Imitation of Death (13 page)

Read Imitation of Death Online

Authors: Cheryl Crane

BOOK: Imitation of Death
12.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“From what Momsy says, sounds to me like he did it.” She made a sound of derision. “Stabbed him through the heart with a pair of pruning shears. Sounds to me like Jorge finally had enough of Eddie’s crap. It’s really amazing someone didn’t do it sooner.”
“Emily.” Nikki glanced away, then back at her. “It’s unkind to speak that way of the dead. Eddie was your brother.”
“Like he ever acted like it.” She swirled the wine in her glass, then glanced slyly at Nikki. “It’s too obvious, though, isn’t it? The gardener’s pruning shears sticking out of Eddie’s black heart? It was a setup.”
“You think?” Nikki asked.
“For sure.” Emily lifted a coal black eyebrow. “What I want to know is if the police are taking a look at my stepsister.”
Chapter 13
I
t was a good thing it wasn’t Nikki drinking the wine, because she would have choked. “Your sister?”
“
Step
sister,” Emily corrected. She spun around. “Can I help you?” she asked sharply.
Nikki looked over Emily’s shoulder to see Ashley standing there, looking at them. Nikki had been so intent on what Emily was saying that she hadn’t seen Ashley return to the kitchen.
“What’s your name again?” Emily asked Ashley.
“A . . . Ashley.” She had a cell phone in each hand in a death grip.
Emily could be a pretty scary woman, with or without the black eyeliner.
“Ashley Carter,” Ashley whispered.
“Well,
Ashley Carter
, I’m not sure why my father pays for my stepmother to have an
assistant
, since she doesn’t work, but it’s not to listen in on family conversations.” Emily fluttered her fingers. Her fingernails were painted blue and black . . . alternately. One black nail. One blue nail. “So be gone!”
Ashley muttered something that sounded like an apology and ducked out of the kitchen, almost colliding with Abe’s assistant.
Feeling badly for Ashley, but not sure there was anything she could do, Nikki returned her attention to Emily. “What makes you say the police should be looking at Lissa?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “I’ve been in Japan for three effin’ months. You live next door. How is it I hear more than you do?”
Nikki’s phone vibrated in her handbag, tucked under her arm. She ignored it. “You know me, Em. I never know what’s going on,” Nikki joked.
“Well, I heard that big brother Eddie tried laying some romantic moves on little stepsister. Only Lissa didn’t appreciate it.”
“He tried to . . .” Not knowing how to put it delicately, Nikki didn’t finish the sentence.
“He tried to get her into bed, plying her with drugs and alcohol, I’m sure. But she put him in his place.”
“She threatened him?”
“Oh, she threatened him, all right.” Emily’s kohl-lined eyes grew round. “I heard she threatened to kill him in his sleep if he ever tried anything again.”
“She threatened to kill him?” Nikki murmured. The twenty-year-old was petite. There was no way she could have moved Eddie’s body if she
had
managed to kill him with the shears. “But it was just that, right? A threat? You don’t think she really did it?”
Emily shrugged. “Maybe she told that big boyfriend of hers. Maybe
he
killed Eddie. Like, to defend her honor, or something bitchin’ like that.”
“Who’s Lissa’s boyfriend?”
“Name’s Aziz. He’s some oil sheik’s kid.”
“Last name?”
“Ferret. Farah . . . something like that.”
Nikki knew the Farah name. Two years ago, Windsor Real Estate had sold a thirty-eight-million-dollar house to an Arab named Farah. There were rumors about the guy, about who he was and what he had done in Saudi Arabia. Not nice rumors. Scary stuff. Nikki had assumed it was just gossip. Some people saw a rich man with dark skin and a head covering from the Middle East and made the assumption he made a living torturing and killing his enemies. What if there was a thread of truth to the rumors? What kind of son would such a man have raised? “Was Aziz at the funeral? Is he here?” Nikki asked.
Emily thought for a minute. “I don’t remember seeing him. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. Me being so grief stricken at my brother’s funeral and all. Hey, can I have one of those?” Emily pointed to the counter.
Nikki glanced over at Ellen, who was plating the sautéed shrimp. They smelled delicious and garlicky; under other circumstances, Nikki might have nabbed one, too.
“Certainly,” Ellen said. “Let me get you a plate.”
“I don’t need a plate.” Emily plucked a shrimp off the silver serving tray, and bit it off down to the tail. “These are delicious.” Still chewing, she tossed the tail shell on the granite countertop and grabbed another shrimp off the plate.
