Imitation of Death (18 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Crane

BOOK: Imitation of Death
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Nikki knew that drug dealers killed clients who didn’t pay, to serve as a reminder to other clients to pay their tabs. But Eddie had only been out of rehab a week when he was killed. How big a tab could you run up in a week?
“You know where he lives?” Nikki asked. “Works?”
“I’m almost ready!” Astro’s mother shouted from the front door. “I just have to water the cactus.”
Astro looked at the door, then back at Nikki again. “I don’t know where he lives. He works at The Python.”
“The Python Club?” That set off all kinds of alarms in her head. She knew Eddie had once frequented The Python Club, and the alleged fight between Rocko and Eddie took place there.
But Kaiser couldn’t have left that note in her car . . . could he? There was no way he could have gotten onto Victoria’s property.
What if he had some way of getting into cars? Picking locks or something? Had he seen her go into the gym? She hadn’t seen him. The idea sounded a little crazy. There was no way he could have known she was going to the gym. That note was premeditated.
She looked at Astro again. “Do you know a Wezley Butterfield?”
“Wesley?”
“It’s actually Wezley . . . with a
z
.”
“Eddie was talking about him last week when we worked out. How they got to be good friends in rehab. I never really met him. But he was at the party.”
“Did you speak to him at the party?”
Astro shook his head. “No, but I saw him. Weird guy.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Just weird—”
“Astro!” Mrs. Astro opened the front door and Peaches flew down the steps, barking.
Nikki froze.
“Peaches! Back in the house!” Astro ordered. “Ma. Keep control of the dog. We don’t want her biting someone again.”
“I’m ready to go,”
Ma
announced. She had an orange backpack, that could easily have been made in the 70s, slung over one shoulder. She held open the door and Peaches retreated back into the house.
“I’m sorry. I gotta go,” Astro said to Nikki. “It was really nice of you to bring me this. It means a lot to me. Please thank Ms. Bordeaux. I’m gonna frame it right away.”
“Thanks for talking to me. For taking heat from Kaiser over it.”
He shrugged. “He’s a jerk.”
“Do you think he would . . . hurt someone?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Astro tugged on the brim of his cap.
Nikki met his gaze. “If someone has threatened you, if Kaiser threatened you in any way, you should call the police.”
“No one threatened me,” he said, pretty unconvincingly. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Nikki headed for the gate, then stopped and turned back. “Just one more question, and then I’ll go. I promise. Do you know what time the party ended at the Bernards’ house that night?”
“Early. Like midnight. Some woman came out to the pool deck and said if we didn’t all clear out, she was calling the cops.”
“A woman? His mother?”
“I think so.” He held open the little gate in the picket fence for her.
“And did everyone leave?”
“As far as I know,” he said.
Nikki walked to her car. “But you don’t know for sure?”
He shook his head. “As soon as she said
cops
, I took off. It wasn’t that good a party, anyway.”
Nikki unlocked her car door and he opened it for her.
“How long are you going to be gone, Astro?”
He looked out over the car’s hood rather than at her. “I don’t know. A week, maybe two. Maybe longer.”
“You’re sure Kaiser . . . or anyone else, didn’t threaten you in some way?”
“I’m taking my mother to see her sister,” he said.
“I don’t suppose I could have your cell phone number?”
“I don’t have a cell phone.” He smiled. “You have a good day, Ms. Harper. Be safe.”
She watched him as he walked away. Didn’t have a cell phone? Who didn’t have a cell phone these days? She guessed she couldn’t blame Astro for being hesitant, especially if Kaiser had threatened him.
But why would Kaiser threaten Astro? And, more importantly, what did it have to do with Eddie’s murder?
Chapter 18
“T
hanks so much for lunch,” Ellen said to Nikki as they walked out of the restaurant to wait for their cars on the corner of Brighton and North Camden. “I could have sat here all day and talked to you.”
“I feel the same way.” Nikki slipped her bag over her shoulder. “So, you’re coming tomorrow night for Mother’s movie night?”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely. You can meet Jeremy.” She laid her hand on Ellen’s shoulder. “And, who knows, maybe Will and Jada can set you up with a friend.”
“Oh, no, not after the last loser.” Ellen laughed. “I think I’m ready for a man-break.”
“Fine. No setups. But I’d really like you to join us.”
“Only if you promise to come by my shoot Monday.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You won’t be.” Ellen looked up as the valet pulled a white BMW M3 convertible up to the curb. “This is me.” She stepped off the curb in front of the car. “I have to warn you, shooting cooking shows for the Food Network is a lot different than shooting scenes for a Victoria Bordeaux movie. Things will be crazy. We shoot like . . . four or five half-hour shows in a day in this little bungalow in the valley they rented.”
“It sounds like fun.” Nikki waved to her as the valet held her door open. “See you tomorrow night! Cocktails are at seven.”
