by Cheryl Crane
Nikki leaned over the counter and glanced at the grainy photograph Kelly was pointing to. Page three. It was a pretty innocuous photo of her getting out of her car on a palm tree–lined street. She couldn’t tell where it had been taken or even if it had been taken recently. Sometimes the paparazzi dug deep to make a few bucks. Fortunately, she’d had makeup and Spanx on when the shot had been taken. She didn’t look half bad, and there were no banditos in sight from what she could see.
“The article is stupid, I know.” Kelly pointed out. “But it’s a good picture.”
The picture of Jessica was better. She was leaving her apartment building, looking hot even in shorts and a sports tank, carrying her gym bag. Nikki wondered how old that photo was.
The cashier bit down on her lower lip. “You think you could autograph it for me?”
Nikki sighed and offered a quick smile. “Sure.” She started to dig for a pen. “So Tiffany . . . she worked here for a long time? When Thompson Christopher worked here?”
“Uh huh.”
“So they were friends?” Nikki came up with a pen from her Prada pit and plucked a piece of tissue off the clip. “Good friends?”
“People ask me about him all the time. Everyone’s disappointed to hear that he was a nice guy. Did his work, kept his hands to himself. That was back when he was in the middle of changing his name. He’s really Albert Klineberger, you know. He was never checking out my ass like some of the other pigs that have worked in the kitchen. Even after he started getting parts and stopped working here, he was always nice to us. He used to stop by sometimes late at night just to have a Coke and a burger. You know, like normal people.”
Nikki leaned over to sign her name on the corner of the photo.
“Hey, he’s dating Edith March, isn’t he? Rex March’s widow.” Kelly gave a little laugh. “Now, that’s crazy. What’s that thing, Seven Degrees of—”
“Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon,” Nikki finished for her. “Thompson Christopher is dating Edith March,” she said, thinking there was no harm in saying that. It was all over the papers in all the stories about Rex. “So were he and Tiffany . . . are they, you know, an item?”
Kelly looked at her quizzically, making Nikki feel older than her years. “Were they . . . are they dating?” Nikki asked.
Kelly laughed, picking up the newspaper to check out Nikki’s signature. “Thompson Christopher and Tiffany? No way. He’s way too big a name to date a girl like Tiffany.” She leaned forward. “She had a bad boob job. One’s bigger than the other.”
Why did complete strangers tell her these intimate details she didn’t want to know? What was it about her that made people think they should tell her these things? Nikki tried to focus. She wasn’t sure what Tiffany’s lopsided breasts had to do with dating the actor, but she tried to go with the flow. “So they aren’t dating. Never were?”
Kelly wrinkled her pretty forehead. “No way. But, oh, my God, that Seven Degrees thing.” She flapped her hands excitedly.
Nikki waited with Victoria Bordeaux’s attentive patience.
“Tiffany . . . she and the husband used to hook up all the time.”
Nikki blinked. “The husband?”
“The fat dead guy. Edith March’s ex-husband.” She pointed at the paper. “The one your friend killed.”
“Wait a minute,” Nikki said, trying to process. Did this mean the gossip in the bathroom at the country club had gotten all of her information wrong, but there had been truth somewhere in the telling? It was like a bad game of telephone. And maybe a lucky break. “You’re saying that this Tiffany was friends with Thompson—”
“Back when he was Albert,” Kelly interrupted.
“Albert.” Nikki stood corrected. “But it was Rex March who had an affair with Tiffany?”
“He used to come in here all the time wearing fake mustaches and stuff. A lot of celebrities do. Come in. Not wear fake mustaches. Tiffany thought it was funny. He bought her stuff, sometimes, clothes and shoes.”
Nikki nodded, just letting Kelly ramble.
“She was really broke up when he died in the plane crash.” Kelly grimaced. “She said they were in love. She used to go on all the time about how he was going to divorce his wife and they were going to get married and go to some tropical island. She bought a straw hat once—to start packing to go.”
“Wait a minute, so this wasn’t just a fling?”
