The Bad Always Die Twice (12 page)

She frowned, dropping the business card back into the abyss of her bag. “You can’t just check to see if he was here that day?”

He sighed, hit a few keys on his keyboard and glanced at the computer screen. “No—what was his name, ma’am?”

She hated it when people ma’am’ed her. She wasn’t old enough to be a ma’am.
Was she?
“Rex March. He did TV. Movies.”

The clerk frowned. “Must have been before my time. Never heard of him. No Rex March checked in here.” He looked up, his face as bland as a bowl of congealed oatmeal. “Anything else I can do for you? A dinner reservation? A spa appointment?”

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. He was already looking at the computer again. “No. Thank you. Have a good day,” she added as she turned away—just in case her mother was hiding behind a potted palm. Victoria had always insisted on extreme politeness, even with the lowliest valets, key grips, or maids in restaurant bathrooms. It was a rare behavior for Hollywood royalty, and contributed to the universal adoration of her fans.

Beginning to doubt her detective skills, Nikki went back out the front door and handed her ticket to the valet.

“Be a few minutes, ma’am.”

Of course, it would. Her car was probably already parked six deep. She flashed
the smile
, even though she wasn’t really feeling it. As she waited, she contemplated the phone number written on the W
HILE
Y
OU
W
ERE
O
UT
slip and what it might mean. Nikki knew Rex well enough to know he could have been at this hotel that day on one of his many liaisons. So, did the clerk at the desk just lie about whether or not he’d been a guest that day, or had Rex given a fake name, something Hollywood stars were famous for doing? And had his hookup been with Jessica? Did it matter who the woman was?

“Miss . . . Miss Harper?”

Nikki turned to see a young man wearing a hotel name tag. “Yes?”

He tucked his hands behind his back like a child trying to keep from touching candy on a counter. “I . . . I thought that was you. I saw you in
People
magazine. That charity event you attended with your mother. You . . . you looked great.”

“Thank you.” Nikki didn’t get a lot of recognition; there were too many real celebrities in town, but it did happen, occasionally. Always be polite, Victoria said. But watch out for crazies. Nikki glanced away in search of her Prius.

Jeremy had called her when she was stuck in traffic on Sunset. He wanted her to stop by his place on Saturday. She was looking forward to seeing him. He was always her voice of logic. He was so grounded, which was amazing, considering the fact that he had made his first million before his twelfth birthday.

“I hope you don’t mind.” The guy was still there. Actually, he wasn’t much more than a kid. Early twenties, average height, sandy hair, attractive enough face; it was a common look in Hollywood. “But I sort of overheard you talking to the desk clerk.” He lowered his voice. “About Rex March.”

Nikki’s ears immediately perked up. “Yes?” she said, turning to him.

He offered his hand. “I’m Julius.”

“Nice to meet you, Julius.”
The smile.
She shook his hand. “Do you know something about Rex being here?”

“Do you mind if we talk? . . .” He tilted his head, indicating a place on the sidewalk that wasn’t visible from the lobby. “I don’t want to lose my job. We’re not supposed to mess with famous people.”

This time her smile was genuine. She followed him. “What can you tell me about Rex?”

“I know what people say about him, but I was kind of a fan,” Julius said apologetically. “I grew up watching reruns of his show.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I know it was kind of cheesy and the acting was bad and all, but I grew up with him. You know?”

Nikki tried to remain patient through Julius’s trip down memory lane. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said, having no idea. “Did you see Rex here? In February? This is kind of important.”

The young man glanced around as if he were a cast member on the set of a bad spy movie. “I saw him lots of times,” he whispered.

“You did?” she whispered back, now trying to contain her enthusiasm. She didn’t want to scare him off.

He nodded vigorously. “We’re trained to play it cool with celebrities, you know, pretend it’s no big deal, especially if they’re wearing a disguise.”

“A disguise?” she repeated. Not just a false name, Rex had used a
disguise?
Talk about cheesy. Images of Rex wearing a pirate’s eye patch or a blackened hillbilly tooth skittered in her head.

Again, Julius glanced one way and then the other. “I’m sure he came in not long before his plane crashed. I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to admit to you I cried when I heard he hadn’t survived,” he said dramatically.

