by Cheryl Crane
Nikki offered a quick smile, boring her Bordeaux blues into him. “You . . . you didn’t know he was still alive, did you, Mr. Ramirez?”
Ramirez surprised Nikki by coming to his feet. “You’ve obviously not come to discuss my firm representing you, Ms. Bordeaux, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask both of you to go.” He started to move toward the door. “As Mr. March’s lawyer, it would be inappropriate for me to discuss any matter pertaining to him, and therefore, I think it best we end this appointment before anything inappropriate is said. Especially considering the fact that Ms. Harper’s good friend is the chief suspect in my client’s murder.”
Victoria looked at Nikki as if to say, The audacity!
Nikki rose from the couch, grabbing her handbag. She didn’t know what was going on here, but something told her that Ramirez was worried about more than the integrity of his client–attorney relationship. He knew something about Rex’s faked death, even if he knew nothing about the subsequent murder. She could see it in his beady eyes and his ring-twisting. “Mother?”
Victoria took her time rising from Ramirez’s chair and walking past him through the open door. He said nothing more, and neither did they. It wasn’t until they were in the parking lot that Victoria spun to face Nikki, excitement on her face.
“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in years. Imagine, me, at my age, getting kicked out of someone’s office!” She laughed, starting for the car again, her flats tapping on the blacktop. “I hadn’t imagined P.I. work could be so much fun. He knows something, of course, you know that, don’t you?” She waited at the passenger door of the Prius. “Someone obviously needs to speak to Edith.” She looked up at Nikki, her amazing blue eyes dancing. “Do you want to do it or should I?”
Chapter 17
“I just need your signature on this inspection report,” Nikki said, taking a seat in front of Edith’s desk in her gaudy nineteenth-century French-inspired office. “And then I’ll be out of here.” As soon as you answer a few questions about Ramirez, she thought.
It hadn’t been easy for Nikki to convince her mother that she should be the one to talk to Edith. After the visit to Ramirez’s office, Victoria was pretty gung-ho about investigating Rex’s murder. Not so much because she cared who killed him, or if Jessica was being framed, but because she’d enjoyed herself immensely. Nikki and Victoria had gotten into something close to an argument last night at movie night (The Maltese Falcon, one of Nikki’s all-time favorites) over who would go see Edith. In the end, Nikki had won only because she honestly needed Edith’s signature (though it could have waited a day or two) and Victoria had a charity luncheon to attend that she couldn’t get out of.
“I’m glad you came,” Edith said from across the ornate desk. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. My assistant, Anita, is out of town for a few weeks. Her daughter’s having a baby.” The desk, piled with paperwork, was a monstrous reproduction in the gilded asymmetrical Rococo design popular during Louis XV’s reign.
Edith looked more relaxed today than when Nikki saw her at the country club. She’d had her hair done a little differently this week; it was attractive. Edith reminded Nikki of the TV chef Paula Deen.
Dressed in slacks and a pretty floral blouse appropriate for her age and size, she appeared rested today. Calm . . . almost content. Why? Her life was in complete upheaval again, thanks to Rex. Had she relaxed because the police investigation of Rex’s murder was basically stalled, meaning Edith wasn’t a suspect? Nikki hated to consider the possibility, but she was trying to keep an open mind.
“I was going to call you.” Edith folded her plump hands, looking down at them, then back up at Nikki. “To apologize for my behavior when you came by last week. And at the country club, too.”
“It’s fine, Edith.” Nikki heard her cell vibrate in her handbag, but ignored it. “I understand—”
“No, no, it wasn’t fine,” she interrupted. “I was rude. Yes, I was in shock. Here I thought I had survived Rex’s death in that plane crash, I was getting on with my life, actually finding happiness, and then I find out he faked it all? And then he gets himself murdered?” she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice. “But that’s no excuse for rudeness. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, both you and your mother. That night at the party, when Victoria Bordeaux came as my guest, it was one of my shining moments.” She leaned over the desk, meeting Nikki’s gaze with a genuine sincerity. “You know, one of those moments you’ll remember forever.”
