The Bad Always Die Twice (3 page)

“Tell her to come for supper. We’ll have Ina make fajitas.” Victoria ground out her cigarette in a porcelain ashtray, half-smoked. Always half-smoked. Her way of cutting back.

“Nikki, please,” Jessica moaned.

Nikki realized, then, that something was wrong.
Seriously
wrong. She pushed both dogs off her lap and got to her feet.

“If she doesn’t want fajitas, I think there’s chicken breasts,” Victoria went on. “Ina can whip up a nice chicken pasta with avocado.”

Nikki held up her hand to silence her mother. She couldn’t follow two conversations at once. “Jess, what is it? What’s wrong?” There was noise in the background. Male voices. Was that a police siren? “Are you okay?”

“Jesus, no. No, I’m not okay. I’m scared shitless.”

She sounded like she was trying to whisper, but with her voice so high-pitched, Nikki could barely understand her. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come right now.”

“My apartment. Oh, Jesus,” she moaned. “I think they’re going to arrest me. They’re saying I have to get off the phone. I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see that again. Not ever.”

“Or we can do take-out,” Victoria continued, rising from her vanity. She glanced at Stanley and Oliver, sprawled on her carpet. “I suppose doggies do take-out.”

Mother,
Nikki mouthed. She turned away so she could better concentrate on what Jessica was saying. “Who’s going to arrest you? Jess, I can barely hear you. What’s going on? Who’s there with you?”

“The police. The paramedics. They’re all here. But I didn’t do it.” She sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. “You have to believe me.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” Nikki walked back to grab her bag off the floor. Jessica wasn’t making any sense. “I believe you. What didn’t you do?”

“Kill Rex.”

Nikki halted abruptly; her purse hit the floor. “Pardon?”

“I didn’t kill Rex March.”

She didn’t kill Rex? What was she talking about? Were the police saying she was with Rex when his plane crashed? That was absurd. And impossible. The day he died, Jessica was with her and a thousand other California real estate agents at a convention in San Francisco. “Of course you didn’t kill Rex. He died in a plane crash six months ago. Are you drunk?”

“I’ve warned that girl about drinking too much.” Victoria waggled her finger at Nikki as she crossed the bedroom to her open closet doors.

“He’s here, Nikki.”

There it was again, the shrill voice that raised the hairs on Nikki’s arms. Only now her tone was laced with something akin to desperation. She was scaring Nikki now. “
Who’s
there, Jess?”

“Rex.”

“Rex is there? In your apartment?”

“What do you think I should wear Wednesday night?” Victoria asked. “The ambassador to Spain is coming. You’ll like him,” she mused, paying no attention whatsoever to the conversation Nikki was having on the phone.

“Yes, he’s here. He’s here dead,” Jessica said in a tiny voice. “In my bed.”

Nikki almost dropped the phone. She didn’t mean to sound like an idiot, but all she could do was repeat what Jessica had said. “In your bed?”

“Someone killed him, Nikki. Not in a plane crash. Here. Today. In my apartment. He was alive and now he’s dead. He’s been murdered and the police think I did it!”

“I’ll be right there.” Nikki grabbed her bag and raced for the bedroom door. “I have to go, Mother. Jessica has an emergency. I’ll be back for the boys later.”

“Guess it’s you and me, gentlemen,” Victoria said, nonchalant, as Nikki rushed out the door. “I vote for fajitas. How about you?”

Chapter 3

“I
’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t enter the building at this time.” The uniformed LAPD cop took a sidestep to his left, effectively blocking the entire entranceway to Jessica’s Spanish-style garden apartment building with his gorilla body.

“What if I live here? I can’t enter my own home?” Nikki glanced over her shoulder at the cop cars, their blue lights flashing, parked catty-corner in all the handicapped parking spots out front. There had to be a dozen of them here already and the not-too-distant sirens suggested more were on the way. How many cops did it take to subdue one real estate agent in four-inch stilettos? It was no wonder the LAPD was way over budget again.

He made no eye contact with her. “I’m sorry, but this property is a crime scene, ma’am. I can’t let you pass.” It sounded like a spiel. Rehearsed many times.