Kelly shrugged. “Didn’t sound like it to me. Tiffany cried and cried the night it was on the news—about how he’d died in that plane crash, burnt so bad to a crisp that there wasn’t even a body.” She made a face. “You wonder how someone could make a mistake like that. Think it was one person and really it was another. I don’t know who died in that plane, but obviously it wasn’t Rex.”
Nikki handed her her credit card. Nikki didn’t know how Tiffany and Thompson played into Rex’s death, but she knew there had to be some significance to this latest twist. “Do you think you could tell me where I could find Tiffany Mathews?”
“Sure.” She smiled slyly as she slid Nikki’s card through the TeleCheck. “You think I could have another autograph?”
Chapter 15
“Jess, you’re not going to believe this,” Nikki said, using the Prius speakerphone as she eased onto Santa Monica. Luckily, Tiffany’s new place of employment was only a few blocks from the diner. She’d moved up in the world and was now a waitress at Barney’s Beanery. “Rex was having an affair with a waitress from the diner where Thompson used to work. Right before he died, the first time. How crazy a coincidence is that?”
When Nikki didn’t hear anything, she tapped the volume on her touch screen. “Jess?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she said.
Nikki closed her eyes for a second. She was an idiot. Jessica had admitted she was seeing Rex at the time of his death. “You didn’t know he was dating other people,” she said with a groan. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”
“I knew. Or at least I guessed,” Jess said in a small voice.
Nikki braked as the light ahead turned yellow. “I’m going to talk to her now, if I can find her.” She heard a male voice in the background. “Where are you?”
“Um . . . at my place. The police said I could go in. It’s a total wreck.”
Nikki furrowed her brow, Botox-bound for sure. “Who’s with you?”
“My neighbor. Pete. He just came by to see if I needed anything.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll let you go. Do we have an appointment with Mrs. Hearst tomorrow?”
“One o’clock.”
“Great. I’m going to stop by Mother’s later, then head home. I’ll get some stuff ready for our appointment with Mrs. Hearst tomorrow. You take the evening off, get settled back in, and I’ll be totally set for tomorrow.”
Spotting the iconic Barney’s Beanery, she signaled. “You need me for anything, anything at all, you call me. Okay?”
“Sure. Thanks. And . . . if you find out anything from this waitress . . . let me know.” Jessica hesitated. “He wasn’t very nice to me at the station, Nik. Detective Lutz. I swear to God, he still thinks I did it. Like I could have carried Rex anywhere. Really.”
“He doesn’t think you did it. He knows the evidence is to the contrary.”
“Yeah, but if he doesn’t come up with any other suspects, is he going to charge me, just to cover his ass?”
“Don’t worry,” Nikki assured her, turning into the parking lot of the sports bar. “I’m going to figure out who did this.” She hesitated. “I was serious when I said I would get a lawyer for you. And pay for it.”
“How many times do I have to say ‘I don’t want a lawyer,’ Nikki? It makes me look like I have something to hide.”
“I don’t think—”
“Let’s just wait and see if I’m charged. Okay?”
“Okay. Sure,” Nikki said. She hesitated as she pulled into a parking space. “You didn’t know he was alive, right? Rex.”
> “Let me say it again. I didn’t know he was alive, Nik. How could I have known?” Suddenly, Jessica sounded teary. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this after—”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry.” She hit the ignition button, cutting the engine off, feeling like a complete jerk. “I’m just clarifying details. You going to be okay? You want me to come over when I’m done here? Bring you a burger?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m going to clean up. You wouldn’t believe the mess the cops made with their fingerprint dust. Then I’m going to take a hot bath and watch something completely mindless on Bravo.”
“Sounds good,” Nikki said. “Talk to you later.”
Entering the famous watering hole a minute later, Nikki was surprised by how busy it was at four in the afternoon. She’d been in many times over the years and knew the West Hollywood location had been built in the twenties as a destination for travelers westbound on Rt. 66. As she walked in, her senses were assaulted by the music, multicolored booths and abundant memorabilia on the wall.