“Are you, by any chance, an actor?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“I am.” He beamed. “I was in a commercial for #1 Automart in East L.A. . . . I was the dancing dollar sign. And a few smaller parts.”

“Ah . . . so you were saying, you saw Rex on February 11
^th
?”

“I don’t know about the date. The last time I saw him, he was wearing my favorite disguise of his: a big straw hat,” he motioned, demonstrating a hat the size of a sombrero, “a flowered shirt and sunglasses. I know he had a lot of fans fooled, but not me.” He winked.

She winked back. “Right . . .” She was trying to think of what else to ask him. She really needed to read some detective novels to see how this was done. “So . . . you happen to know what name he was registered under? Because the nice gentleman at the front desk said Rex March was never registered here.”

“Jason?” Julius made a face. “That douche bag? He wouldn’t know if Jennifer Aniston walked through his lobby. Actually, she did,” he added quickly. “I know she’s an older woman and all, but she’s
hot.
”

Nikki made a spinning motion with her hand. “Back to Rex and the name. Do you know what name he used when he checked in?”

Julius shook his head, obviously disappointed that he couldn’t tell her. “But I bet I could find out,” he said quickly.

“Could you?”

He nodded again. “I have to tell you, my granny, back in Idaho, she raised me and she’s a big fan of your mother’s. She
loves
her movies. And her eightieth birthday is coming.”

“Really? Eighty years?” Nikki knew in a second where this was going. “Do . . . do you think your granny would like an autographed photo? Personalized?” That was an easy one. Her mother’s part-time correspondence secretary, Cora, a woman who had been around the Hollywood block more times than most, sent out a stack of autographed photos of Nikki’s mother every week. An autographed photo was
totally
doable.

“That would be great, but . . .” He glanced at her sheepishly. “This isn’t like blackmail or anything, but I could lose my job, looking up stuff on the computer. And it might take me a couple of days to sneak into the office and do it, so—”

She spotted her Prius, coming their way. “What will it take, Julius?” she said, cutting to the chase. “My mother doesn’t do personal appearances in Idaho.”

“No, no.” He put up his hands. “It’s nothing like that. I was just wondering . . .”

He stalled long enough for the valet to bring up her car. “Yes?” she said, looking back at Julius.

“Is there any way she could call my granny to wish her a happy birthday?”

Nikki thought for a minute. Victoria didn’t make personal phone calls often, but maybe she could be persuaded.

“It would really mean a lot to my grandmother. And to me. And if you needed to know anything else,” he said quickly, “after I find out the name Rex March used, I could definitely help you out.”

“Done.” Nikki thrust out her hand to shake Julius’s. “You get back to me on that name,” she said, fishing a business card out of her bag, “and Victoria Bordeaux will call your grandmother in Idaho and offer a personal birthday wish.”

Julius was still grinning when Nikki climbed into her car. All Nikki could think of was what Victoria was going to want from her in return for this favor.

“Sorry, Ms. Flaherty’s gone home,” the young woman with Marilyn Monroe platinum hair said from behind her desk. She was busy regluing one of her pink press-on nails. “Would you like to make an appointment? She only sees people by appointment. No drop-ins.” The phone rang, but she ignored it.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Nikki glanced at the ringing phone.

“After five,” the secretary explained. She actually had an uncanny resemblance to Norma Jean, but there were people like her all over L.A. Marilyn Monroe look-alikes were topped only by the Elvises. Shoot, Nikki had one of
those
of her own.

Nikki nodded, trying to seem disappointed. Actually, she’d purposely stopped by late to be sure she missed Thompson Christopher’s agent. J.J. Flaherty would never answer Nikki’s questions . . . but the secretary might.

“I’m Nikki Harper.” She decided not to shake the girl’s hand, not with the nail repair going on. Glancing around, she spotted a chair and grabbed it, dragging it over in front of the desk. “You mind if I sit down? Long day,” she sighed, dropping into the chair. “I’m a real estate agent with the Windsor company. You might know my mother,” she went on shamelessly. “Victoria—”

“Oh, my God!” A bit of Jersey slipped out of the girl as she shot out of her chair. “Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter! I love love
love
her movies. My mother and I used to watch them on Sunday afternoons.” She waved her hands in excited admiration. “You were in
People
this week.”