The knots of onlookers standing in the overgrown, tropical vegetation that surrounded the Hollywood apartment building were growing by the moment. A news van pulled up out front, followed by an ambulance. When she’d first arrived, she’d walked down the alley alongside the building, and she’d seen the apartment parking garage had its own little traffic jam going; cars couldn’t enter or exit. Nikki sensed the rinky-dink circus was about to go three ring. She had to reach Jessica.

“I understand this is a crime scene.” She gazed up at the cop’s ape face. She wasn’t crazy about the police in general. She’d had a few run-ins with them as a rebellious teen. They’d locked up her opinion of them when they botched her father’s murder investigation. “That’s why I’m trying to get inside.” She tried to remain patient and speak slowly to assure his full comprehension of her simple words. “My friend has been accused of committing
said
crime.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you pass, ma’am.” He stretched out a hairy arm. “This property is a crime scene.”

So he didn’t just look like a primate. He had the brains of one. No, to say that would be unfair to the world’s gorilla population; this guy wasn’t that bright. “Look, my friend Jessica Martin, apartment three twenty-two, called me a few minutes ago and asked me to come right away. She said that when she got home from work, there was a dead man in her bed.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am—” King Kong started again.

“Hey! Aren’t you Nikki Harper?” An LAPD uniformed cop approached them from the building foyer. “Weren’t you in
People
magazine last week? Some big charity fundraiser at the Regal Biltmore?”

She shifted her attention to the cop trying to get around gorilla-man. Mid-thirties, average-looking guy.

“Must have been an old copy. That was weeks ago.”

“Probably. Dentist’s waiting room.” The cop managed to squeeze past his coworker. “Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter, right?” He pointed at her and grinned slyly.

“That’s me.” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head, put on her friendly face and glanced over her shoulder again. A local news crew was piling out of the van. Victoria wouldn’t be happy if Nikki’s face was plastered all over the eleven o’clock news. Mother didn’t like bad publicity of any sort and being connected to a murder case would definitely be categorized as bad publicity, even if Jessica
was
completely innocent.

“My friend Jessica Martin just called me from inside. She’s scared to death and she’s alone.”

“The suspect.” The normal-size cop hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “You know, my mom loves your mom’s films. I gave her one of those DVD boxed sets last year for Christmas. I think it was called
Victoria Bordeaux, The Early Years
.”

Again, she offered
the smile,
the one learned in utero. “I hope she enjoyed them. What a great gift. Hey, listen.” She leaned closer, shooting for quick intimacy. She hated to take advantage of her mother’s celebrity status, but she
had
to get upstairs. “Do you think I could get inside? My friend is expecting me and I can’t stand out here and wait.” She motioned to the gathering crowd behind them. “Not with the paparazzi.” She made a face as if he understood firsthand the trials of being a household name.

He looked at the news team quickly setting up a camera next to an overgrown bougainvillea behind the yellow crime-scene tape.

“I’d really appreciate it, Officer . . .”—she checked out his nameplate—“Syzusky.”

He thought for a minute, glancing up at his hulky partner, who remained unfazed by Nikki’s
celebrity
. “The suspect hasn’t been arrested yet. I don’t see why not. Shep, let her pass.”

The gorilla put out his hand. “This is a crime scene. I’m sorry, but—”

Nikki slipped under his furry forearm and followed Syzusky into the front foyer of the apartment building. “Thank you so much, Officer Syzusky.”

He led her across the red travertine tile lobby to the staircase. Several officers milled around. Someone was taking a dinner order for In & Out. Nikki just didn’t get the L.A. obsession with the place. Jessica loved their burgers. She practically lived off them.

“So, can you tell me what’s going on here, Officer Syzusky?” She spoke quietly, cultivating the sense of intimacy between them.

“It’s Brian; you can call me Brian.”

She offered her hand to shake his as they started up the stairs. “Nikki Harper. Of course, you already knew that.” She laughed just the way Jessica did when she was trying to get something out of a man. “Nikki.”

“I really can’t give you any details. I’m probably putting my ass on the line even taking you up.” A dimple indented his cheek when he grinned. “ ’Scuse my French.”

