Imitation of Death (26 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Crane

BOOK: Imitation of Death
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She groaned inwardly. This was making her crazy. She was making herself crazy. She returned her attention to Hector, who seemed to want to say something.
“Are . . . are you going to tell Jorge?” he asked. “About me and Ree?”
She shook her head. “I can’t even get in to see Jorge. It’s not my business, anyway, Hector. It’s up to you and Rosalia what you tell her brother.”
He hung his head. “I tried to get in, too. You got to have this form filled out. Ina talked to him on the phone. He doesn’t want any visitors. He won’t sign to have anyone come.”
Nikki slid her glasses back on. “I should let you get back to work,” she said. She looked up, remembering the threatening note that was still riding around in her car. “Wednesday morning, you were at Mother’s house. Someone left something in my car. You know anything about it? Did you see anyone in the yard when you were mowing that morning . . . someone who could have come from the Bernard property?”
He shook his head and asked, “What did they leave?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, as much to herself as to him. There was always the possibility that Hector was still lying about something, but she didn’t think so. He was too upset. Her gut told her that while he was the kind of guy that would cheat on his pregnant wife with her cousin, he wasn’t a killer. The pain was too obvious on his scarred face. She walked away. “You have a good day, Hector.”
“You, too.” He pulled his ball cap off and ran his fingers through his scraggly dark hair. “Nikki?” he called after her.
She looked back.
“Me and Rosalia, we appreciate what you’re doing for our family. For Jorge. But if it don’t work out, you can’t blame yourself.”
She offered a quick smile. “Thanks, Hector.”
Nikki got in her car and, as it purred away from the curb, she checked the clock on the dash. She had to get to work for the Monday Morning Meeting, but her day was pretty open after that. Maybe after lunch, she’d hit the Church of Earth and Beyond and sniff around Wezley’s office again. She had the perfect excuse: Justin ‘Beaver’ tickets.
Chapter 26
N
ikki was just getting into the elevator at the Church of Earth and Beyond when her cell rang. She checked the screen. It was Ellen. She considered not answering it.
She stepped back off the elevator, into the deserted hall. “Hello?”
“I was afraid you weren’t going to pick up,” Ellen said.
Nikki chewed on her lower lip for a moment. She stared at her shoes. She was wearing what was fast becoming her uniform on bad days: black boots and skirt and short-sleeved sweater. Victoria said she was very New York City. It may not have been a compliment.
There was a scuff on the toe of one foot.
Nikki looked up again. “I seriously considered not answering,” she confessed. The elevator door closed behind her. “I thought you were taping your show.”
“I am. Lunch break one-thirty to two-thirty. I’m calling because I was upset by our phone conversation yesterday. I really wish you’d come by today.”
“Sorry,” Nikki said. “My afternoon is busy.”
Ellen exhaled. “Okay. Look, Nik, I really want to be friends. I like you and I think we’re a lot alike. I could use a good friend like you. I didn’t want to tell you what Abe and I have been talking about, what we were talking about last Friday night in private, because I was hoping he would change his mind.”
Nikki was quiet for a moment. “Ellen, if this is something Abe’s asked you not to repeat . . .” She exhaled. “I wouldn’t ask you to divulge something told to you in confidence.”
“I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to. It doesn’t matter, now, because he’s going to do it, anyway. Everyone will know in a few days.”
Ellen had Nikki intrigued now. “Okay . . . ,” she said.
“Abe has decided to divorce Ginny and remarry Melinda.”
“What? You’re kidding.” Nikki began to pace in front of the elevator. This was as crazy and unexpected as the tattooed gym-rat/bouncer turned DEA agent. “Have . . . Melinda and Abe been . . . seeing each other?”
“No. Melinda doesn’t know. Things haven’t been good between Abe and Ginny since the beginning. Apparently, he immediately regretted divorcing Melinda and marrying Ginny, but he didn’t know what to do. Then the problems with Eddie—”
“Didn’t help matters,” Nikki interjected.
“Exactly.”
“So . . . there’s no affair, between you and Abe or Abe and Melinda?”
“No affair,” Ellen said. “I told you, I’ve sworn off men. Unless, of course, Jeremy becomes available.”
Nikki laughed, feeling immensely better. “Sorry. He’s not.”
