by Cheryl Crane
“My publicist set it up.” She pouted her gorgeous, full lips. “I hope Marshall won’t be too disappointed.”
Nikki’s smile turned to a grin. “He’ll get over it.”
“So . . . Ryan Melton,” Oda said, sipping from her fluted champagne glass. “Marshall told me about your friend who was arrested for his murder.” A waiter, in a classic black tux, walked toward them, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Ooh, food!” she said. “I’m starved.” She accepted a white napkin from the waiter and chose not two, but three canapés. “These look amazing,” she exclaimed.
“Ma’am?” The waiter held out the silver tray.
Nikki wondered when she’d gone from being “miss” to a “ma’am.” Was there something magical that happened once you were over forty? Even if you were barely over the line? “Sure, why not?”
“Try one of the little crackers with the caviar,” Oda bubbled. “Excellent.”
Nikki took one of the beluga caviar hors d’oeuvres and a tiny crepe filled with avocado and goat cheese.
Oda grabbed another caviar cracker as the waiter walked away.
Nikki looked at Oda’s stick-thin figure. “Don’t tell me you actually eat?”
“And I don’t purge.” She giggled. “I guess I just have a crazy metabolism. My mother is the same way.”
Nikki was trying to juggle her appetizers and her glass, and not doing a good job of it. “Shall we go over here?” she asked. She led Oda to a tall, small, round cocktail table, covered with a white linen tablecloth. Victoria had bought a half dozen of the tables years ago and constantly had Amondo dragging them out of the basement. They were perfect for standing at; this one, in particular, was perfect because it was a little out of the way of the other guests.
“So you and Ryan . . . were friends?” Nikki asked.
“Acquaintances. Not even. A friend’s brother, Marcos, owns a club on Sunset Strip, Allegro. I ran into Ryan Melton there a couple of times.”
Nikki nibbled on the avocado goodie. “Pretty exclusive club.” It was one of those places where there were velvet ropes on the sidewalk and people waited in the hopes of being admitted. They rarely were.
“If you’d ever like to get in, let me know. I can leave your name at the door.”
“My boyfriend and I aren’t really into clubbing, but thanks.” Nikki refocused. “Was Ryan with his wife?”
“No, I never met her.” She licked her fingertips like a woman who knew how to enjoy a good canapé. “It seemed like his being there was more business-related than social. He was, what’s the American word? Schmoozing.”
“Business schmoozing?” Nikki knew from the Internet research she’d done on Ryan a couple of nights ago that he was presently unemployed. Neither modeling nor acting had worked out for him. “What kind of business?”
“He wanted to open a nightclub. A nice one. He was looking for investors willing to drop a million each. He was pressing Marcos pretty hard. Mr. Melton had already made a financial commitment. He was desperate, I think. He was trying to act casual about it, but he had a look in his eyes. It was a little sad.”
“You wouldn’t think he’d need investors,” Nikki thought out loud. “Diara’s got to be worth . . .” One of Victoria’s rules to live by was never to discuss one’s income or net worth. “A lot,” she finished lamely.
Oda leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “I got the feeling his wife wasn’t backing him. That was the problem. Marcos said that Mr. Melton lost a large sum of his wife’s money last year in a real-estate venture that failed. He said she cut him off. All he was getting was an allowance.”
Nikki was liking Oda more by the second. “Interesting.”
“I don’t know much more than that, but if you’d like to come by the club, I could meet you and introduce you to Marcos. Maybe he could tell you more than I can.” Her smile was genuine. “We could have a drink.” She glanced up. “Who knows, you and your boyfriend”—she nodded over Nikki’s shoulder—“might enjoy yourselves.”
Nikki turned, spotted Detective Dombrowski looking right at her, and turned back to Oda. “That’s not my boyfriend.”
“No?” Oda smiled her gorgeous smile. “The way he’s looking at you, maybe he should be.”
Friday afternoon, Nikki took off at three after making a sale on a Nantucket-style Cape Cod on the beach in Malibu. It was a gorgeous house, just renovated, with two ocean-side decks and an interior garden, stone countertops, and walnut floors. She figured a $9.5 million sale gave her the right to take off early on a Friday. But then she felt guilty and decided to hit the gym on the way home. Penance.
