The Bad Always Die Twice

by Cheryl Crane

  “Since the plane crash?” he asked incredulously.

  “No!” She thought about it for a second. That idea had never occurred to her. Surely a person couldn’t keep a body refrigerated for six months? But she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to ask Rob that question. She just assumed Rex had been killed recently. “I don’t think he’s been dead that long.” She got off the stool and walked around to Jeremy’s side of the island, taking her fork with her. “How long can a body stay good in a refrigerator?”

  He continued to load the dishwasher. “Don’t ask me. I’m the tooth and gums guy.”

  She rinsed off her fork. “Okay, so final answer. Do you think I could kill a man?”

  He took the fork from her and dropped it in the dishwasher. “Nope. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “But you do have some fine other parts.”

  She grinned, looking into his gaze. “So what’s going on here?”

  “What?”

  She slid her arms over his shoulders, looking up at him. “You know what. This.” She pressed her hips against his, hitting the bingo button just right.

  It was his turn to grin. “I don’t know.”

  She studied him carefully. “Does this mean our celibacy is coming to an end?”

  After Marissa died, their relationship had gotten hot and heavy pretty quickly, but then, fearing it was based on grief and a shared love of Junior Mints, he’d insisted he and Nikki slow things down. That had translated to no sex. She’d understood completely; that didn’t mean she liked the idea.

  “I don’t know. I guess I had a good week. Maria was gone.” He let go of her and went back to filling the dishwasher. “And the house didn’t cave in on us. Everyone ate, bathed, got to school on time. Almost on time.” He smiled at her. “I’m feeling good.”

  “I’m glad.” She tried not to be disappointed that he’d traded her warm, willing body for dirty dishes. “So do you think Rob’s right?” She grabbed a plastic container from under the counter and began to fill it with the leftover mac and cheese. “I’ve been thinking there’s no way Edith would have had anything to do with this. Or even Thompson, at least at first glance. Because I know them. But could anyone in Rex’s life be his killer?”

  “You’re not serious about this, are you? You really shouldn’t be getting involved.”

  “I’m not getting involved.” She lowered the dirty casserole dish into the sink and turned the water on. “I’m just keeping my eye out for Jessica’s best interests. Someone is obviously trying to frame her for Rex’s murder and I won’t let it happen.”

  “Well, I still think you should leave this to the police.” He squirted dish soap into the running water. “But Jessica couldn’t have a better person on her side.”

  Chapter 13

  Monday morning Nikki met a potential client, taking with her a comparative market analysis. Over coffee and croissants au chocolat, she broke the news to the young pop diva and her assistant that if she sold her Malibu home right now, it would be at a loss, considering what she paid for it three years ago, and what the market would bear today. It had been a downer for both of them; the singer owed more on the property than Nikki could possibly list it for. She had agreed to think it over, but Nikki feared she’d just shop for a different real estate agent, searching until she found someone with fewer honesty genes.

  By the time Nikki made it into the office, it was after eleven. Jessica hadn’t made it in yet. Nikki tracked her down at a posh Beverly Hills spa. Jessica’s reasoning was that if the bosses weren’t going to let her work, what was the point in coming to work? Nikki reminded her about her past-due AmEx payment. Jessica conveniently found herself getting another call and had to disconnect.

  Then, while on hold with the bank because of their denial of a client’s preapproved loan, Nikki found some packing tape and boxed up the Bristol Farms gourmet crackers that had been sitting under her desk for over a week. Nikki didn’t know how she got herself into these things. Victoria had insisted Nikki buy the crackers to send to her half sister, Celeste, Victoria’s daughter by her fourth husband. Nikki had argued that New York City had crackers, but had given in on day three of her mother’s running monologue about said crackers. Nikki had found the Bristol Farms crackers and bought them, but then Rex had gotten himself killed a second time, Jessica was in the process of being framed, and Nikki had been too busy to stand in line at the post office.

  With the box ready to go, Nikki snagged a bottle of water from the break-room fridge and sat down to look over the daily hot sheet. It was a report put out by the Multiple Listing Service that showed new listings, status changes, and price changes for all the properties for sale in the L.A. area. Jessica usually just skimmed through it. She had an amazing head for numbers and remembered prices, and not only of the current properties, but what they had gone for the last time they were sold. Nikki was a slower learner; she tried to make a point of looking over the hot sheet every day.

