by Cheryl Crane
But it didn’t sound like it was Hector’s face that offended her. Nikki suddenly got a weird feeling. “Has Hector been here before?” Ree was Rosalia’s cousin . . . not Hector’s. “Alone?”
“We told her it was muy malo. Bad. An hombre with a wife.”
Hector and Ree? So had she been dating both men, Hector and Eddie? “Hector came here and then she left with him?”
“Sí, en his noisy red car.”
Saturday morning, Nikki thought. While his brother-in-law was on his way to the police station to turn himself in for a murder he didn’t commit, and while his pregnant wife was lying in her bed, crying, Hector came for his girlfriend . . . and took her somewhere? “Did she say where she was going?” Nikki asked. “When she left with Hector?”
The girl shook her head. “No. But she took a bag. Y clothes. And her cell teléfono, she leave it here . . .”
Chapter 15
When Nikki walked into the kitchen the next morning, she heard voices on the terrace: her mother’s and . . . Melinda Bernard’s? She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall as the dogs trotted out the French doors. It was seven thirty-five.
What on earth was Melinda doing here at seven-thirty in the morning? The day after her son’s funeral?
Nikki had a feeling she needed to fortify herself with caffeine before going to find out. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee from the French press on the counter when Ina walked in. Ina was wearing jeans and a Jorge & Son t-shirt. Nikki had never seen Ina in a pair of jeans, not in all the years she had worked for Victoria.
“Bagels on the counter. Fruit salad in the refrigerator,” Ina said, carrying an armful of clean kitchen towels. She moved with businesslike efficiency.
“I’m trying to find out what happened that night at Eddie’s party,” Nikki said quietly, not wanting her voice to carry out onto the terrace. “I think I might have a few leads. Jorge wasn’t the only person Eddie had an altercation with that night. And Eddie did do drugs that day.”
“And this comes as a surprise to who?” Ina asked.
Nikki glanced in the direction of the open French doors, then back at Ina. “Melinda Bernard is outside talking to Mother,” she whispered.
“I know,” Ina said, speaking at a normal volume . . . maybe even a little louder than usual. “I let her in when she rang the front doorbell. At seven fifteen in the morning.” She crossed the kitchen. “Mrs. Bernard, she knows how hard it is to be a mother.” She crossed herself with her free hand. “My son, he calls last night and says, ‘Mom, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be all right.’ He says, ‘Mom, I don’t want you to come see me Saturday during visiting hours. I don’t want you here.’ ” She pulled open a kitchen drawer and began to stuff towels inside. “He tells me not to worry, but how do I do that?” Ina looked at Nikki, her eyes tearing up. “How do I not worry about my only son, who the police say killed a rich man? My son, who will not defend himself.”
Nikki’s heart wrenched and she looked away, uncomfortable with her own emotions. But she made herself look at Ina again. Because she owed so much to Ina. Because Ina deserved it. “I want you to know I’m going to figure this out, Ina. I’m going to find out who killed Eddie and then the authorities will have to release Jorge.”
Ina closed the drawer and crossed the kitchen. “You’re a good girl, Nikki. You were always a good girl.” She took her car keys from a wooden bowl on the counter near the door. “There’s salad in the refrigerator and my chicken chili in the Crock-Pot for your dinner. I’ll be back tomorrow to get ready for Victoria’s guests.”
“So you won’t be here today?” Nikki asked. Not that she thought Ina didn’t deserve some time off, but it was just strange not to see her here. Ina was supposed to work five days a week, flexible hours, depending on Victoria’s schedule. By choice, Ina worked six days a week, sometimes seven, and was almost always there morning and evening, taking time off in the middle of the day. She had been a permanent fixture in the house for most of Nikki’s life. Ina was family.
“I have to go to work.” Ina opened the door.
Nikki stood there, coffee cup in hand. “You’re going to mow lawns?”
“If I have to. Someone has to keep my son’s business going while he sits in jail like a fool when his mother says she’ll put up his bail.” She headed for the door. “My lazy son-in-law should be here to mow today. Tell your mother not to worry. Her house and lawn will be immaculate for her guests for movie night tomorrow night.”
