The Bad Always Die Twice (16 page)

“Nah. I’ve got to go to the post office for Mother later. I’ll grab a salad while I’m out.”

“You’re going to the post office for her? She can’t get Amondo to do that?”

Nikki sighed, wondering if she needed therapy or something. She didn’t think her relationship with her mother was all that strange, but other people did. Wasn’t that a sign of being truly crazy? When you thought you were normal? “Don’t ask,” she told Jessica, checking out the square footage and amenities listed for Thompson’s condo.

“Suit yourself. I have to call Detective Lutz and check before I go over, but my apartment is supposed to be released today. I can finally go home.”

“That’s great news. Not that I’m not enjoying having you at my place, but . . .”

“I understand,” Jessica laughed. “Slumber parties are fun, but a girl’s gotta go home and wash out her undies at some point.” Her voice became more serious. “I’m just glad I had a place to go. Considering the circumstances, not everyone would have welcomed me into their home like you did, Nik. You know that means a lot to me. You’re always a good friend, even when I’m not.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re always a good friend.” Nikki screwed the cap back on her water. “Text me Alicia’s address and I’ll start some preliminary work on the comps.”

“I can do that when I get in.”

“I’ll just get started. This is what I do well, Jess. So let me do it. Catch you later.”

Nikki tossed her phone onto her desk and studied the picture of Thompson’s living room with its gorgeous view of L.A. after dark. She didn’t care that much that Thompson hadn’t listed the condo with her and Jessica. What she couldn’t stop thinking about was the coincidence that he had put his place up for sale the same week Rex had come back from the dead, just to be killed. Was the condo listing a coincidence, or a clue as to who killed Rex?

Nikki was so curious about Thompson’s condo that she gave the listing agent a ring when she ran out at lunch to do her errands. Without too much small talk, she moved right onto business while sitting in traffic. “I know you’re not supposed to say, Chuck, but this is Thompson Christopher’s place, isn’t it?”

“You know I can’t say,” he said, his voice bubbly with excitement. “It’s not our policy to divulge clients’ names.”

“It certainly wouldn’t be prudent, considering the headlines this week, would it?” Nikki asked. “Although you might get some showings because of the buzz. We live in a crazy world.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said coyly. “But I have to say, Ms. Harper, if you have any potential clients, you should bring them by this week. I doubt the property will last till the weekend.”

Realtors were sooo full of b.s.

“Now that you’ve reduced the price?” Nikki watched while the light turned green, then yellow, and nary a car moved in front of her. “Why, by the way, did you reduce the price so quickly? It’s been on the market less than two weeks.”

“My client is eager to sell.”

“Is he?” she mused. “You think I could have a look at the place? I may have the perfect client,” she lied, “but I’m not comfortable showing a place I haven’t seen.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Great. How about today?” A horn blew behind her. Exactly where did the guy think she was going to go? She was six inches off a Land Rover’s butt. She inched forward in her Prius. “How about now?”

“Now?” Chuck asked.

“Well, when you can get there. It is empty, isn’t it? The condo?”

“I could probably meet you there. Say in forty-five?”

Nikki checked the clock on the dash. “Perfect.” That gave her enough time to mail off the damned crackers.

The line at the post office closest to the condo on Wilshire was long, but not any longer than midday ever was. While she stood in line, box under her arm, she checked her e-mails on her BlackBerry. Slowly, the line of customers moved forward. A text came up on her cell:
Hope you’re having a good day. J

She smiled. Her relationship with Jeremy was progressing. She was sure of it. Maybe not at the same speed she had hoped or Victoria expected, but things were moving along. The time she spent Saturday night with him, just cleaning up his kitchen and then sharing a bottle of wine on his patio made her . . . hopeful.

“Next,” called a nasal voice.

Feeling as if she’d won the lottery, Nikki dropped her phone into her trusty Prada bag and bolted forward. “Hi.” She slid the package across the counter.

“How would you like to send this?” The postal worker was a small woman in her early sixties. She had an attractive white pixie-like haircut with earrings shaped like corgi dogs hanging from her ears. “Priority will be nine-fifty, two to three days. First class, seven-forty, five to seven days.”

