, thanks. I was just checking around. You know.” She gave a quick smile. “Making sure the police didn’t miss anything. But I guess they didn’t. Since you didn’t see Rex.”

“I wouldn’t tell the cops if I did see him. He deserved to die. Both times, however the heck that happened. I gotta tell you, I was just glad he was gone. Jessica deserved better than that jackass, I don’t care how famous he was.”

Nikki was just starting to turn away, but she turned back, giving Pete Toro her full attention. “I’m sorry . . . Jessica
deserved better?
” When she tried the “look him straight in the eyes” thing this time, it didn’t work. He suddenly became preoccupied with his shoes.

“It’s none of my business.”

“Pete, the police are saying Jessica killed Rex March. You don’t want her to go to jail for a murder she didn’t commit, do you?” She got in his personal space. “You’ve seen Rex March before? With Jessica?”

He still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Before he was
supposedly
killed in that plane crash. He used to come by here. He was a complete ass. He would never give an autograph or anything like that. Jessica deserved better than that old geezer.”

It was Nikki’s turn to stare at her own shoes. She tried to think through what Pete had said. Jessica and Rex? Was it true? What reason would this guy have to lie?

She glanced up at him. “Listen, thanks. You have a good day.” She walked away.

“Tell Jessica I said hi,” he called after her. “I’ll keep that drink cold for her.”

Nikki waited until he closed his door and then went back to Mrs. McCauley’s. She rang the doorbell and Mrs. McCauley went through the same routine of dragging the stool to the door so she could look out the peephole. Nikki waited patiently until the door opened.

“It’s you again. Natalie Wood’s daughter. You should have been in the movies. Pretty enough.”

“Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter. Nikki Harper. Mrs. McCauley, did you ever see Rex March in this apartment building?”

“Of course. But that was before he was dead. The other time,” she added.

Nikki stared at the little old lady. “Why didn’t you say that before—when I asked you if you’d seen him?”

“You asked me if I’d seen him
yesterday.
”

Nikki closed her eyes for a second. Taking a breath, she opened them again. “So you didn’t see him yesterday, but you’ve seen him here before. Before he was killed in the plane crash?” she asked, pretty certain she was pushing her luck with that last bit.

“He used to come to Jessica’s apartment.” The old lady nodded. “With either Jimmy Stewart or that cute Frank Sinatra.”

Nikki forced a smile. This was going nowhere. Fast. If the police had assumed Mrs. McCauley would be no help in the investigation, they would have been right.

“Well, thanks again. You have a good day.”

Nikki took the steps instead of the elevator, tired and frustrated. Jessica and Rex? She couldn’t believe it.

Of course she could believe it, when she really thought about it. Rex was sooo Jessica’s type: rich, married, a total ass. Nikki had lost count of the number of men like him that Jessica had gone through. And now Edith’s coolness with Jessica made total sense. Jessica had been having an affair with her husband before he died.

The first time.

Chapter 6

“I
’m so sorry,” Jessica said, sounding truly contrite.

Nikki gripped the steering wheel as if she were maneuvering a tank, which was sometimes an excellent skill, driving in L.A. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. We were representing him, Jess.” She shook her head. “That is
so
not cool, starting an affair with a client.”

Jessica was silent long enough that Nikki glanced over. “What?”

Jessica nibbled on her berry-red lips. She looked entirely too put together for someone who had spent the night in jail being interrogated, slept less than two hours, and used the makeup in her purse to do her face. The new pencil skirt and silk tunic from K-Dash didn’t hurt. Nor did the fact that she was so drop-dead gorgeous that she could have come out of a night of interrogation in a Dumpster and looked good.

Jessica spoke in a meek voice. “It kind of started before he asked us to sell the house for him.”

Nikki rolled her eyes and concentrated on the black Benz convertible in front of her. The blond driver was on her cell and paying no attention whatsoever to the traffic ahead of her. “How could you, Jess? How could you, and then not tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I swear to God I am.” She was teary now. “I know this is hard for you to believe, but he was really sweet to me, Nik. At least in the beginning. And Edith didn’t understand what he was going through with his career and—”

“Oh, please,” Nikki groaned. “
Do not
tell me you fell for the ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ line. Not again.”

“It wasn’t like that. Not this time. He made me feel good . . . at least at first,” she added in a tiny voice.

Nikki pressed her lips together and signaled to pull over in front of the shoe repair shop. Jessica had a pair of Jimmy Choos that she insisted had to be dropped off today. She’d fished the box out of her car when they’d stopped for her shopping bags. “I’ll wait for you here.” Nikki put the car in park.

Jessica reached around to grab the bag with her shoes off the back seat. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” Nikki said. And she wasn’t. But she was disappointed in her friend. It was wrong to go out with a married man, period, end of discussion.