She was on her second mile on the treadmill when her phone rang. She glanced around; the gym was fairly empty this time of day. She hated it when people talked on exercise machines beside her, but after a mile, she was willing to use any excuse to slow to a walk. She dialed back the speed of the treadmill, surprised to see Adam Ace Security come up on the screen.
“Nikki Harper.”
“Miss Harper, hi, it’s Tulip. I hope it’s okay . . . Moon gave me your number.”
Nikki hit the STOP button on the treadmill and grabbed her towel. “Not a problem. Please, call me Nikki.”
“I just wanted to thank you . . . Nikki. The tickets arrived by courier.” She was obviously excited. “To see the Dalai Lama. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I hope you and Moon will enjoy the talk.”
“I know we will. It was really nice of you.”
Nikki stepped off the treadmill. “I don’t suppose you’d like a fish tank?”
“You serious?”
“Completely,” Nikki said.
Tulip laughed. “Nah, too much work. But thanks.”
“No, thank you. You’ve been a big help.”
“Just glad I could. You know, it’s nice to help someone. Well, you have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
As Nikki walked to the locker room, she thought about what Tulip had said . . . about being happy to help. On a whim, she used directory assistance and made plans for dinner. After a shower, she was just finishing dressing when her phone rang: Victoria.
“Mother.” Nikki tucked her iPhone between her chin and her shoulder, and stepped into her seventies Hermes black skirt with equestrian detailing. “How was your day?”
“Short. I had to shoot only one scene. I’m going shopping. Come with me. I need a new pair of flats. The darned heel popped off one of my Ferragamos again. I’ll have to send Amondo to have it repaired, but I can’t wait on them.” She sighed. “Seems a waste, because then I’ll have two pairs of good black flats.”
Nikki stepped into her black boot, chuckling to herself. She was pretty certain her mother was the only woman in America in her tax bracket having shoes repaired. “Sorry, I . . . I have plans. For an early dinner.”
“You and Jeremy patch things up?”
“Not really.” Nikki pulled the zipper on her boot.
“I’m sorry.” Victoria paused. “Well, heaven knows I can’t give you advice in love. How many marriages did I have?”
Nikki grabbed her other boot. “Nine, if you count the second time you married Syd and Daddy.”
“That was a rhetorical question, Nicolette. I know that still makes you angry that I married your father twice.”
“The fact that you divorced him twice is what makes me angry, Mother. You were soul mates.”
“And now he’s dead. And since you felt you needed to bring that up, I think you need to go shopping with me and make it up to me. Then I’ll go to dinner with you.”
“I . . . I’m not sure where I’m going is your style, Mother.”
“Oh, heavens, it’s just dinner. I can eat wherever. I’ll meet you on Rodeo. Amondo can drop me off. I’ll even ride in the toy car of yours. See you at five in front of Chanel, darling.”
Click.
Victoria didn’t say good-bye. She never did.
Victoria bought black flats at Gucci, th
ey window-shopped at Harry Winston’s, and Nikki picked up some delicates (as Victoria liked to call them) in La Perla. Nikki loved shopping at secondhand stores for her clothes. She loved a bargain, but she always splurged on undergarments.
At six, they were in Nikki’s Prius, headed down through West Hollywood on Sunset.
“So what’s the big mystery? Where are we going for dinner? Not that Cuban place again, I hope. It was ridiculously expensive.”
“Cuban place?” Nikki frowned.
“Where you and Jeremy took me for my last birthday. It was near here.”
Nikki laughed and changed lanes. “Asia de Cuba? Mother, it wasn’t a Cuban restaurant, it was Asian fusion. You were the one who said you wanted to try something different.”
Victoria sat in the passenger’s seat, her hands wrapped firmly around her black and brown circa 1970 Fendi bag. “I just hope we won’t be late getting home.”
“You’re not shooting tomorrow.” Nikki glanced at her. “You don’t have to be up early.”