  Over the weekend, several interesting properties had gone up for sale. There was a new listing on Benedict Canyon Drive, and one in Beverly Hills Flats, and the price had dropped dramatically on a celebrity’s house on the beach in Malibu. It was very important with their clientele that celebrity buyers’ and sellers’ names were kept confidential, but it was just a game. In Hollywood, there were few secrets, including who was buying and selling and who had lost their ass in the process.

  Nikki also found on the hot sheet several new listings for luxury condos. The first time she looked through the list, nothing really stood out; it was business as usual. But on her second pass over the properties just reduced, something caught her eye, something she couldn’t believe she missed before.

  Less than a week before Rex March was murdered, a luxury corner condo on Wilshire had gone up for sale. The place on the nineteenth floor of the office-to-residential conversion on Wilshire Drive just west of downtown L.A. was a two-bedroom, two-bath, 1768-square-foot condo with amazing floor-to-ceiling windows and a gourmet kitchen. Nikki knew for a fact that the view of the city was impressive because she had once attended a cocktail party there. It belonged to Thompson Christopher.

  Nikki picked up her phone and hit Jessica on her speed dial.

  “Nik, I’m so glad you’re there,” Jessica said when she answered the phone, not giving Nikki a chance to speak. “I was just talking with Alicia, you know, Godfrey Hearst’s wife, and she and her husband are in the market for something more spacious. She’d love us to come out and have a look at their place on Doheny.”

  Nikki could tell by the tone of Jessica’s voice that she was still with Mrs. Hearst.

  “We were thinking maybe tomorrow,” Jessica said. “She’d like to see some properties in Holmby Hills; she likes the place near Aaron Spelling’s. But she’s totally open to our suggestions. Something in the eighty mil range,” she added casually.

  Nikki shook her head in disbelief. This was the third new client Jessica had picked up since she’d found Rex dead in her apartment a week ago. Death certainly hadn’t been good for Rex, but it was doing amazing things for Jessica’s client list. Shoot, at this rate, she’d be applying for a black AmEx card in no time.

  “Tomorrow works. Set it up.”

  “You haven’t got anything on your calendar tomorrow?” Jessica asked sweetly.

  “Nothing that I can’t change for Mrs. Hearst,” Nikki answered with equal sweetness.

  “Great.”

  Jessica must have then lowered the phone because her voice got quieter. “One o’clock will be super, Alicia. We’ll bring our laptop, show you a couple of ideas we have, and then maybe go for a drive.”

  Nikki heard another female voice, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  “You too, Alicia. See you tomorrow.” Jessica chuckled as her voice got louder. “And you thought I was just sitting on my duff getting a pedicure, didn’t you?”

  Nikki had to smile. “I don’t know w
hy Downy thinks you should ever come into the office. You should just go from spa to spa.”

  “There’s an idea. I think you should bring it up next time we meet with him to discuss sales goals.”

  “I’ll certainly bring it up.” Nikki unscrewed the cap on the water bottle and eased off her pumps under her desk. “Hey, listen. Did you see that Thompson Christopher put his place on Wilshire up for sale?”

  “And he didn’t call us? What a prick!”

  “So you didn’t know?”

  “I knew there was a new listing on Wilshire. That was Thompson’s? The corner condo listed with Wong for $980,000?”

  “The very same.” Nikki sipped her water. “It went on the market October first and it was reduced this morning to 950.”

  “So he stood right there at the party the other night and chatted like we were his best buddies and he had already listed his place with Wong? Pretty nervy.”

  Nikki tapped the keyboard on her laptop and ran a search for the property. The Wong agency had a great website featuring videos of many of their properties, something Windsor was doing, but not as well yet. “Why do you think he’s selling, Jess? He’s owned it less than two years.”

  “I suppose because he’s pretty much living with Edith. I know you like him, but he’s got a reputation for going for the older ladies. With money. He’s selling his condo so he can live off Edith’s money instead of his own. Did you get lunch? I’m craving a burger. I think I’ll stop at In & Out on my way to the office. I’m going to be as big as a house if I don’t stop eating those things. You want something?”

  “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.