Nikki watched Ina go out the door, then added cream and sugar to her coffee, took a sip, and walked out onto the terrace.
“Nicolette,” Victoria called from the round patio table where she was having her breakfast. She always had breakfast on the terrace, weather permitting, and read the paper. “Join us for breakfast.”
“Actually, I can’t stay,” Melinda said. She rose from a white, wrought-iron chair. “I just needed to speak to Nikki.” Her gaze darted to Nikki. “Privately.”
Victoria raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. She was looking sharp this morning in khaki slacks, a pale blue sweater, and her pearls. She was dressed to go somewhere, looking put together and very pretty. Very movie star–like.
Melinda looked . . . like it was the day after her son’s funeral. She was wearing jogging pants, athletic shoes, and a baggy t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but it hadn’t been brushed. Her eyes were swollen, and without makeup, she looked pale and . . . old.
“Would you like to come inside?” Nikki motioned to the door, curious as to what Melinda wanted.
Victoria started to get up. “I can go inside. I’ve nearly finished the paper, anyway.”
“No, no, please, Victoria.” Melinda held up her hand. “I don’t want to be a bother.” She glanced at Nikki. “I should get home. Abe hadn’t come down yet when I went for my walk, but he likes to have his coffee by the pool in the morning.” Her mouth stretched tight. “Ginny tends to sleep in, letting Abe fend for himself. She’s never taken the role of wife particularly seriously.”
“Oh, really?” Victoria said, settling down in her chair again.
Melinda closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “That was unkind of me.” She opened her eyes, letting her hand fall. “I know this has been difficult for Ginny, too. It could be that she just needs some space from the family. God knows, over the years I’ve felt that way at times. Abe’s so driven; he’s not always an easy man to live with. It’s just that I don’t think he should be alone right now. He is, after all, sitting shiva for his son.” She turned to Nikki. “Would you like to walk me home, Nikki? This will only take a minute.”
“Sure.” Nikki set down her coffee. She was barefoot, in sweatpants and a tee. Her hair was probably a fright, still pulled up in a topknot on her head. But she always grabbed a cup of coffee when she first woke before she jumped in the shower. She hadn’t expected guests this early.
Melinda walked off the terrace, into the soft, springy grass. Nikki hustled to catch up.
Melinda waited until they were just out of sight and out of hearing distance of Victoria before she stopped. She looked up at Nikki. “I’m just going to come right to the point because, honestly, I don’t have the energy for niceties today.”
That didn’t sound good.
“I understand your loyalty to your mother’s gardener.”
“He’s not just the gardener, Melinda,” Nikki said quietly. “This is Ina’s son. He’s my friend.”
“And my son is dead.”
Nikki met the older woman’s gaze, her heart twisting. For all of them. She heard a lawn mower start up somewhere on the property.
“I understand that you only want to help Jorge, to make sure he has a fair trial,” Melinda continued. “But you can’t be going around stirring up rumors about my son. About my dead son, who can’t defend himself.”
Nikki froze, not sure what she was talking about.
“What that little slut, Lissa, sai
d about my boy,” Melinda said defensively. “It’s not true.”
Nikki wondered which part of what Lissa said wasn’t true. The fact that he was still doing drugs? The fact that he made a pass at her? Or the fact that he was such a jerk that more than one person wanted him dead?
Or the part about Melinda threatening to kill him herself . . .
And who had told Melinda that Lissa had tattled? Surely not Lissa herself?
“Melinda, I’m not sure what—”
“It was a lie. All a fabrication of her imagination. Lissa was just jealous of Abe’s attention to our son. Our son would never have said anything inappropriate to her. Or done anything,” she added quickly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d not repeat to anyone what was said.” She hesitated. “Including the detective working on my son’s case.”
Nikki was careful not to respond in any way. She just let Melinda go on.
