The Dead and the Beautiful

by Cheryl Crane

  “Ah,” Nikki said.

  “We should watch one of her films.” Victoria turned in her chair. “Asami. Would you like to come to a Movie Night? We’re doing Thursdays now, although I’ve had to go to every other week with our shooting schedule. Either dinner or cocktails, then a movie. It’s quite fun.”

  Asami’s dark eyes, ringed in blue eyeliner, got wide. “Your house, Ms. Bordeaux?”

  “Yes, I had a screening room long before it was in vogue, didn’t I, Nicolette?”

  Nikki knew her mother well enough to know that it was a rhetorical question.

  The young woman clutched a makeup brush with two hands as if it were a scepter. “I . . . I’d loved to come.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll have my secretary, my assistant,” Victoria corrected herself, “put you and your boyfriend on the guest list for sometime soon.”

  Nikki had been trying to get her mother to use the word assistant rather than secretary for years. Victoria’s assistant, Cora, who only worked part-time, was older than her mother and equally sharp. She reminded Nikki of Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies TV show. Until she opened her mouth. Then she was Margaret Thatcher. With extra attitude. Scary woman, Cora. Nikki didn’t cross her.

  “It’s always a small group,” Victoria went on. “I like a mix of guests. I’d never invite a whole room full of actors or politicians. Dull.” She fiddled with a piece of platinum hair at her temple. “Do you have a cocktail dress, dear?”

  Asami nodded.

  “Good. That’s what you wear. And nice heels. A girl your age and height should stay away from flats.”

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Bordeaux,” Asami gushed.

  “Certainly. Are we done here, because if we are, I’ll thank you for doing such a nice job with my makeup this morning. Of course, you always do wonderful work.” She glanced at Nikki. “Asami is a very conscientious worker. She started out here on the show as an assistant makeup artist, and now she’s been promoted to a lead makeup artist.”

  “Mostly because of Ms. Bordeaux,” Asami said. “When Ms. Andrews said she didn’t want me near her anymore because I knocked over a water bottle she’d left open on the floor, I was afraid I was going to get canned. Then your mother requested that only I do her makeup”—she raised both hands—“and I ended up being promoted.”

  “How is dear Beatrice?” Nikki asked her mother. “You haven’t mentioned her since she didn’t make your garden party.”

  “Oh, she had some silly excuse. I didn’t believe it for a moment. Do you know I heard she actually spoke to the writers about killing off my character?” Victoria grew more indignant by the moment. “When they said no, at least not yet, she requested she not share any scenes with me. How does she think that’s supposed to work? How can our characters be enemies if they never speak?”

  Again, rhetorical. “Um . . .” Nikki tried to think of a way to steer the conversation back to Diara. “So . . . Asami, what other cast members’ makeup do you do?”

  “It varies day to day. There are three of us makeup artists and two assistants.”

  “Ah.”

  “She does Diara’s all the time, though,” Victoria put in. “Diara likes Asami.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s nice. Not as nice as Ms. Bordeaux. Ms. Bordeaux is always giving me cool makeup from the freebies left here for her.” Asami began to roll up her makeup brushes. “But Ms. Elliot is nice. She gave me a Coach scarf once. Mr. Melton gave it to her. She said she didn’t like it.”

  “Did . . . Mr. Melton come to the set often?” Nikki asked.

  Asami shook her head. “Nah, we hardly ever saw him. I think she liked keeping her private life separate from her work life.”

  Or she liked keeping him in the dark about what she was doing? Whom she was doing it with?

  “Ms. Bordeaux?” Megan, the redhead Nikki had met the previous week, walked into the room. She had a headset on again and was carrying a stack of paperwork in one arm. “They’re going to be ready for you in ten.” She spotted Nikki. “Ms. Harper, nice to see you again.”

  Nikki remained on the stool. “You too. We were just talking about Diara and Ryan. Nice couple. Although Asami said he didn’t come to the set very often.”

  Megan thought for a second. “No, I guess he didn’t. Which I always thought was a little strange because Angel Gomez and Julian Munro come all the time. And Kameryn’s husband, Gil.”