“See you then!” Ellen waved and climbed into her car, but instead of pulling away, she put the passenger side window down. “And call me if you need me.” She looked at her meaningfully. “I’m serious. I agree with Jeremy.”
Nikki chuckled and leaned down to talk to her through the window. “You don’t even know him!”
“I agree with him anyway.” She lowered her voice. “You
should
leave this murder investigation to the police.” She gave Nikki a stern look. “That being said, you call me if you need someone. Or if you just need to talk.”
“If I shouldn’t be involved, I certainly shouldn’t be dragging you into it.”
“Promise me,” Ellen said.
“Okay. I promise. Have a good day.” Nikki stepped back and waved and this time Ellen pulled away from the curb and into the traffic on Brighton Way.
As much as it pained Nikki to admit it, her mother had been dead on. Ellen was terrific. They had a lot in common and they’d just . . . clicked. Nikki had the feeling that lunch today was the beginning of a great friendship, which made her feel good.
The valet pulled her car up to the curb and she fished in her bag for a tip. She was still contemplating whether or not she was going to The Python Club later on, but she knew her next stop: The Church of Earth and Beyond.
 
Nikki checked the addresses on Sunset; according to her Google search, she was two blocks west of the church. Fortunately, traffic was moving slowly, giving her time to think. She didn’t have a plan as to what she was going to do once she found the church. Should she go in and just ask to speak to Wezley? Or should she just inquire about him?
According to the Internet, he was an employee of the church and some sort of financial administrator. He might very well be there. And if he wasn’t, that might be even better. There might be other people at the church more willing to talk about Wezley than Wezley himself.
Nikki slowed for a yellow light ahead and spotted a sign for the church on the next corner. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone on the sidewalk in front of a used-car lot jumping up and down, waving a sign. As she got closer, she realized it was Elvis Presley waving the N
O
M
ONEY
D
OWN
placard. L.A. was full of Elvis impersonators.
Then, when she stopped for the red light, she realized this wasn’t just any Elvis. It was
her
Elvis. And he was trying to wave her down.
For a moment, Nikki considered just pulling away. Unfortunately, there were cars both in front of and behind her, so there was no escape route. She groaned aloud, signaled, and pulled over. Taking a breath, she put down the passenger side window.
Elvis propped his sign against her Prius and leaned in the window. “Hello there, little lady,” he crooned.
“Oh, E. Not the black rhinestone jumpsuit,” she said.
He shook his head in shame; his inky black pompadour stayed perfectly in place.
“Frankly, I’m disappointed in you,” she teased. “You’re generally more creative.”
He sighed, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “At least it’s not the
white
jumpsuit. A personal request from Billy himself.” He pointed toward the enormous sign that said
BILLY’S BARGAINS
.
“Personally, I always liked the white pants, white shirt, and red sash from
Blue Hawaii
.”
“Very understated,” he agreed, turning the corner of his mouth up just the way Elvis had. “Very classy.”
She nodded. “So, you’re working?” She continued to nod. Most of the time, he just panhandled on the street. Tourists loved a good Elvis. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
“Been working a lot. Got myself a little place,” he said.
His impersonation was good. It always had been, as long as her little brother didn’t try to sing. Carry a tune, he could not. Which had proved to be a bit of a problem when his life’s work had become impersonating The King.
“Read about Eddie turning up in her trash,” he said. “She must be horrified.”
He always referred to their mother as
she
. Elvis, a.k.a. James Mattroni, had had a falling out with Victoria years ago and they didn’t speak. Their mother maintained it was because her son refused to seek help for his schizophrenia, help she was willing to pay for. Jimmy, who refused to answer to any name but Elvis, insisted it was because she was jealous of his talent. And other semi-crazy reasons. Nikki tried to remain neutral; it was hard for her to see him ill. Beyond the Elvis thing. She was glad he was looking so good. He looked good when he took his meds. It just never lasted long.
His father, James Mattroni Sr., had been schizophrenic as well, and had committed suicide when Jimmy was a freshman in college. Jimmy had never forgiven Victoria for not fighting harder to get custody of him when his parents had split, when he was a toddler. If it was any consolation, even though Victoria rarely spoke of the matter, she’d never forgiven herself, either.
Nikki pushed her Persol sunglasses up on her head. “She was pretty upset about Eddie.”
“Jorge really kill him?”
“No,” Nikki said firmly. “Jorge didn’t kill him.”
“I thought as much.” He looked up and down the street. “I read the Warren Commission Report.”
Nikki furrowed her brow. It was always this way with Jimmy. He’d seem perfectly normal for . . . minutes. Then the crazy would begin to spill over. She didn’t say anything, though she had to admit she was a little curious as to what her brother thought was the connection between JFK’s murder and Eddie Bernard’s.
“So, where you headed?” he asked, saving her from stepping into his pit of crazy.