“Well, here’s what
I
know. Jessica Martin called me, asking me to come right away. She said she arrived home to find a dead man in her bed. Rex March.” She met his gaze. “Only the thing that’s got me confused,
Brian
, is that Rex March is already dead. He died in a plane crash in the Mojave Desert in March. I know that for a fact because I attended his memorial service. I’ve been working for his widow. I sell real estate.”

“I know. Read it in
People.
”

“Right.” The smile. “Soooo, how can Rex March be dead in my friend’s bed?”

“We’ve been asking ourselves the same question since we got the 911 call.” They reached the second floor and continued up the stairs. “But he looks like Rex March to me.” He frowned and lowered his voice. “You know, I never got into that show of his,
Shipwrecked Vacation
. Did you?”

He went on without giving Nikki a chance to respond, which was fine with her since she thought the 70’s syndicated television show that Rex had starred in had been God-awful, even for its day. The man couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag. In a monsoon.

“Now my brother Andrew, he loved it,” Officer Syzusky continued. “Or, at least he loved that girl with the blond hair. What was her name? Teeny. Only she wasn’t so teeny, if you know what I mean. Always wearing that little bikini Junior made for her out of sailcloth the first day they were wrecked.”

Mercifully, they reached the third floor and entered the hallway. Two EMTs, one on her cell phone, ambled past them and started down the stairs. Apparently there was no rush to get the victim to the hospital. If he was dead, why would there be?

“So getting back to Rex March.” Nikki headed for Jessica’s apartment at the end of the hall, ignoring the neighbors who stood in their doorways, gawking. She recognized several faces; worse, she knew they recognized hers. “If a memorial service was held for him, how is he in Jessica’s bed right now?”

“Oh, he’s dead now all right. Big hole where his left eye ought to be.” The cop poked himself in the eye, demonstrating. “And whoever did him knew what they were doing. Killed him instantly, the EMT told me. Murder weapon went right through his eye to his brain and
bam!
” He smacked his palms together. “Dead as a doornail.”

Nikki flinched at the sharp
thwack
, but kept her cool. “And they’re sure it’s Rex March. Not a . . .” Nikki searched for the right word. The whole idea was so ludicrous that she was having a hard time expressing it herself. “An imposter?”

“You mean like one of those Elvis impersonators? My wife and me, we got married in Vegas. Not at the Elvis Chapel; they were booked, but we thought about it.”

“
Could
this be a Rex March look-alike?” Nikki asked, afraid if she let him continue, she would soon know not only where he and his wife married, but where they stayed on their wedding night and even more intimate details. It was funny how people were like that, always telling her their private business. As soon as they realized who she was—and hell, she wasn’t even a celebrity herself—they felt as though they could tell her the most personal details of their lives. Details they should not be sharing with strangers.

“Could be an imposter, I suppose. His body will have to be ID’d by a family member down at the morgue. Dental records, birthmarks checked, if there’s a question.” He stopped and looked at her with an earnest face. “But who would want to impersonate
Rex March
?”

He had a good point.

The hall was filled with uniformed cops trooping around like ants. Doors opened and closed as Jessica’s neighbors were shooed back into their apartments. There was a lot of talking. Whispering. Someone had their TV on too loud. A
Kung Fu
rerun. Nikki would recognize David Carradine’s voice anywhere.

At the open door to Jessica’s place, Syzusky stepped in front of her, puffing up with self-importance. “I’ll have to escort you.”

“Of course.” Nikki followed behind him. Just inside the arched doorway of the living room, Jessica hollered her name.

“Oh, Jesus, thank God you’re here!” She flew across the white tile floor in her pale pink Patrick Cox heels. Nikki hated the idea that she could actually identify the designers of some of the shoes that so consumed Jessica.

She threw her arms around Nikki and dropped her head onto her shoulder. She had been crying. They were genuine tears. Nikki had never seen Jessica cry.

“It’s okay,” Nikki hushed, hugging her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“But it’s not.” Jessica stepped back and wiped under her eyes, then stared at the mascara smeared on her fingertips. “Oh, Jesus H., do you have a Kleenex?”

Nikki dug around in her ancient Prada bag, a hand-me-down from Mother, and came up with a small pack of tissues. She plucked off the lint stuck to the top one and handed over the whole package.