“It Happened One Night is on TV tonight at nine. Clark at his best. Everyone made a fuss when he didn’t win the Oscar for Gone With the Wind, but Bobby Donat deserved it.”
Nikki eased the brake down as she stopped at the corner of King’s Road and Sunset. She didn’t bother to remind her mother she could record the movie and watch it anytime she wanted . . . sans commercials. Victoria was perfectly capable of using the DVR on her TV, but for whatever reason preferred not to.
“I promise you’ll be home in plenty of time to see Clark.”
Minutes later, Nikki pulled into a parking lot.
Victoria craned her neck. “A diner in a caboose? How quaint.”
“It’s Carney’s, Mother.” She pulled into a parking spot.
“Well, I can read that on the sign.” She looked at Nikki. “And who did you say we were meeting?”
“We’re not meeting anyone.” Nikki got out of the car and waited for her mother. “There’s someone I’m hoping I can speak with. She’s supposed to be working tonight,” she explained as she and Victoria walked across the parking lot.
“A Santa Fe caboose. On Sunset Boulevard,” Victoria remarked as she climbed the stairs in front of Nikki, still clutching her Fendi. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“I can’t believe you never noticed it before—it’s a yellow caboose. There’s another on Ventura.”
“It’s not as if I spend a great deal of time on the Sunset Strip, Nicolette.”
Inside, a single row of tables and chairs ran along the left wall. Ahead, the counter was on the right. “Would you like to sit and I can order you something?” Nikki said.
Victoria looked around. “Won’t the waitress take my order?”
“No waitresses, Mother. You order at the counter.”
“Well, then I’ll order at the counter.”
Nikki couldn’t help smiling as Oscar-nominated Victoria Bordeaux hustled herself to the diner counter, her Fendi hanging off her arm. She looked as out of place as a pair of Jimmy Choos on a teamster.
Victoria leaned on the counter where a guy in a Carney’s T-shirt and blue apron was lining up boxes of French fries and hot dogs. “Is there a menu?”
Nikki took her mother’s arm and backed her up a step, pointing to the menu on the wall.
“Oh, my. There’s so much to choose from,” Victoria exclaimed, obviously enjoying the adventure. “What do you think? A burger or a frankfurter? Amondo will be disappointed he missed out.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Nikki scanned the employees behind the counter.
“Chicken parmesan,” Victoria read out loud. “That doesn’t sound like any fun. Who eats chicken parmesan in a railcar caboose on the Sunset Strip? What in heaven’s name is a burger dog?”
“It’s, um . . . a hamburger with a hot dog on top,” Nikki answered, spotting blond dreadlocks under a red ball cap at the grill.
“Fascinating! I don’t know how I’m going to decide,” Victoria went on. “A Polish sausage with sauerkraut and mustard. Sounds divine.”
A young Hispanic man leaned over the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Um . . . still deciding,” Nikki said. “Is . . . Jessie available?”
“Jessie!” the young man hollered.
The young woman turned from the grill, spatula in hand. “How can I—” She froze. “Just shoot me. Just shoot me.” She ran to the counter. “Miss Harper. I know I invited you, but I didn’t think you’d really come.”
“Hey, Jessie. How are you? I brought my mom for dinner. I was wondering . . . if you had time to talk to me for a minute?”
Jessie leaned over the counter and stared at Victoria, who was still trying to make up her mind what she wanted to order. “Just shoot me,” Jessie breathed. “Monica is going to be so upset that she called in sick.” She looked back at Nikki. “I . . . let me see if I can take my break.” She stepped away from the counter, then back. “Did Jose get your order? Let me buy your dinner. I get a discount.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nikki assured her.
“Jessie! Those your burgers smokin’?” someone hollered.
“I’ll be right out.” Jessie tapped the counter with her spatula. “I swear.”
Five minutes later, Nikki and Victoria sat at a table, waiting for Nikki’s name to be called. “So who are we here to talk to?” Victoria asked, lowering her voice. “I assume this has to do with Jeremy’s sister. Is this one of her hangouts or something?”