“Actually, it was a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, my God!” The young woman rushed out from behind her desk. Nikki thought maybe she was coming around to shake her hand or something, but she made a beeline for the waiting area and began to pull through a stack of tired magazines. “If I can find it, can you, you know, autograph it? My girlfriends aren’t going to believe this! This’ll be three this week. Got it!” She spun around, clutching the said issue of
People
. “We collect autographs. Whoever gets the fewest in a week has to buy the other three a round of drinks on Saturday night.” She skittered forward, balanced on high heels, her red skirt so tight Nikki could see that there were no telltale panty lines.
Commando?

“I’d be happy to autograph the magazine,” Nikki said sweetly, grabbing a pen off the desk. “Let me keep it and maybe I can get you my mother’s, too.”

“Oh, my God!” The girl fanned herself with the magazine. “The girls aren’t going to believe this! You’re sooo nice.” She started to offer the magazine, then pulled it back to her boob job. “Not everyone who comes into this office is very nice.” She scrunched up her pretty face.

“How about Thompson Christopher?” Nikki could see from this close that the mole was penciled in. “Is he nice?”

“Oh, yeah. Real nice.” She smiled. She was actually pretty, beneath the caricature.

“What did you say your name was?” Nikki asked.

“Tawny Lion.” She offered her hand, the nail appearing to now be stable. “But that’s my screen name. It’s Mary, actually. Mary Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary.” Nikki shook her hand firmly. “Or would you rather I call you Tawny?”

“Oh, Mary’s fine.” She returned to her chair. “It’s kind of nice, actually. To have someone call me by my real name, other than my mother. She lives in Secaucus. New Jersey.”

Nikki leaned closer. “So you know Thompson Christopher?”

“Uh-huh. Ms. Flaherty thinks he’s on the edge of making it big. She’s afraid he’s going to ditch her,” she whispered.

As far as Nikki could tell, not only was there no one in the agent’s offices, but the whole building seemed pretty empty. “You think he’d do that?”

Mary shrugged her shoulders. “Like I said, he seems nice and all, but you never know. He’s almost a big star now. Stars do crazy things.”

“That they do,” Nikki agreed wholeheartedly. She reached across the desk. “Why don’t you give me that magazine and I’ll see what I can do about getting my mother to sign it? Do you happen to know if Mr. Christopher went on casting calls Monday of this week?”

Mary frowned as she relinquished the
People
. If she thought the question was odd, she didn’t act like it.

“He was supposed to. Ms. Flaherty was hot with him, I’ll tell you that. I could hear her yelling at him on the phone from all the way out here.”

“So he didn’t make his casting calls Monday?”

“It was supposed to be a big day,” Mary said conspiratorially. “That’s why Ms. Flaherty was so upset with him. But then Rex March turned up dead again and Ms. Flaherty calmed down. She was able to reschedule two of them. They were supposed to be for next Tuesday, but of course he’s got voice on Tuesdays and nobody knows if Mrs. March is going to have another memorial service for her husband.” Mary sighed. “So everything is up in the air.”

Nikki tucked the magazine into her bag. “But you’re sure Mr. Christopher didn’t make those casting calls Monday?”

“Sure,” Mary said, wide eyed, making a motion across her perky breasts. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Chapter 11

“D
o you think the city owes me money, keeping my car for almost a week?” Jessica applied lipstick with the aid of the mirror on the passenger-side visor. “I think they owe me.” She paused. “You think they’d make a payment on my AmEx?”

Nikki flashed her an
Are you for real?
look and cruised through the intersection of Sunset and Wilcox. “You still didn’t make your AmEx payment?”

“I’ve been under stress, Nik. The man I was in love with was found dead in my apartment six months after I cried at his memorial service. And someone is trying to frame me.” She pursed her lips and slapped the visor back into place. “Jesus H., I could use a little understanding.”

Nikki did a double take, then forced herself to concentrate on the road. “You were in love with Rex?”