“Just one?” the hostess asked. She had a tattoo of spots on both her temples, resembling a creature from the Star Trek Federation. The crazy thing was, she somehow pulled it off. Maybe it was the severe asymmetrical haircut. Or her winning smile.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me if Tiffany Mathews works here?” Nikki said hopefully. She couldn’t stomach the thought of eating another meal right now, or possibly bumping into another half-sibling.
“Cute? Blond? Accent?” the hostess asked.
“Yup, that’s her,” Nikki agreed.
The hostess made a face. “You might have missed her. She got off at four.”
“Would you mind checking?” Nikki flashed the smile. “It’s important.”
The young woman shrugged. “Sure. Lemme check.”
While Nikki waited, she picked up a newspaperlike menu. It was pure American: chili, burgers, fries and nearly a hundred choices of beer. She and Jeremy rarely went out, but as she took in the ambience, it occurred to her that this would be a fun place to come, with or without the children.
The hostess returned. “You just missed her. Someone in the back said she just clocked out.” She gathered menus for the group who had just come in behind Nikki. “You might be able to catch her in the parking lot,” she suggested.
Nikki didn’t want to confess she didn’t actually know what Tiffany looked like. Instead, she thanked the hostess and excuseme’d her way out the door. So how was she going to recognize Tiffany? All she knew was that she was fairly young, blond . . . and was the unfortunate recipient of a botched boob job.
Thankfully, Nikki didn’t have to check out anyone’s chest too closely. As she walked around the rear of the restaurant, a young woman with long white-blond hair was just exiting a rear door.
“Tiffany?”
The girl looked up. When she spotted Nikki, and likely realized she didn’t know her, her face grew guarded. “Yays?”
Nikki approached her slowly, thrilled to have tracked her down, but realizing that in L.A. you had to be careful not to look like a stalker. “Hi, Tiffany. I’m Nikki Harper. We have a mutual friend. Albert . . . Thompson Christopher,” she said, deciding to start with the live one first.
“Albert! How is hey?”
She had a pretty smile and a serious southern accent. And if her breasts weren’t perfect, Nikki couldn’t tell through the Barney’s t-shirt.
“I mayne Thompson.” She arched her eyebrows with amusement as if to say I knew him when.
“He’s good. Well . . . considering the week he’s had.”
“The week hey’s had?” she asked, slipping a tube of lip balm from her jeans pocket.
“With Rex March being found. Dead. Thompson and Mrs. March are . . . a couple,” Nikki explained delicately.
The young woman’s pretty face changed at once. “Reyx,” she said, as if suddenly deflating.
“I . . . understand you knew Rex?”
“Who sayd that?” she asked, her guard up again. She slipped the lip balm back into her pocket without putting it on her lips. “Who dayd ya say ya were?”
Nikki took a step back. She didn’t want to scare the girl. And God knows there were plenty of scary people in this town. “My name is Nikki Harper and my friend, Jessica, is one of the suspects in Rex’s death.”
“Oh my.” The young woman pressed her hand to her mouth. “Ah rayd about her in the pay-per. They found Reyx dayd in her apartment.”
“They did,” Nikki conceded. “But she didn’t kill him, Tiffany. I’m trying to find out who did.”
Tiffany looked at her as if trying to decide if she was going to talk to Nikki or run. “Yah’re talking to people about Reyx? Like a day-tective or somethin’?”
The accent was somehow endearing. And a little unsettling for Nikki. The girl seemed too young to have been working at the diner for years, as Kelly had said. She looked too young to be living on her own anywhere but a college dorm.
“I’m not a detective,” Nikki answered. “I’m a real estate agent. But I’m trying to help my friend.”
Tiffany put her chapped lips together. “Were y’all frens with Reyx, too?”
“I knew Rex. And I worked for him. Selling his house.”
Tiffany swung the canvas bag on her shoulder forward, resting her hand on it. “Ah was real sorry to hear that Reyx was dayd. Both times.” She started to walk away. “Ah need to go. Ah . . . Ah have somewhere Ah have to be.”