Ellen laughed with her, then grew more sober. “I really am sorry about this whole thing. I just didn’t know what to do. Abe has been so good to me and—”
“You don’t have to say any more.” Nikki turned to face the elevator that would take her up to the fifth floor. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so quickly. I knew what kind of person you were the minute I met you. I should have followed my instincts.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s just that this thing with Jorge and Eddie . . . It’s got me so rattled. I don’t know what to think about anyone anymore.”
“I understand completely. I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you yesterday. If I were in your place, I would have reacted the same way.” She paused. “So, friends?”
“Friends,” Nikki agreed.
“Great. So what day can you come by the set? Tomorrow? Wednesday? We’ll be taping the rest of the week.”
Nikki hit the
CALL
button on the elevator and slid her favorite Prada bag up farther on her shoulder. “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think I have lunch open both days.”
“Great. Then come by. Both days. Listen, I have to run,” Ellen said.
Nikki heard commotion in the background. “Me, too. How about if I call you tonight?”
“Perfect.” Ellen paused. “I’m really glad you picked up. Have a good day.”
Nikki was smiling when she got on the elevator. “You, too.”
She was still smiling to herself when she got off the elevator. Monique was at her post at her desk. Monique did not look happy to see her.
The receptionist glanced down the hallway in the direction of Wezley’s office, then back at Nikki. “Ms. Harper.”
“Hey, Monique. I came by because . . .” Nikki took a step closer, glancing down the same hallway. “Is he in?” she whispered.
Monique nodded.
Nikki took another step, now standing right in front of Monique’s desk. “I kept thinking about what you said. About you not being able to take your son to the Justin Bieber concert.” She reached into her bag. “My mother’s agent has some connection with his agent or something.” She pulled out an envelope. “So I got you four tickets for next month here in L.A.” She shrugged as she offered the envelope. “Maybe he could take two friends?”
“Oh, my gosh. For me? For us?” Monique took the envelope and peeked inside. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.” She looked up. “Thank you so much. My son will be thrilled. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, no. No, they’re yours.” Nikki touched her desk. “My mother didn’t pay for them. They’re yours to enjoy.”
Monique fanned her face with the white envelope. “I can’t believe you did this. You don’t know me. You don’t know my son.”
Nikki grimaced. “I felt badly when you told me the story about him going back on his word.” She tilted her head in the direction of Wezley’s office. “He’s an odd duck, that one.” She went on before Monique could say anything. “He came to see me last week, after I was here. To my office, apologizing profusely because he remembered that we
had
met. Do you think that’s strange?”
Monique set the envelope on her desk. “Not any stranger than half the other things he does.”
Nikki waited.
Monique exhaled. “Like putting a security code on his e-mail so I can’t get in.” She laid her hand on the mouse and dragged it, then pointed at her computer monitor. “It’s my job to look over his and Mr. Butterfield’s e-mail and mark what’s a priority and what isn’t.” She put up both hands. “I haven’t been able to get into his in days. But he’s checking his e-mail constantly.”
“I wonder why?” Nikki asked. She thought she heard a door open down the hall, but when she looked, she didn’t see anyone. As she returned her attention to Monique, she heard the door close. “Any idea?”
Monique either didn’t hear the door or was used to such goings-on. “No idea. I asked him and he told me to mind my own business.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve sent out my resume to several places. I like this church, but I don’t like the job. I don’t like working for Wezley Butterfield. He scares me.”
“He scares you?” Nikki asked. “What do you mean?”
Monique shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s just that he’s getting worse. He seems worse since he got out of rehab.
Unstable
,” she mouthed.
Nikki thought on that for a moment, but, not knowing what to do with it, she smiled at Monique. “I hope you and your son enjoy the concert.”
Monique watched her walk to the elevator. “This was really nice of you to do, Ms. Harper.” She picked up the envelope with the tickets. “Kind of renews my faith in mankind, you know what I mean?”
Nikki hit the
CALL
button and smiled. “Actually, I do.”
 
Nikki made two stops on her way back to the office, one to buy dog food and treats at the pet store, the other to make a quick walk-through in a house she was having staged for its impending showing. The
quick
walk-through wasn’t.
The employees of the company she’d hired to do the staging had either been drinking on the job or had totally ignored her requests. Instead of staging the Mediterranean-style villa in Hollywood in an elegant, airy Mediterranean style, with lots of light-colored furniture and plants, they had staged it like a medieval castle . . . or a dragon’s lair. The heavy, dark furniture and swords and armor were completely out of place. She spent half an hour on the phone, then waited almost an hour for someone to come to the house and take notes as to what she had in mind for each room.