Nikki smiled, knowing exactly what she meant.
“And then I repaid you with rudeness. You came here last week out of kindness, to offer your condolences, which was particularly kind since I know very well that you know what a prick my husband was.”
Nikki pressed her lips together, making an event of settling a manila folder on her lap. This was precisely why she liked Edith, because she called a spade a spade. And this was why she desperately wanted to believe that Edith had nothing to do with Rex’s death.
“I know you had nothing to do with Jessica’s affair with my husband,” Edith said softly.
“I didn’t,” she admitted, her heart aching for Edith. Her phone began to vibrate again. “I would never have allowed it.” She made herself look at Edith. “It was a complete breach of ethics.”
The older woman gave a wave. “All in the past. And now, of no consequence.” She paused. “Thompson asked that I extend an apology for him as well. For his behavior last week. He’s at his voice lesson. That day, he was only following my lead. I was upset, so he was upset. I wouldn’t want you to think poorly of him. He’s a good man. A good man,” she repeated firmly, leaning back in her white leather office chair. “And I love him.”
“I understand completely.” Nikki opened the folder she’d pulled from her briefcase, thinking back to her chat with J.J. Flaherty’s secretary. For some bizarre reason, Elvis’s “Suspicious Minds” played in her head. Was Jimmy’s craziness rubbing off on her?
“I . . . I didn’t realize Thompson took voice lessons,” she lied. “Does he go every Thursday?” Her mother got away all the time with asking questions that weren’t her business. Maybe she could, too.
“Tuesdays and Thursdays. He’s very devoted to his craft.”
Nikki nodded. J.J. Flaherty’s secretary had been very specific. Thompson’s voice lesson, as in singular, was on Tuesdays. Interesting. She glanced up at Edith, exhaled, and decided to just plow forward, hoping the older woman’s apology was heartfelt enough that she’d be willing to answer Nikki’s questions.
“Edith . . .” she began. “Mother and I ran into Alex Ramirez the other day, and I have to tell you, his behavior was odd.”
“Odd, how? Can I get you something to drink?” She reached for a bottle of diet soda on a coaster on her desk.
Nikki shook her head. Her phone was vibrating, yet again. Who the heck was calling her over and over? She had an idea who. “I brought up Rex’s name,” she continued, “offering my condolences, and he became very abrupt and, well, evasive.” She looked at her across the desk. “So much so that his behavior seemed . . . suspicious. He got very nervous when I asked him if he’d known Rex was still alive after the plane crash.”
“I doubt Rex was ever even in that plane,” Edith snorted. “You know that a body was never recovered. The FAA investigators said at the time that either his burned remains were dragged off by coyotes, or he survived the crash, wandered off and died.” She made a sound of derision. “He was always a liar and a cheat. With me, with his business partners, with his fans. I don’t know why anyone who knew him would be surprised by the thought that he staged his death.”
“Edith . . . I hope this isn’t too forward.” She scooted toward the edge of the white leather armless chair. “But do you think Ramirez could have had anything to do with all this? Maybe even with Rex’s murder?”
Edith rose from her desk and turned her back to Nikki to look out the window onto the gardens. There was a young man vac
uuming the pool. “You’re asking because?”
“I’m not trying to invade your privacy, but I’m very concerned about Jessica. With no leads, the police may arrest her. I know it was wrong for her to have an affair with your husband, but that makes her immoral, not a murderer.”
“No, I don’t suppose she would have killed him, would she? Obviously, she had feelings for him.” Edith sighed. “So, to answer your question about my husband’s agent, the more I think about it, the more I believe he might be the one who killed Rex.”
Nikki’s eyes widened, but she kept her voice calm. “What would make you say that, Edith? Mr. Ramirez represented Rex for years.”