Nikki followed her at a non-stalker distance. “I have a few questions, Tiffany. Please. Can I talk to you? I won’t get you in any trouble. I swear I won’t.”
She stopped. “Why would Ah be in trouble?”
Nikki took the opportunity offered. “Tiffany, I know you dated. You and Rex.”
She glanced around the parking lot. “Ya sure yah’re not a cop? I didn’t do nuthin’ wrong. Ah didn’t even know he was married. Besaydes, he’s dayd. Ah can’t get in no trouble if he’s dayd, can Ah?”
A car came toward them in the parking lot and both had to move to keep from being run over. Nikki tried to take advantage of the moment of camaraderie. “I just need to ask you about your relationship with Rex . . . and Thompson. Did . . . did you date Thompson?”
She laughed, seeming almost flattered. “Oh, no. Albert and me, we never dayted. Ah knew he was goin’ ta be a stah.” She smiled. “Ah use’ to allahs tell him hey was gonna make it big. He was so hand-some. And hey was nahce. Ya know. Nahce like not many main are.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Nikki looked into Tiffany’s eyes, hoping she’d be able to tell if she was lying. “So you and Albert . . . never dated? You aren’t dating?”
“Nooo. Never deid.”
“But you and Rex did?”
Tiffany looked away, her eyes suddenly tearing over. “Who tol’ you?”
“I went to Kitty’s,” Nikki confessed.
“Ah never took no money from him,” she said stubbornly. “Not really. Not much.” She chewed on her bottom lip. She looked like she was about to burst into tears.
“I’m sorry, Tiffany.” Nikki moved closer to her. “I don’t mean to upset you. I really don’t, but this is important. It could mean the difference between finding out who killed Rex or my friend going to jail for something she didn’t do.”
Tiffany sniffed. “Ah don’ know who kielled Reyx if tha’s whatcher askin’ me.”
“I understand. I just need to be clear as to your relationship with him. Were you having an affair with him?”
“Ah wouldn’t say that.” She looked down at her feet. She was wearing sneakers. She sighed and looked around the parking lot again. “Ah did take money from hiem, okay? Fur . . . fur companionship.”
“You mean for . . . sex?” Nikki said as nonjudgmentally as she could. And, honestly, she didn’t feel judgmental. The poor girl looked barely old enough to have graduated college. An opportunity Nikki doubted had been available to her. “Okay,�
� Nikki said slowly, thinking about what Kelly had said about them running away together. “So . . . you . . . you had a business arrangement, but you weren’t, like, in love with him?”
Tiffany shook her head, her gaze on the pavement again. “Hey was nice to me’s all. He payd for my actin’ classes. He was gonna pay for a new augmentation.” She looked down at her breasts and tears began to slip down her cheeks. “And then hey was dayd. The plane crash.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It was awful. Reyx wadn’t the kind of person to dah like that, ya know?” she said in her sweet southern drawl. “Ah remember thanking there was somethin’ not raht there. Ah thought it was his lawyer.”
“You thought it was his lawyer?”
Tiffany started to walk again. Fast. Luckily, Nikki was wearing her sensible shoes.
“What do you mean, you thought it was his lawyer, Tiffany?”
She stopped beside a beat-up blue sedan. An old BMW. “Ah thought Alex sab-o-taged the playne, or somethin’. You know, people can do that. Do somethin’ tuh the engine so’s it bursts intuh flames. I thought Alex killed him. Okay?”
“By Alex, you mean Alex Ramirez?”
Tiffany nodded, looking away. She was leaning against the driver’s side door. Nikki sensed she might bolt at any moment.
“How did you know Alex Ramirez, Tiffany?”
She shrugged one slender shoulder. “Met him a couple ’a times with Reyx. Ah didn’ lahk him much. Ya know?” She dared a peek at Nikki. “The way hey looked at me . . . lahk he coulda jus’ eat me raht up.”
“So what made you think Alex had something to do with Rex’s death . . . when he supposedly went down in the plane crash?”