“Ms. Harper?” Ellen gestured to the serving tray. “Would you care for a shrimp?”
Nikki knew that before Ellen had won the contest on the Food Network, she’d been working as a private chef in Beverly Hills. She could only imagine the things she had seen and heard in people’s houses.
“I have toothpicks,” Ellen offered, watching Emily grab another shrimp off the plate.
Nikki’s phone vibrated again. “No, thanks.” She dug into her bag. “Could you excuse me?”
The first missed call was from Rob. The second, minutes later, was from Marshall. She wanted to ask Emily more about whatever it was that had happened between Lissa and Eddie, but she sensed that Emily’s moment of
sharing
had passed. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed Emily, anyway. Growing up, Emily had been a notorious liar, and from what Nikki heard, she’d carried the trait into adulthood. “I should return this call,” Nikki said apologetically.
“No problem.” Emily dismissed her with a wave of a shrimp. “I need to go mingle, anyway. Otherwise, I’ll hear about it from Momsy for the next decade.”
Nikki walked into the breakfast room with the vaulted ceiling. Since Marshall was probably calling to ask Nikki why she hadn’t picked up when Rob called, she called Rob first. It went straight to voicemail. Gazing out through the double French doors onto the stone terrace, Nikki dialed Marshall. He picked up on the first ring.
“Did you talk to Rob?” he asked excitedly.
She glanced over her shoulder. Emily was still feasting on Ellen’s shrimp. Ashley was hovering in one doorway, on a phone again, Abe’s assistant in another doorway. Ellen was directing wait staff.
“It went to voicemail.” Nikki opened a door and stepped out onto the terrace, which resembled a tropical island with full-size palm trees, banana trees, and giant elephant ear plants. A stone waterfall on the edge of the pool gently splashed.
“You have to call him back,” he insisted. “I just talked to him. I know he’s available. He must have seen Eddie’s autopsy report. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me a word,” Marshall pouted.
“I thought you were shooting today.” Nikki walked around a banana tree in a huge pot. She could smell the scent of spring roses on the warm breeze. Melinda had an amazing green thumb.
“I am. I’m in my trailer, waiting to be called. Watching TV.” He sighed. “
Bored
.
Bored.
I should have come to the funeral.”
“I don’t think you were invited, Marshall.”
“Whatever. Call Rob back. I’m dying to hear what the news is.”
She stopped in front of the guesthouse, also built in the French Regency style, with a pretty, gold-and-white front door. “Marshall, I just called him. He didn’t pick up.”
“You want me to call him? I can call him back.”
Nikki leaned over to breathe in the scent of tiny roses growing on a trellis. “I’ll call him again.”
“Oh, good. Then call me!”
“I thought you were headed back to the set to shoot your next scene.”
“Nikki, honey, I’m the easiest star in Hollywood to get along with: I’m never late, I always know my lines, I do what the director asks and I
don’t
do the leading ladies. I think I can take a personal phone call once in a while.”
She was laughing when she hung up. What was funny was that what he said was absolutely true. Marshall was the most un-starlike star she had ever met. She dialed Rob’s number again. This time, he picked up.
“Sorry about that, Nik. I’m at work. I had to rough up a punk.”
She sat down on a knee-high stone wall that ran down both sides of the guesthouse. “Rob, I never know when to take you seriously and when not to,” she said.
“In my line of work, that can be a good thing. Okay, so Eddie Bernard’s autopsy report.” He hesitated. “I can’t believe I snooped around like this for you.”
“I’m sorry.” She grimaced. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”
He chuckled. “I’m always pretending I’m a badass. I need to actually do something badass once in a while.”
“Abe’s cousin was telling me at the funeral that the autopsy hasn’t been released to the family yet. How did you get a look at it?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“O-kay,” she said.
“Okay,” Rob repeated. “So before I tell you what was in the report, I have to ask, are you getting yourself involved in this case?”
“Not . . .
involved
. . . per se,” she hemmed. “I just want to make sure Jorge’s getting a fair shake.”
“He could start by having an attorney. Marshall says Victoria offered to pay for one. No one, innocent or guilty, should try to navigate this system without an attorney.”