“Exactly. Giving Rex time to cheat him out of every penny he could . . . or maybe vice versa. I can’t tell you how many times Rex fired Alex, only to rehire him a few weeks or months later. The two of them had a volatile relationship.”
“Have you spoken to the police about this?”
“No, and I’d ask that you not say anything to them, either.” She shook her head, her back still to Nikki. “I’m keeping my mouth shut about Ramirez. Until we meet in court, at least.”
Nikki set the file on Edith’s desk. “In court?”
“I don’t think I’ll have a pool again. Too much work. I want to simplify my life. Do you think that’s odd? After all this?” She opened her arms, turning to face Nikki.
Nikki waited.
“Did you know that Alex Ramirez was involved in a car accident a few years ago that left his wife paralyzed from the waist down?”
Nikki recalled the family photo on his desk. “I knew she was in a wheelchair,” she said carefully. “But I didn’t know why.”
“He was driving while intoxicated on Laurel Canyon Road. He lost control of his vehicle and went off an embankment. He was uninjured, but her spine was damaged. In the end, he walked away without even a traffic citation and she’s never walked again. That’s the kind of man Alex Ramirez is.”
Nikki didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
“I’m suing the bastard. Or at least I was, before Rex turned up dead again. Now I don’t know where we are with the lawsuit. My lawyers have been calling, but I just haven’t had the energy to meet with them yet. I imagine it will take years to sort this mess out now.”
“You’re suing him? For what?” Nikki asked.
“Well, when I initiated the lawsuit, I thought he was stealing from me. A few weeks ago, I was talking with a studio executive who had worked on Shipwrecked Vacation with Rex. Long story short, I discovered that the show has been throwing off more residuals than I was aware of . . . or being paid for. It’s doing a lot better overseas than I knew.”
“You think Ramirez was stealing from you?”
“I’m sure he was. The question now is whether he was stealing from me for himself, or for Rex. Obviously Rex had been living somewhere between the time his plane crashed in the Mojave, and when he turned up dead in your partner’s apartment.”
“So if Ramirez was funneling money to Rex, that would mean . . . he knew Rex was alive,” Nikki said, thinking out loud.
“Or maybe he didn’t know, maybe he wasn’t sending money to Rex, and he was just stealing from me. It’s hard to say at this point, isn’t it?” Edith pressed her hand to her forehead. “Anyway,” she continued, “that’s why I was eager to see Ramirez at my party that night. I wanted to tell him myself that he was about to be served.”
Nikki’s head was spinning now. “Well, do you think Ramirez knew Rex was alive?”
“I have no idea, and honestly, I don’t care. I just want my money. I want my money, I want Thompson, and I want to be happy.” She sat down in her leather chair again. “Is that so wrong?”
“No, it’s not.” Nikki opened the manila folder she’d brought along with her. As she searched for the inspection report, her gaze drifted to a WHILE YOU WERE OUT pink slip of paper on Edith’s desk. It was the date that caught her eye: Monday, October 4th, the day Rex’s body was found in Jess’s apartment.
She rose to hand Edith the report to sign and as she did, she tried to read, upside down, what the pink slip said. It was from Star Security. Nikki recognized the name because her mother used the same security company. The note was hard to decipher, but apparently there had been a question of an old access code used at the front gate.
Nikki’s heart was suddenly pounding. She had no idea what the message might mean, or if it had anything to do with Rex’s murder, but she intended to find out.
“I just need you to sign here, and then initial a couple of places. Here and here,” Nikki said, standing up to lean over the desk, “and then I’ll get out of your hair.”
Out of her hair and into someone else’s . . .
In the driveway, Nikki checked her cell phone. Three missed calls in the twenty minutes she was with Edith. Her guess had been correct. She hit the TALK button on her dash. “Call Mother.”
“I tried to call you,” Victoria said as soon as she picked up. She was definitely put out.
“I know. I was in the meeting with Edith. I thought you were at a luncheon.”