“Lissa’s nonsense has nothing to do with my son’s murder, but if it came out, it would be plastered all over the tabloids. I know very well he wasn’t an angel.” Her voice caught and she took a breath before she went on. “But he’s dead now. Surely enough bad things that are true have been said about him. I don’t think he deserves to make the front page of the tabloids again, based on lies.”
“Melinda . . . please believe me when I say I had no intention of—”
Melinda held up her hand and Nikki fell silent. “I know you mean well. And I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. But can’t you just let the police do their job? Can’t you leave me with what little dignity I have left?”
Nikki thought carefully before she spoke. She still wasn’t sure how Melinda had found out that Nikki knew about the possible situation between Eddie and Lissa, but she had a feeling that Melinda wasn’t aware that her own daughter had been the one to tell the tale. She took Melinda’s hand in hers. It was small, and cool. Her pointy nails were opaque, with only clear polish on them.
“I would never say or do anything to intentionally hurt you, Melinda,” Nikki said. “You’ve always been kind to me, and kind to my mother. I was asking questions yesterday at the funeral, but not with the intention of hurting anyone. Or . . . harming Eddie’s reputation. I’m just trying to find out what happened that night. And,” she added quickly, “no matter what anyone tells me, I’d never go to the press. I’d never do that. You know that over the years our family has suffered from things printed in the press, too. True or not.”
Melinda slid her hand from Nikki’s. “I just hope that when you’re asking your questions, you’re considering the source.” She glanced in the direction of the gate between their two properties. “I should go. Abe will want his coffee.” She walked away.
Nikki felt badly. She didn’t want to hurt Melinda or Abe. She didn’t even want to hurt Eddie, at this point. She just wanted the truth. She caught up to her. “Melinda, please call us if you need anything.”
The older woman offered a quick smile. “Thank you. You’ve always been kind to us, Nikki. You and your mother. I appreciate that.” She stopped at the gate. “I hope I haven’t offended you. Or Victoria.” She rested her hand on a wrought-iron bar. “I just feel as if I need to protect my son.” She pressed her lips together and glanced away, tears in her eyes again. “I couldn’t protect him from himself when he was alive. At least I can try to protect him from others, now that he’s dead.” She swung open the gate and walked through. “Have a good day, Nikki.”
The dogs were lounging under the diving board on the pool deck when Nikki returned to the terrace. Victoria was waiting for her, her paper spread out on the table in front of her.
“Sit down, drink your coffee. And tell me what was so private that Melinda couldn’t speak in front of me.” She glanced in the direction of the Bernard mansion, obviously annoyed.
Nikki sank into a chair and reached for her mug, feeling like a complete jerk. She’d been so eager to learn anything and everything she could about the circumstances surrounding Eddie’s murder that she’d forgotten one of the important lessons she’d learned while investigating Rex March’s death: people lie. While Emily’s version of Lissa’s accusation was interesting, that didn’t necessarily mean it was true, and it was wrong of Nikki to have automatically assumed it was.
Nikki sighed and sipped her coffee.
Victoria folded her paper noisily. “Well?”
“There was a nasty rumor going around involving Eddie and Ginny’s daughter.”
Victoria’s eyebrows went up. “I can only imagine.”
“Melinda said it wasn’t true and she wanted to make sure I didn’t repeat it. She doesn’t want anything like that hitting the tabloids.”
“Poor Melinda. She’s taken a beating all over town over that boy. Has for years. She was always sensitive to what was being said about her, or about Eddie, whether it was true or not.” Victoria reached for her glass of orange juice. She liked a glass of freshly squeezed juice in the morning and Ina made sure she always got it.
Nikki took another sip of coffee, mulling over everything she’d learned the day before. She had so many directions to go in today, she wasn’t sure what she should do or who she should talk to next. She wished she could talk to Jorge, but there were no visiting hours at the prison facility he’d been taken to until Saturday. She’d already gone online this morning and checked. “The guy who cleans your pool. Isn’t his name Rocko?”
“Yes.” Victoria sat back in her chair. “Nice young man.” Then she whispered. “Gay.”
