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Authors: Cheryl Crane

BOOK: Imitation of Death
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Victoria arched her brows. “Do you know who it was?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t have the right glasses on. I do that sometimes.” He chuckled. “He was bald, I think.” He touched his head.
Victoria looked at Nikki.
Nikki thought for a minute. Some of the photos on the wall . . . they had been in a series, as if one had been taken right after the other. “Mr. M.” She looked him in the eye. “I know you have a telescope.”
He cleared his throat.
“I don’t care. I don’t judge you, “ Nikki said quickly. “But do you also have cameras set up? Do they take pictures of your neighbors when you’re not watching?”
He cleared his throat again. “I . . . I don’t—”
“Mr. M.,” Nikki said as gently as she could, “the pictures of my mother in the hall, the series of photos of her in the blue swimsuit. They were taken at the Bernards’, last Labor Day.”
“A very attractive swimsuit, I might say,” he told Victoria.
She smiled flirtatiously. “Why, thank you, M.”
“The camera that you used to take those pictures of my mother, is it on a tripod, or were you holding a camera?”
Again, he looked nervous. “I took those pictures with my Nikon D7000, and a telephoto zoom. It was a beautiful day. I was in my perch for hours.”
“Okay.” Nikki thought for a moment, then looked at him. “But you also have cameras on tripods, too, don’t you? For when you’re not on your perch. You take pictures of your neighbors. Of all of us. A lot of pictures.”
Victoria touched his arm. “It’s all right, M. I’m rather flattered.”
“I do have cameras set on tripods,” he answered sheepishly. “So . . . so I don’t miss anything.”
“Do you have a camera set on the Bernards’ yard?”
“I . . . have one that shows the Bernards’ pool area. Part of it.”
“Do you have pictures from the night Eddie died? After the party was over?”
“Possibly,” he answered.
Nikki smiled kindly. She supposed she should have been upset; after all, Mr. M.
was
sort of a stalker. But he was harmless, that was obvious. And his voyeurism could possibly be helpful in figuring out who killed Eddie. “Have you looked at the photos from that night?”
He shook his head.
“Could you?”
He hesitated.
“Maybe you could print them for us, M. Just off your printer here, however it is you do that.” Victoria gave his hand a squeeze as she rose. “Could you do that? For me, M.?”
He looked at Nikki, then back at Victoria. “For you. Maybe I could print them. But, they’re probably not very good.”
Nikki got up. “That’s okay. There’s probably nothing to see. I just . . .” She looked at him as he, too, stood. “It’s worth having a look. Did . . . did a detective happen to come speak with you? Detective Dombrowski?”
“Tall chap? Nice suit?”
“That would be him.”
“He’s come by. We don’t answer the door to strangers,” Mr. M. said.
Victoria kissed his leathery cheek. “Thank you so much for brunch, M. It was wonderful seeing you.” She looked into his eyes. “And thank you for helping my daughter. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. We’ll let ourselves out.”
Victoria walked away. “Nicolette.”
Nikki took a couple of quick steps to catch up, praying Mr. M. would have the lead she needed.
Chapter 25
I
t took Nikki the remainder of the day to get up the nerve to call Ellen, even though she spent the afternoon on the phone. She listened to Marshall talk about who had come to his party, who hadn’t, and what the latest gossip in town was. She chatted with Jeremy. She, again, tried to get a hold of Hector; there was no answer on his cell or at his house. She even called her painter and chewed him out about the delays on her house, just to postpone her conversation with Ellen.
Finally, sitting alone in her room in her mother’s house, the dogs lounging on the bed (where they were not allowed to be), she hit Ellen’s name on speed dial. By the third ring, she was ready to chicken out and hang up. What kind of message could she possibly leave? Just as she was about to hit the END button on her phone, Ellen picked up.
“Nikki! How are you?”
“I’m . . . I’m well.”
“I’m really looking forward to having you come to the set tomorrow. Friday was crazy. I was making these cream puffs that were supposed to look like individual servings of mashed potatoes, but they were a total fail. I bet I’ve made them a dozen times, but once I was in front of the camera, I was all thumbs.”
Nikki stroked Oliver, the Blenheim.
“I was mortified,” Ellen went on. “But, oh my gosh, you should have seen the pizza that looked like cherry cobbler. It was divine.”
Oliver made little grunting sounds of contentment as Nikki rolled him over and rubbed his belly. Jealous, Stanley inched across the duvet, wanting his share of the attention.
“I was thinking, if you came at noon
and
we’re running on time, you could watch me tape one episode and then we could have lunch together. The house Abe rented has this cute little patio with a table and lounge chairs . . .”