“I tried to tell Jorge that. I’m going to see him as soon as I can. Apparently, visiting hours aren’t until the weekend. I’ll try to talk some sense into him. In the meantime, I’m just . . . trying to figure out what could have happened. I know the evidence looks incriminating. But I also know Jorge didn’t do it.”
“You’re just protecting the innocent? Not getting your nose into police matters?”
“Mistakes are made, and you know it, Rob. Simple indifference on the part of the police could mean life in prison for Jorge. Or worse.”
Rob was quiet for a moment. “I understand you’ve got problems with law enforcement because of what happened with your father.” He stopped, then went on. “But I have to say, we’re not all losers. I know a lot of good cops in this town. We’re not all out to screw over the little guy. Some of us actually want to protect him.”
“Know any bad cops?” she asked. “How about some who just don’t give a damn? Then there are the ones actively on the take. You read last week’s
L.A.Times
? What about that cop on the vice squad—”
“Point taken.” He exhaled.
Nikki heard a door open and watched two men in black suits step from the breakfast room out onto the terrace. One nodded in her direction, but then they walked to the far side of the pool, where there were several tables. A few nights ago, Eddie’s friends had been partying at those tables. She remembered the glasses, the ashtrays, all cleared away by the cleaning crew. Only the bud vases remained, with fresh roses in them.
She watched the two men. She really didn’t want to share this conversation. Then she saw one of them pull a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and offer it to the other guy. They weren’t on a covert operation for Lieutenant Detective Cutie Pie; they were sneaking a smoke.
“Layman’s terms,” Rob said, “Eddie Bernard died because something—a sharp, pointy object—was plunged into his heart, stopping his heart from pumping blood to his brain . . . and other vital organs.”
“He died from a pair of pruning shears being stuck in his chest?” she said, getting up to pace.
“The heart was severely damaged; it was the only conclusion the coroner could make. There was some blood around the heart and in the chest cavity, which the coroner questioned, but there was no conclusive explanation, from what I could tell.”
“The coroner was sure the pruning shears were what killed him?”
“I think that was pretty obvious. The shears were in his heart.”
“They find fingerprints on them?” She walked along the side of the guesthouse, toward a little shed behind it.
“Multiple sets. At least five, maybe six. This was a busy pair of shears. The only prints that could be identified, though, were Jorge’s, and a Hector Alvarez. You can only identify prints already on file, obviously.”
“Hector works for Jorge,” Nikki said. “It would make sense that his fingerprints would be on them.”
“Right. He had a gang-related arrest years ago. He was questioned this morning by a Lieutenant Detective Down . . . Dow—Wait a minute, I wrote it down. He’s out of Beverly Hills.”
“Dombrowski,” she said.
“That’s him. He also interviewed another guy . . .” He paused. She imagined he was reading notes. “A Wesley Butterfield.”
Butterfield . . . Butterfield. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Were his prints on the shears?”
“Nope. Not sure why he was called in. Just know that he was. In fact, he was questioned that Saturday morning.”
“He was at the Bernards’ Saturday morning?”
“I guess.
Then
he was brought into the police station Monday.”
Nikki’s thoughts were flying in multiple directions at once. Who was this Wesley Butterfield and why was he still at the Bernards’ the morning following the party? She needed to talk to Hector. And she still needed to talk to Ree. If she could find her. And why hadn’t her buddy Astro called her? She’d thought he would have taken advantage of her leaving her card. She tried to focus.
“Time of death?” she asked.
“Between one and four a.m.”
So had Eddie been killed while the party was going on, or after his
guests
went home? Nikki didn’t know what time the party had broken up, but she’d find out. “Did you get to see the tox screen, by any chance?” she asked Rob.

Other books

Synthetic: Dark Beginning by Shonna Wright
Unformed Landscape by Peter Stamm
A World Divided by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Tristan and Iseult by Rosemary Sutcliff
Real Life by Kitty Burns Florey
Unprotected by Kristin Lee Johnson
Camp Rules! by Nancy Krulik