“Um . . . across the street.” The glass-and-cement building that was the Church of Earth and Beyond was on the opposite corner from Billy’s Bargains. Along with its parking, the building took up almost a full block.
Someone honked their horn and yelled out the window as they went by in a car, “Viva Las Vegas, baby!”
“Viva Las Vegas!” Jimmy shouted back, standing up and fisting the air.
Nikki clung to the steering wheel. She wasn’t exactly
embarrassed
. She just felt awkward when she was around Jimmy. Maybe inadequate, because she had never been able to help him.
Jimmy leaned back in the window. “So exactly where
across the street
are you going?”
“The Church of Earth and Beyond.”
“Planning on becoming a friend of the fruit trees?” he asked . . . in his Elvis voice.
She lifted her brows. He grinned.
“I . . . I need to speak to someone there.”
“This have anything to do with Jorge being locked up?” His gaze fell to the pile of paperwork on the car seat. The crazy, scary death threat note had somehow slid out and her name in cutout letters was visible.
Nikki smiled and reached for the envelope to tuck it out of sight. “What if it did?”
“If it did . . .” He reached into the car and grabbed the envelope before she had a chance to get it. “I’d say you ought to mind your own business. You’re in real estate, right?” He held the envelope just out of her reach. “Not an officer of the law?”
“Give that to me, E.” She held out her hand.
Elvis opened the envelope, pulled out the note, and read it. “This a joke or for real?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.”
He glanced up at the church across the street. “You think this letter came from one of those whack jobs?”
A pecan calling a filbert a nut? “No . . .
no
,” she said.
“Would it do any good for me to say you shouldn’t go in there?”
“Probably not.”
He looked at her through his amber-colored aviator glasses.
“I’ll be fine, E. I’m just going to have a look around.” She put her hand out for the note again.
He slowly tucked the note back into the envelope and handed it to her. Then he stood up and picked up his sign.
“It was good to see you,” Nikki said out the window, assuming their visit was over.
Until he opened the back door and stuck the big yellow sign in her back seat.
It took a second for her to realize what he was doing. “No, E,” she said. “No way. Absolutely not.”
He closed the back door and opened the front.
“E!”
“You almost got yourself killed last time you couldn’t let the police do their job,” he said. He scooped up the paperwork and files on the seat and tossed them in the back.
“E, that stuff’s important.” She looked at him. “And how the heck do you know anything about that?”
“
She
told Celeste. Celeste told me. Celeste and I talk sometimes. I have a cell phone now.”
Celeste was their half-sister, the daughter of Victoria and her fourth husband.
“You have a phone? E, that’s great! You haven’t had a phone in years.”
“Never had a cell phone,” he said proudly. He pointed across the street. “Let’s go. I’m only supposed to take a fifteen-minute break.”
“You really don’t have to go with me.” What she meant, of course, was that she didn’t want him to go with her.
“You’re wasting time. Now I only have fourteen minutes.” He put on his seat belt, taking care not to disturb the rhinestones on his jumpsuit. “Who are we questioning?”
“
We’re
not questioning anyone.” She groaned, signaled, and pulled away from the curb. “Wezley Butterfield was at Eddie’s party that night.” She inched her way from the right lane to the left. “He’s been questioned several times about the murder, by the police.”
“Wezley Butterfield? His father runs the church. Wezley’s an alcoholic and probably a druggy. Got arrested last year.”
“How do you know that?” she asked with surprise.
“I
read
,” he said, and looked at her as if she were stupid. “Recycling bins are full of newspapers and tabloids. He a suspect in Eddie’s murder?”
She went through the intersection and darted across the lanes to pull into the parking lot. “I don’t know. But the police must know something.” Surprised that there were so many cars there in the middle of the afternoon, she pulled into a parking space.
“You have a plan?” E asked, looking up at the glass-and-cement weird pseudo-art-deco-style building.
She looked at him.
“No problem.” He got out of the car and swaggered away.
“E!” Nikki grabbed her bag and jumped out of the car. She hurried after him, darting in front of a young woman carrying a stack of books, headed for her car. “Sorry! Excuse me!” She caught up to Jimmy. “You really,
really
don’t have to do this with me,” she said in a loud whisper.
Jimmy halted at the double glass doors. “Come on, little lady,” he said in a voice that was pure Elvis. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by your brother.” He opened the door for two middle-aged women and they passed between him and Nikki.
She looked at him; she knew she should hold her tongue. Jimmy was sick. This wasn’t his fault. “Of course I’m embarrassed!” she heard herself say. “You think you’re Elvis Presley!”
He looked away, then back at her, with pain evident in his eyes. “I don’t
think
I’m Elvis,” he said quietly. Then came the famous upper lip sneer. “I just wish I was.”
The emotion in his voice made her feel small. She wanted to hug him, but Jimmy didn’t really like to be touched. Instead, she met his gaze through the amber glasses. “So, Elvis, you have a plan?”

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