The mention of Abe made Nikki feel sick to her stomach. “Ellen,” she said. “I need to . . . talk to you about something.”
“Sure,” she said, cheerfully. “Sorry, I’m running on. Too much coffee. I’ve been trying to make this chocolate dessert in a martini glass and it—oh, gosh, here I go again.” She inhaled, then exhaled. “What’s up?”
Nikki laid back, resting her head on the upholstered headboard. “I have to ask you . . .” She stopped, then started again. “Last Friday night, were you at the Bernards’ house?”
Ellen was quiet on the other end of the line.
Not a good sign.
Nikki waited, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The worst thing was, she really liked Ellen.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said finally. “I should have told you.” She paused. “But . . . it was personal.”
“Personal?” Nikki echoed.
“Yes. I didn’t want to share because . . . I wasn’t comfortable sharing. Someone else was involved.”
“You were with Abe.”
“I . . . How do you know that?” Ellen asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” Nikki sighed. “But I need the truth.”
“Oh, God, Nikki, please don’t tell me you think I killed Eddie.”
Nikki looked into Ollie’s big, dark eyes. “No. I don’t think you killed Eddie. But I have to ask, what were you doing with Abe?”
“What was I
doing
?” Ellen’s voice took on a prickly tone.
“Yes, what were you doing with Abe?”
“Nikki, I don’t really think that’s any—” Ellen stopped mid-sentence. “We were discussing business.”
“Alone. In Abe’s basement, with him? In his . . . private room?”
Ellen was quiet again for a second. “Nikki, it’s not what you think.”
“No?”
“No. I can’t tell you what we were discussing. It was confidential. Between Abe and me.”
Nikki groaned. “Ellen, I’m just going to come out and say it. Are you having an affair with Abe Bernard?”
“No,” she said quickly. “God, no, Nikki. Do I seem to you to be that kind of person?” Now she sounded angry.
“I don’t know, Ellen.” Nikki ran her hand over her face. “I don’t know what to think.” She exhaled. “I’m beginning to think I’m not as good a judge of character as I once thought.”
“Listen to me, Nikki,” Ellen said, enunciating each word. “I am not having an affair with Abe Bernard. He’s married.”
“But something
is
going on,” Nikki intoned. “You were seen at The Palm, having lunch.”
“He’s my producer. We had lunch. In a public place. If I was banging my boss, do you think I would have gone to lunch with him at The Palm?”
Nikki was quiet.
“Look,” Ellen said after a minute. “I’m not going to tell you what’s been
going on
between Abe and me. You’re just going to have to take my word on it that it’s not . . . inappropriate. Between the two of us.” She was quiet again for a moment. “You’re not coming to my set tomorrow, are you?”
Nikki bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, I understand. No, no, I really don’t.” Again, Ellen paused. “Have a good evening.”
She hung up.
Nikki tossed the cell phone onto her bed and scooped Ollie up into her arms and cuddled him. “So now what do we do?” she asked, feeling just awful. She’d probably just lost a friend with that phone call.
Stan nosed his way into her lap.
“Track down Hector? Find out where the heck Ree is? Is that what you say?” She rubbed one soft head and then the other, feeling worse with each passing moment. “Okay,” she said firmly. “Okay, I can do that.”
And if Hector couldn’t give her any helpful information? If Mr. M.’s photos didn’t offer any answers? Then what?
she wondered.
Then she had to pray that Dombrowski was doing a better job investigating than she was, or Jorge might really have to stand trial and take his chances.
 
Monday morning, Nikki tried Hector’s cell phone one last time. When he didn’t pick up, she headed to Brentwood. Ina had been more than happy to tell Nikki where Hector was working and asked Nikki to remind him not to waste time because she needed him in Bel Air in the afternoon.
Nikki knew the house; she’d sold it to the present owners. It was a lovely two-story home with an enclosed front courtyard that separated it nicely from the street. She pulled up behind the J
ORGE
& S
ON
utility truck; this was the truck Jorge usually drove. Nikki spotted Hector from the street; he was in the courtyard, trimming palm fronds. She walked up the sidewalk.
“Hector.”
From the look on his face, she was afraid he might run. He knew she’d been looking for him. He really
was
avoiding her. The obvious question was
why
.
“You’re a hard man to catch,” she said. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head so she could look him in the eye. Because of the retaining wall between the sidewalk and the courtyard, he was standing a few feet above her. She squinted in the sunlight, her hand over her eyes. “You want to come down here and talk to me, or do you want me to come up there?”
He dropped the bag he’d been using to dispose of the brown fronds and jumped down. “I . . . I can’t really talk. Work.” He hooked his thumb in the direction of the palm tree.