  “Any other men visit her?” Victoria injected.

  “No, not really,” Megan answered. She shrugged. “Her agent, that’s it.”

  “Do Angel, Julian, and Gil come together?” Nikki questioned. “Or separately?”

  Again, Megan thought. “Both. I guess they still have business together, you know.”

  “You see one more than the other?” Nikki dared.

  “Not really. Julian’s pretty nice. He always says hi and calls me by my name. He gave me an autograph the first time I met him. I made the mistake of asking Angel for one once.” Megan rolled her eyes. “He was not nice.”

  “Ginger, in food service, told me he threw a muffin at her once,” Asami put in, packing up her makeup case that was the size of a small trunk. “She brought the wrong kind to him.”

  Megan frowned. “Hard to believe he’s married to Betsy; she’s so nice to everyone when she’s on set. She doesn’t act like her husband is rich and famous. She acts like a regular person.”

  Victoria started to stand up and Asami hurried to help her remove the black cape. “I should go. Don’t want to be late for my cue. Coming, Nicolette?”

  Nikki rose off the stool and grabbed her Prada. “Be there in a sec.”

  Victoria glanced in the mirror one last time as she went by. “Thank you again, Asami.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Harper.” Asami headed out of the room, behind Victoria, carrying her massive makeup case.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Nikki waited until her mother and the makeup artist were out of the room.

  Megan stood at the door and touched her headset at her ear. “I’ll be right there,” she told someone.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t keep you.” Nikki slung her Prada over her shoulder. She was wearing gray Armani slacks and a pale blue Chanel sweater her mother had bought for her ages ago. “Now, don’t feel like you have to answer me, but . . . do you know if Diara was here the whole day, the day her husband was killed?”

  “The detective asked me the same question.”

  “Detective Dombrowski?”

  “That’s him. Good-looking. He was here Thursday or Friday.”

  So, Dombrowski had had Alison arrested, but he’s still looking into other possibilities. Interesting.

  “The police don’t think Diara had anything to do with her husband’s murder, do they?” Megan breathed.

  “I . . . I think everyone is just trying to get a timeline.”

  “Right. Well, we all left early.”

  “Because of the argument Diara and Kameryn had?” Nikki said.

  “No one knows what it was about.” Megan shrugged. “Of course, after Ryan was found dead, Diara and Kameryn were fine. Kameryn’s been sticking pretty close to Diara. Being a good friend.”

  “Do you know what time the argument was?”

  Megan shifted the pile of papers from one arm to the other. “One, maybe? We were getting ready to break for lunch. It was crazy because I’ve never seen them argue.”

  One. And about the same time Alison said she dropped the dog off with Ryan. But Mars said he placed the 911 call around one-thirty. There was no way Diara could have argued with Kameryn at one in the CBS Television Studio on Beverly Boulevard and gotten to her house on Mulholland in time to kill her husband for Mars to find him at one-thirty.

  Which meant Diara couldn’t have been at her house to kill her husband.

  “Thanks,” Nikki said.

  “Sure.” Megan led the way out of the room. “I’ll show you where they’re shooting the next scene and get yo
u a chair.”

  Nikki followed. So she would have to cross Diara off the list of suspects.

  But maybe not.

  Just because Diara didn’t strangle her husband, didn’t mean she wasn’t a part of the murder. What if she’d staged the fight with Kameryn so she would have an alibi?

  “Thanks for dinner, Aunt Nikki.” Jocelyn got up from the mission-style cherry dining table and pushed in her chair.

  Nikki smiled. She didn’t know when she’d become Aunt Nikki, but she liked it. Of course, Jeremy still hadn’t called her, so maybe it wasn’t going to last very long. “You’re welcome.”

  “And thanks for letting us stay a few nights.” She picked up her dinner plate. “I think Mom and Uncle Jeremy needed to be separated for a little while. It’s just like they were little, the way they used to fight, Mom said.”