It was four by the time Nikki returned to Windsor Real Estate. She was juggling her briefcase, her handbag, and an iced chai tea when she stepped off the elevator. “Hey, Carolyn,” she called.
“Ms. Harper.” Carolyn stood up. “Something was delivered for you by messenger. I had to sign for it and promise I would place it directly into your hands and no one else’s,” she said solemnly, offering a large manila envelope. The kind that closed with a little string.
“Really?” Nikki walked to Carolyn’s desk. (Carolyn never left her post. Nikki wasn’t entirely certain she wasn’t tethered to the desk by an invisible string, or maybe a force field kept her there.)
“You know who it’s from?” Nikki set her iced tea on the edge of Carolyn’s desk.
“Nope.”
Slinging her handbag onto her shoulder, and placing her briefcase at her feet, Nikki accepted the envelope curiously.
“Oh, and a message. I offered to connect the guy to your voicemail, but he said it was important that you get the message today. He wants to see a commercial property you have listed.” Carolyn offered a pink W
HILE
Y
OU
W
ERE
O
UT
slip.
Nikki unwound the string and peeked in the manila envelope: photos. Her heart gave a little trip.
Mr. M. had come through.
She closed the envelope quickly and reached for the message. “Thanks.” She glanced at the note. It was from a Mr. Morrison. He wanted to see a commercial building in the Plummer Park area. At six-thirty. She sighed. She really wasn’t up to a showing tonight. “He didn’t leave a number?” she asked Carolyn.
Carolyn had taken her seat again. “There’s not one on there?”
Nikki looked at her.
“Gosh . . . I’m so sorry. I asked for it and then . . . I’m really sorry.”
So now Nikki couldn’t even call him back to reschedule. The message said the caller was a Mr. Morrison . . . Mr. Morrison? She couldn’t remember having spoken to a Mr. Morrison about that commercial property. Or any other, for that matter, but she talked to a lot of people over the course of a week, a month, a year...
Nikki dropped the envelope into her briefcase, and grabbed it and her iced chai. “Thank you, Carolyn,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Carolyn called brightly after her.
Nikki closed the door to her office before going to her desk. She dropped her handbag on the desk; she wouldn’t be here long if she was going to make the appointment in Plummer Park in late-afternoon traffic. Seated at her desk, she took a sip of her iced chai and pulled the manila envelope out of her briefcase.
The photos were eight-by-tens, in black and white, and as Mr. M. had warned, not particularly good. They were obviously taken for surveillance reasons, rather than for display. He must have printed them on photo-quality paper on his home computer’s printer.
She studied the first one: a picture of the Bernards’ side yard and Victoria’s. All was quiet on the Bordeaux side, but there were a few people scattered around the visible side of the Bernards’ pool. On the bottom of the picture was a time stamp: twelve-fifteen a.m.
A time stamp!
Nikki began to shuffle through the photos; there were more than a dozen, one every fifteen minutes.
Please, please let there be some answer here
, Nikki prayed silently as she looked at one and then another.
Even if there were no answers, just something to go on.
The photographs weren’t as easy to interpret as she had hoped. Because they were taken from Mr. M.’s widow’s walk, they were practically a bird’s-eye view.
She went all the way through them. Then, again. As Astro had said and Mr. M. confirmed, the party broke up shortly after midnight. By one a.m., there was almost no one left in the backyard. . . except for someone in a chaise longue . . . and someone lying in the grass, just off the edge of the photo.
Was that Eddie in the grass? Was he already dead by the one-fifteen time stamp? She squinted. All she could see was an arm and part of a sleeve, partially rolled up. She flipped through several photos, which were taken between twelve-fifteen and four-thirty.
She got a magnifying glass from her desk and studied the arm; it was a dark dress shirt. Eddie had been wearing a polo and hibiscus swim shorts when he died. That definitely wasn’t Eddie lying in the grass. She used the magnifying glass to look at the man near the pool.
That
was Eddie in the chaise longue.
Nikki checked the time on her cell phone. She didn’t have much time before she had to leave for the appointment with Mr. Morrison. She always liked to unlock a property first, and walk around to make sure there were no dead rodents in view and no squatters. Both of which she’d encountered in her adventures as a real estate broker. (Once, she’d discovered a merry maid in
flagrante delicto
.)

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