“This will only take a minute; I don’t want to keep you from your work. Ina asked me to pass on a message, by the way; she says not to waste any time today. She needs you in Bel Air when you’re done here. And she says ‘answer your damned cell phone when she calls, the first time’.”
He gave her a look that made her hold up her hands.
“Ina’s words, not mine,” she said.
He adjusted his ball cap, though it didn’t really need to be adjusted.
“Okay, Hector, so on to business. The business between you and me.” She gestured. “You’ve been dodging me for days. What’s going on?”
He crossed his arms, his posture defensive. “Nothing.”
She wasn’t in the mood for this today. She was still upset about her conversation with Ellen. Ellen had made it sound as if she were protecting a confidence with Abe by not sharing that she’d been there that night. But what secret could she possibly be keeping?
“You’re avoiding me, Hector. What is it that you’re not telling me about the night Eddie died?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He didn’t meet her gaze.
So maybe he did have a conscience.
“Do you know where Ree is?”
“No.”
“That’s funny, because the last time her roommate saw her, she was leaving her apartment with
you
Saturday morning. Saturday morning, while your brother-in-law was turning himself in for a murder he didn’t commit, and your pregnant wife was sitting home alone crying.”
Hector stroked his pock-marked cheek.
“Hector, did Ree kill Eddie? Did someone kill Eddie
for
her?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Did
you
kill him for her?”
His head snapped up. “No,” he said ardently. “I did
not
kill Eddie Bernard. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to,” he added under his breath.
“Where did you take Ree Saturday morning?” She waited. “Hector, do you understand that there’s a real possibility that Jorge could spend the rest of his life in jail? That he could end up on death row if convicted? If you had something to do with Eddie’s death, or you know who did, you have to tell me. You can’t let Jorge take the fall for this. He’s been too good to you.”
Again, she waited.
“Ree had nothing to do with Eddie’s death,” he finally admitted. He looked away again. “I took her to the bus station Saturday morning. She went to Mexico.”
“Why?” Nikki demanded.
“Because . . . because it was over.”
“What was over?”
She was surprised to see his eyes fill with tears.
“The affair,” he said miserably. “She asked me to go with her to Mexico. That night. Friday night. She swore there was nothing between her and Eddie anymore and she wanted me back. I had my bag packed. But then I couldn’t do it. I met her and I told her so.”
Nikki remembered the morning she was at Jorge’s . . . the duffel bag beside the door. She’d been afraid Jorge was about to run. “That was
your
bag by the door that morning, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “I told Rosalia what I’d done. That I was sorry.” He ran his hand under his nose. “I’m not proud of myself. But I love Rosalia. And I love my kids. That morning . . . before you called to tell Jorge about Eddie, me and Rosalia, we talked. She told me to go if I wanted to, but I didn’t want to. So I took Ree to the bus station and I said good-bye.”
“Wait a minute. You said you were out with her Friday night?
After
you got home from work. How late?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Late. I didn’t leave until after Rosalia went to bed.”
“Did Jorge know you were having an affair with Ree?”
He stared at his shoes. “No. No, of course not. Rosalia didn’t want him to know. She said it was between us. I think she was afraid Jorge would kick me out of the house if he found out.”
“So Jorge might have known you were gone that night, but not known you were with Ree?”
He looked up at Nikki. “You think Jorge thinks I killed Eddie? That I packed a bag because I was going to run?”
“It’s possible. It would make sense. He wouldn’t even provide the police with his own alibi—that he was home with you and his sister.”
“Because I wasn’t there,” Hector whispered.
“Jorge wouldn’t say anything to defend himself.” She met his gaze. “Maybe because he thought he was protecting you . . . for his sister’s sake.”
Hector stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “I didn’t mean to do this to my family. I didn’t mean to get Jorge into trouble.”
“The gardening shears. Do you know what happened to them that day?”
He shook his head. “Jorge asked me to grab them after he said we should go home. We were in the back, putting tools in the shed. He was doing things to clean up. I was doing things. I thought he got the pruning shears.”
“So they were
missing?
”
“I . . . I don’t know. I guess they were.”
“Could someone have come through the side gate, taken them, and gone back to the Bernards’ without being seen?”
Hector thought for a moment. “I guess. We were walking back and forth from the truck to the shed.”
“Which would explain why you thought Jorge picked up the shears.”
“There were a lot of people at Eddie’s that day. Anyone could have done it,” he said.
Yes. But no. Her list of suspects was now short: Wezley, Ginny . . . Victoria. But Wezley was looking more suspicious to her by the minute. And what about Abe? As preposterous as it seemed, had he lost his patience with his son? Was that the secret Ellen was protecting? Of course, if she added Abe to the list, did she need to include Melinda?
Maybe Melinda and Victoria did it together . . .

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