“Priority would be fine.” Nikki grabbed her wallet. “Cute earrings. I love corgis.”

“Not many people know them. My Buttercup is twelve years old. My husband gave me these for her birthday. We always have a little party. Doggie cake. Treat bags.” She tapped her computer keyboard. “My neighbor brings her peekapoos. I’m not a big fan. Dumb as goldfish. You have corgis?”

“King Charles Spaniels. Two. Stanley and Oliver.”

“Cute names.” She glanced up for the first time, looked back at her computer screen, and then the moment came. Nikki saw it in her eyes.
Recognition.

The clerk broke into a grin. “Hey, you’re”—she ran her finger along the return address portion of the box and then looked at her again—“Nikki Harper.”

“I am,” Nikki confessed, with a nod. She offered a ten-dollar bill, but the clerk didn’t take it.

“I was sorry to hear about your friend.” The doggies in her ears danced.

“My friend?” she asked, thinking the postal clerk was referring to Rex.

“The real estate lady. It was in the paper today. How she was being framed by Mexican banditos. They mentioned how you were standing by her. How you refused to be intimidated by them. Good gene stock your mother gave you. Pretty blue eyes, too,” she added, studying Nikki’s face as she waited for the printer to spit out a label.

Ah, a tabloid story. Of course.

“Thanks. My name was mentioned?” Nikki asked, a little surprised. She led such a boring life that she rarely made the tabloids.

“Yup. Cute picture of you getting out of your little car. It’s a hybrid, isn’t it? Personally, I think the cops are barking up the wrong tree.” She leaned on the counter, seeming to be in no hurry, despite the ever-lengthening line of people. She lowered her voice. “Pretty girl like that. She would never kill a man. They ought to be looking at that young actor. Thompson Christopher.”

Nikki’s ears perked up. “Should they?”

“Comes in here once in a while. Mother lives in Idaho, Iowa, one of those states where there’s a lot of corn.” She waggled her finger and then pulled the label off the printer. “I don’t like his eyes. Gotta close look at them the other day. Took his passport picture right back there.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Nikki caught her breath, certain there was significance in what the clerk had just said, just not sure what it was. “Thompson Christopher applied for his passport here? Last week?”

She nodded. “He had a birth certificate and everything, with his real name on it; we have to check the documents, but he had changed his name legally. Can’t remember what it used to be, but it was something silly. I can tell you that.”

Nikki leaned across the counter, pushing her ten-dollar bill toward the clerk. “But you’re certain it was him?” she whispered, not entirely sure why she was whispering.

The woman made change, the Corgis in her ears dancing as she turned back to Nikki. “Positive.” She handed Nikki what was left of the ten. “You have a fine day, Miss Harper. It was nice to meet you.”

Nikki grinned and offered her hand over the counter. “It was nice to meet you, too.”

Before Nikki reached her car, she was on her cell. She had to talk to someone, but she didn’t want to call Jess, and Marshall was on a set. She barely hesitated before she called Victoria, who answered the phone herself.

“Mother.”

“Daughter,” Victoria echoed. “Autism Foundation Gala next month. Tickets. Include Jeremy, or no?”

Nikki groaned. She and Jeremy didn’t go out in public often, but this was one cause he felt strongly about. “Give me the date and I’ll check with him. Listen, I want your opinion on something. Does this sound odd to you? I just found out that Thompson Christopher put his condo up for sale the week before Rex died.”

“
This
time?” Victoria asked.

Nikki was beginning to feel like she was caught in some kind of sick comedy routine. “When he died this time, yes.”

“Just clarifying. Go on.”

“Okay, so he put his condo up for sale two weeks ago, then reduces it this week.”

“You’re listing it?”

“No, Mother. He didn’t ask me.”

“Well, I can see why. Edith never would have stood for it. Not with her knowing about Jessica and Rex.”

“Mother, that’s not the point of this conversation.” She unlocked her car door and got inside. “My point is that I think it’s odd that Thompson put his condo up for sale so suddenly.”