  Nikki glanced across the table at Alison, who had mostly picked at the pasta primavera Nikki had thrown together for dinner. “Siblings disagree sometimes,” she said, wanting to defend Jeremy, but not sure how. “And this is hard. For everyone.”

  Alison looked at her daughter. “I hate to see you hurt by this mess.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. The police made a mistake. It happens all the time, Mom. Your lawyer will take care it. I know she will. It’s not a big deal. Kids at school hardly said anything.”

  “You’re kidding,” Nikki said.

  Alison’s phone, sitting on the table, vibrated. She ignored it.

  “A lot of their lives are a lot crazier than mine, I guess.” Jocelyn shrugged. “This girl in my English class, her father and grandfather were just deported back to Nicaragua. Part of a drug cartel or something. I’m going to go do homework, if that’s okay.” She turned to her mom. “If you don’t need me.”

  Alison smiled. “I’m fine. You’re right. It’s just a terrible mistake. This will all work out. I have a good attorney.” She glanced at Nikki. “And Aunt Nikki is looking out for me.” Her cell phone vibrated again.

  Nikki glanced at the phone. “You want to get that?”

  Alison looked at the phone, hesitated, then picked it up. She looked at the screen, hit a button that would delete the message saying who it was, and set the phone down again. When she realized Nikki was watching her, she said, “Client. I’ll get back to them.”

  “I can take your plate.” Jocelyn reached for Nikki’s. “But, Mom, I’m not taking yours. You’re already too skinny. Eat something. It’s delicious.”

  “Thanks, Jocelyn.” Nikki waited until she heard the water running in the kitchen sink before she leaned forward on the dining table and lowered her voice. “Did you speak with your attorney today about the laptop?”

  “I called. She’s going to call me back.”

  “Don’t drop the ball on this, Alison. She needs that information to prepare your case.” She smoothed her placemat. “I tracked down the Melton/Elliot gardener today and the dry-cleaning service who delivers to their house. I came up with nothing.”

  Alison nodded.

  “I was on the set of Casa Capri. Diara has a solid alibi.”

  “Diara didn’t kill Ryan.” Alison frowned and poked at a mushroom on her plate with her fork. “What would make you think Diara would kill him?”

  “Well, someone killed him. I have to start somewhere. You always start with the husband or the wife.” Nikki sipped water from her glass and watched Alison poke at the pasta on her plate with her fork. “If Diara was cheating on Ryan and Ryan knew . . . maybe she wanted to get rid of him. Permanently.”

  Alison didn’t say anything.

  Nikki studied her. “How well do you know Julian and Angel?”

  Alison lowered her gaze to her plate again. “Not . . . well . . . I . . .” She stopped and started again. “I walk their dogs, but . . . I rarely see them.”

  “They’re your clients, too?” This was the first Nikki had heard of this.

  Alison barely nodded. She kept her eyes downcast. “And Kameryn Lowe.”

  “So you work for the Disney Fab Four? All of them? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t give out my client list.” Alison looked up. “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t know.” Nikki glanced away, thinking. “I hope not.”

  Chapter 17

  “Thanks for the ride, Marshall.” Nikki sat in the back seat of his limo, throwing on some face powder, staring into the little round mirror of her compact. “I meant to get to the dealership earlier; then I could have just waited for my oil change.”

  “House guests will do that to you.”

  “They’ve been great so far. No problems. Alison hasn’t been too mopey, and Jocelyn loaded the dishwasher for me last night before doing her homework. Alison was going to work today.”

  “Of course, it’s only been one night.”

  She cut her eyes at him and dug into her bag for mascara. “You sound like Victoria.”

  “If there was anyone on earth I could be, it would be Victoria Bordeaux.” Marshall grinned.

  Nikki uncapped the mascara and began to apply it to her lashes. She had a nine a.m. with a client. She still had paperwork to gather, but Mr. Belka would be late. He always was. He was interested in commercial property, as an investment, and she had several good options to talk to him about. “I actually believe you when you say that, Marshall.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad Alison and Jocelyn are doing okay at your place.” He looked handsome and relaxed this morning in jeans and a tight, yellow polo that showed off his buff body and dark skin tone perfectly. “Dare I ask how Jeremy is doing with the new arrangement?”