“Mother, that’s not a dirty secret these days. You don’t have to whisper it.” There was a small serving bowl of fruit salad on the table. She picked a piece of fresh mango out of it. “Do you know anything about him having some ongoing argument with Eddie?”
“I know he’s a nice young man. He’s always polite and he keeps a very clean pool.”
Nikki smiled and picked a piece of pineapple out of the bowl.
Victoria slid a small plate and fork across the table to her. Nikki ignored her and plucked another piece of fruit from the bowl. “Do you know a Wesley Butterfield?”
“I do not.” She pushed the fork she’d offered closer to Nikki. “Do you think he’s a suspect?”
“I wonder if the cops think so. He was interviewed. Along with Hector, whose prints were on the pruning shears. But apparently this Wesley Butterfield’s prints were not.”
Victoria picked up a small pad of paper and a pen. She was a great one for lists and always kept paper nearby. “I think you should start a list.” She wrote across the top of the page in her beautiful penmanship: People who wanted to kill Eddie Bernard. She slid the pad of paper across the table. “Write it down.” She offered the pen.
Nikki hesitated, then accepted the pen.
“Write down Jorge,” Victoria instructed.
Nikki held the pen poised over the paper.
“Write it down,” Victoria repeated.
Nikki exhaled . . . and wrote down Jorge’s name.
“Who else is a suspect?”
“I haven’t been able to locate Ree . . . She apparently left town Saturday and hasn’t been seen since. There’s no way she could have physically killed him and moved his body, but I guess she could have gotten someone to do it for her.” Nikki wrote her name down.
“Who else?” Victoria encouraged. “Anyone who might have wanted to see him dead. No matter how far-fetched. Remember in Tell Me No Lie, it was my beloved maid of thirty years who tried to poison me. The police never suspected.” She held up her finger. “Because they didn’t know that I had made her give up her illegitimate child at birth and never tell a living soul.”
Nikki loved the way her mother could relate real life to the movies she’d been in. She wrote down Wesley Butterfield. She knew nothing about him, but why else would Dombrowski have questioned him unless he was a suspect? Then she added Lissa. Then Rocko.
“Excellent,” Victoria said, looking at the list. “Ginny.”
“Ginn
y?” Nikki glanced up.
“We heard her threaten to kill him the night of the fight. Eddie was driving a wedge between her and Abe. He was a constant embarrassment. And then there’s the matter of Eddie and her little girl.”
Nikki cut her eyes at her mother.
Victoria raised her hands. “One never knows what goes on behind closed doors. Write down Ginny’s name.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And then add my name.”
Chapter 16
Nikki looked up, certain she’d misheard. “Pardon?”
“Write down Victoria Bordeaux,” her mother instructed. “As a suspect.”
“Mother—”
“I’m serious. If you’re going to do this, it has to be done right. You can’t become emotionally involved. You can’t decide, based on your feelings, that Jorge didn’t kill Eddie . . . or that Jorge’s little cousin didn’t kill him, or the wicked stepmother . . . or me. Your investigation has to be based on facts.”
Nikki set her pen down. Took a sip of coffee. “But you’re not a suspect.”
“Why not?”
Nikki waited, totally perplexed, amused, and intrigued, all at the same time. She thought she knew her mother well, but Victoria was always unpredictable; she’d give her that. “You’re not a suspect because . . . you had no reason to kill Eddie?” Nikki asked.
“You don’t know that. What you do know”—Victoria held up her finger—“is that I once threatened to kill him.”
“You did?”
“Don’t you remember that time I called you in New York and told you I came home from a première to find Eddie and three naked women in my pool? And they were smoking marijuana.” She whispered the word. “On my pool deck. The Bernards’ pool had been drained for repairs,” she added as an aside. “I told you I told Eddie Bernard to get off my property and take his little floozies with him, and if I ever caught him in my pool, uninvited, again, I’d wring his worthless neck.”
“That’s not exactly a death threat . . . and it was at least ten years ago.”