“Well, how would you know it was suddenly? He’s been Edith’s bunky for months. Maybe they decided that since she’d sold the house, he might as well sell his place.”

Nikki pulled on her seatbelt. Her mother had a point. “He also just applied for a passport.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mother, did you hear what I said? Two weeks ago Thompson puts his place up for sale, then Rex comes up dead again, then Thompson applies for a passport and drops the price of his condo. What does that sound like to you?”

Victoria sniffed. “Sounds to me as if Edith is going to be single again.”

Chapter 14

N
ikki took a quick tour of the condo, which was, indeed, Thompson’s. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find there, but she came up with a big fat nothing. At least nothing that would help Jessica’s case, like maybe a bloodstained carpet with the killer’s name scrawled in the gore. It was a nice place, though, decently priced, so who knew, maybe she would sell it.

After saying good-bye to Chuck, the listing Realtor, inside the parking garage, Nikki got into her car, but she didn’t pull out of the parking space right away. It was relatively quiet in the garage. A good place to pause and think for a second. Her life was always so hectic; it never seemed like she got enough time to just think.

She mulled over the sale of the condo, the skipped auditions, and the application for a passport . . . could this mean Thompson was preparing to skip town? Possibly. But why would he? His career was going well. He had the première of his latest movie in a few months. What would make him flee the country?

A murder charge?

Then she considered the fact that Edith had been purposely vague about where she was going once the house in Outpost Estates sold. Over the months, she’d talked about New York, but she’d also joked about sandy beaches and umbrella drinks. What if there had been a plan to kill Rex and flee? There were countries in the world where she and Thompson could go, where there would be no extradition. Look at Polanski; he’d lived his whole life in plain sight without ever being extradited to the U.S.

Had Edith discovered that Rex had faked his death and convinced Thompson to kill him? If the body had been moved as the police suggested, it was ridiculous to think that Jessica or Edith could have done it. But maybe Thompson killed Rex
for
Edith. With Thompson’s reputation for romancing older women for their money, Edith’s husband returning from the dead might put a serious kink in his plans. Maybe he decided it was time he found a
permanent
meal ticket. If he killed the
widow’s
husband, she would forever be indebted to him. . . . And Edith clearly had motive for trying to frame Jessica. What better payback for screwing her husband than life in prison? It was all
possible
, but deep down, Nikki just couldn’t see Thompson killing someone. He was such a good guy. Such a gentleman, and he really seemed to care about Edith.

But what about the affair with the waitress? If he cared about Edith the way he said he did, the way he
acted
, there was no way he was cheating on her.

Nikki’s eyes widened. But what if he
had
cheated on her? What if Edith found out about Thompson’s affair with the waitress and threatened to kick him out of the house if he didn’t rid her of her pesky husband?

Was that even plausible?

More plausible than Jessica killing Rex and then transporting his bloated body to her own apartment . . .

Nikki started her car and purred down the ramp. This whole Thompson-having-an-affair-with-a-waitress thing was bugging her. She couldn’t decide if she wanted it to be true or not. Of course, there was only one way to find out. Go to the source.

Two-fifteen; the diner would be quiet. She pulled onto Wilshire and headed for the diner on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Nikki sat in a booth in Kitty’s Diner and studied the laminated menu. Only a few of the booths were taken. She’d been by the place many, many times, but never inside. Decorated in the style of diners of the fifties and sixties, it was nice enough. The bench seats at the booths were covered in red vinyl, but they were clean. The Formica tables sported individual jukeboxes.

A waitress in a pink uniform dress and a white cap that looked something like an old-style nurse’s cap walked past Nikki. “Be right there to take your order,” she said, carrying a plate with a monstrous burger and a heap of fries in each hand.

It was no wonder Americans were overweight. There was enough beef on those plates to feed a small village. “Thanks.”

A bell rang when the door opened and Nikki looked up to see Elvis walk in. Her first impulse was to hold the menu up in front of her face.
Childish.

She casually lifted the menu higher.

“Darlin’?” he crooned as he approached.