  “You can ask.” She dropped her mascara into her bag and fished out a tube of lipstick. MAC, in spice, from one of Victoria’s swag bags.

  “Oh, dear.”

  She exhaled. “He’s always been so reasonable. So sensible. I don’t know this Jeremy.”

  “And you’ve tried to talk to him?”

  “Of course.”

  He gave her a look that demonstrated his lack of confidence in her. “You’re not always good about talking things out in relationships, Nik.”

  “I’ve tried to talk to him. Sort of. I explained why I feel like I need to defend Alison.”

  “Maybe he’s just had enough of her problems after all these years.”

  She swiped lipstick over her bottom lip. “But she hasn’t done anything wrong.” Her top lip.

  “What if she’s not being truthful with you? Still.”

  “Alison did not kill Ryan Melton.”

  “Okay. But what if she knows who did?”

  Nikki took her time putting her lipstick and compact away. They had just pulled up in front of the office building that Windsor Real Estate occupied on busy Beverly Boulevard in Beverly Hills. “That’s crazy. She’s got a child custody case with her ex coming up. She wouldn’t risk losing Jocelyn trying to protect someone.”

  “But maybe to protect herself?”

  Nikki was beginning to think she was going to need another cup of coffee. She was trying to limit herself and go back to drinking green tea; she knew it was healthier. But coffee just made her feel better. “I hope your interview goes well.”

  The driver got out and opened Nikki’s door for her.

  “It’ll be fine. They always are.” Marshall leaned over to see her as she got out, then spotted someone behind her. “Hey, is that your cop?”

  “My cop?” She frowned, knowing very well whom he had to be talking about. She didn’t look behind her. “I don’t have a cop.”

  “Well, someone’s cop is standing at the door with two cups of coffee.”

  “Talk to you later,” she called. “Thanks, Charlie.” The driver closed the door and she strode across the sidewalk to the door of the office building where Tom Dombrowski was waiting. “Detective.”

  “Good morning.” He offered one of the paper cups in his hands. It smelled heavenly.

  “Thanks.” She accepted the coffee and took a s
ip. “You just happened to be passing by this morning and thought I might need a cup of coffee?”

  “Something like that.” He glanced away, holding his cup, but not drinking from it. His suit was navy blue today. It had to be tailored; it fit him perfectly. “I paid a visit to Diara Elliot’s gardener yesterday. Apparently you talked to him already?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You know, Nikki, you could hinder my investigation,” he said. “You understand that, don’t you? You could negatively affect Alison Sahira’s case.”

  “So the investigation is still open?” She looked up at him. “Even though Alison was arrested and charged?”

  “You look nice this morning. I like the bangs.” He reached out but didn’t actually touch her hair. He let his hand fall to his side. “We’re still gathering evidence.”

  She smiled slyly, pleased. “Detective Dombrowski, you believe me, don’t you? You know she didn’t do it.”

  “We’ve got her fingerprints on the murder weapon. Her fingerprints also came back on computer equipment”—he met Nikki’s gaze—“used to record the security footage in the house. The security footage that was erased. But I bet you already knew her fingerprints were on the home’s security laptop, didn’t you? She tell you?”

  Nikki didn’t answer. The coffee was good. She took another sip.

  “Maybe Ms. Sahira would like to come in and talk with me. Explain herself.”

  “What’s Lillie Lambert say about that?”

  He scowled, then took a sip of coffee.

  Someone approached the door and Nikki and Dombrowski stepped to one side.

  “I have an appointment,” Nikki said. “I should go.”

  “Ms. Sahira tell you what was on Ryan’s laptop we confiscated?”

  Nikki hesitated. “She did.”

  “And you don’t think that’s awfully suspicious?”

  “Too easy.” Nikki shook her head. “He tries to blackmail her, so she kills him?”

  “She does have that child custody case coming up. Maybe she was afraid her husband would use the porn film against her.”