“I ate fast. I needed to talk to you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“There are all sorts of things wrong, Nicolette. You just have to look at the Middle East to see that.”
Nikki smiled, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. “I mean, is something wrong with you? Did you call me three times because you have an emergency, Mother?” The gate slid open, allowing Nikki to pull out of the driveway and onto the street.
“I went for a manicure this morning, before lunch.”
Nikki waited.
“Desiree did a nice job. She wanted to give me French tips, but I said no.”
“You called me three times while I was meeting with a client to tell me you decided against the French tips? That was your emergency?”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Nicolette. I would never call you three times to tell you I didn’t get French tips.” She hesitated. “Although I might have, had I decided to get them.”
“Mother, why did you call?”
“I can call you later if you’re busy. I don’t like to disturb you while you’re working. Not that you really need to work. The trust fund your father left you would be more than adequate to live on. To live well on.”
“I’m not busy now,” Nikki said, not taking the bait. “That’s why I called you back.” Nikki rolled to a stop and waited for a Benz to go through the intersection. The driver waved. Nikki smiled and waved. She had no idea who she was waving at. “I was busy, but now I’m not. Tell me about your manicure.”
“Why would I tell you about my manicure, Nicolette? You say the most ridiculous things. I called you to tell you what Desiree said about Edith.”
“Edith March?”
“Yes, Edith March.” Victoria’s voice was full of tone, now. “Desiree is Edith’s manicurist and she went to Edith’s that Saturday afternoon of the party, to do her nails. Only she didn’t do her nails.”
Nikki frowned. “Okay . . . ?”
“She showed up right on time, got as far as Edith’s sitting room off her bedroom, but was turned away by someone on Edith’s staff.”
Nikki was all ears now. “Go on,” she said, recalling Jessica pointing out at the party that Edith’s nails were chipped and that she needed a manicure. “Why was she sent away?”
“The maid said Edith didn’t have time. Paid her and sent her packing. But Desiree told me she doesn’t think that’s why she was sent home.”
“Why does Desiree think she was sent away?” Nikki asked, having no clue where the conversation was going, but intensely curious. Reaching the end of Outpost Drive, she turned onto Franklin.
“Because she was having a knock-down, drag-out shouting match with a man and didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“With Thompson?”
“I asked Desiree that. She said she couldn’t hear what was being said, but it didn’t soun
d like Thompson to her. She does his nails, too.”
Nikki gripped the wheel, thinking aloud. “Edith’s maid told me Edith and Thompson had an argument the afternoon of the party and that he left on his motorcycle. So, Desiree must have heard them arguing.” She paused. “What did Desiree mean when she said it didn’t sound like Thompson?”
“I don’t know. She just said it didn’t sound like him. She heard Edith arguing with a man, but it didn’t sound like Thompson.”
“Interesting. Did you ask her what time of day this happened?”
“Of course I asked her what time!” Victoria gave an indignant snort. “What kind of detective wouldn’t ask the time of an event that could be key?”
Nikki was smiling again. “What time, Detective Bordeaux?”
“Her appointment was for three o’clock. She said she waited less than ten minutes before the maid came with the money and sent her away,” Victoria said triumphantly; then, with less confidence, “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Nikki said, thinking back to the message on Edith’s desk. “But I’m going to find out.”
Back at the office, Nikki was disappointed to find that Jessica wasn’t in. She was eager to tell her what Edith had had to say about Ramirez and about what the manicurist told Victoria. After making a couple of phone calls (her P.I. work was certainly cutting into her day job) she looked up the number of Star Security and dialed. Leaning back in her squeaky desk chair, she identified herself as Anita, Edith March’s assistant, and provided the address of her residence. She explained that she was calling on behalf of Mrs. March, and was put on hold. A few seconds of nervous anticipation and the phone clicked.
“Star Security, this is Dave, how may I help you?”
Nikki again identified herself as Anita, using a slightly nasal tone of voice—she had no idea where that came from.