Nikki glanced out the window, watching the traffic on Sunset. “You make me laugh, Mother.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m good for something.” She propped her designer handbag on the table against the window. “I don’t know why you didn’t let me buy you dinner.”
“Because I invited you,” Nikki answered firmly.
“Nikki!” the Hispanic man called from behind the counter.
“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” a woman called. Jessie.
Nikki looked at her mother across the table. “I’m hoping this girl can help me find out what incriminating evidence the police found on Ryan Melton’s laptop. Her brother’s roommate works for the computer firm the police subcontracted to have a look at it.”
“Oh, goody.” Victoria swiped on pale peach lipstick. “A caboose with frankfurters and spies.”
Chapter 13
“I . . . I guess I could ask. You know, kind of sneaky like.” Jessie clutched her soda cup. Her short fingernails were painted fuchsia and blue, alternating nail to nail.
“Heavens, this is the best frankfurter I’ve ever had.” Victoria chewed delicately and dabbed at her mouth with a brown paper napkin. “You know, Jessica dear, it’s not as if anyone will be hurt by this brother of yours telling us what’s on that laptop. It will all come out in court.”
“Brother’s roommate,” Nikki corrected.
Jessie stared wide-eyed at Victoria sitting across from her at the diner table, munching a hot dog with sauerkraut and mustard. “Just shoot me. I still can’t believe you’re here,” she breathed. “No one’s going to believe me.”
“Leave your address with Nicolette. I’ll send you a personally autographed photo. Nicolette, are you going to eat all your fries? I don’t dare order more. I won’t fit into my costumes Monday, but these fries are extraordinary. Just the right amount of salt.”
“We have to change the oil all the time. That’s what makes them so good,” Jessie offered.
Nikki pushed the flimsy, brown cardboard box of fries across the table. “I’m done. Have them.” She looked at Jessie sitting beside her. “You and Monica were talking about standing outside a nightclub. What would you say if I could get you inside one of those exclusive nightclubs? Allegro.”
“Allegro?” Jessie breathed. “Just shoot me. Do I have to get him to steal the computer?”
“No, of course not.” Nikki touched Jessie’s arm. She would have laughed, but the girl was entirely serious. “I just want to know what your br
other’s friend found on the computer. I don’t even need the details.”
“That’s it? And you’ll get me and Monica into Allegro?”
Nikki raised and dropped her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do, either way. I feel a little bad, stalking you like this.”
“Oh, no, Miss Harper.” Jessie sipped on her straw. “Stalk me anytime.”
“Could you pass the ketchup, Nicolette? It’s nice of you to do this, dear,” Victoria said to Jessie. “This young woman who’s been accused of killing the Melton boy, she’s already got the cards stacked against her. I’d hate to see her go to jail for life if she didn’t do it.”
“And leave the killer still on the loose,” Jessie breathed. “What about the police? No, wait, they’re on the take, right?”
Nikki took a drink of her diet cola. “I’m just doing this for my friend.”
“Jess!” a man hollered from the counter. “You plan on working any more tonight?”
“Shoot me now, I’ve got to get back to work.” Jessie came out of her chair. “We’re only supposed to take fifteen-minute potty breaks.”
Nikki fished a business card out of her bag hanging on the back of her chair. “Call me if you find anything out.”
“Definitely. I’m seeing my brother tonight. Party at his neighbor’s.” She pushed in her chair.
“Jess!”
“I’m coming!” she shouted over her shoulder. Then looked back at Nikki and Victoria. “Thanks so much for stopping by.” She clutched her drink cup to her chest. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, you trying to find Ryan’s killer.” Her eyes started to tear up.
Victoria occupied herself squirting ketchup beside the last of the fries, from a plastic ketchup bottle.
“Um . . . you’re welcome.” Nikki got up. “Is there some way I can contact you? I’ll have to talk to my friend about getting you into Allegro.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” She pulled a pen from her pants pocket, leaned over the table, and scrawled a number on a napkin. Then she wrote her name, putting a heart over the I. “Thanks again.” She backed away from them. “Ms. Bordeaux.” She nodded.