The Dead and the Beautiful

by Cheryl Crane

  “We should have taken the Bentley,” Victoria complained as they got out of Nikki’s Prius. “There’s more room. It’s a very nice car.”

  “It is a nice car,” Nikki agreed, letting the dogs out of the kennel. “But not really the kind of car one takes to the park.”

  Nikki led Stanley and Oliver through the secondary gates to the area of the park where she would be able to let them run off-leash.

  If she was alone, she might have taken the trail up to Indian Rock. Hero Trail was the toughest hike in the park, with a slope that led to the spine of the ridge, where there were amazing views to the west and to the south. But no hike to the ridge today, not with two dogs and a mother.

  “Isn’t this lovely,” Victoria remarked. She was dressed in a pale blue jogging suit, pristine white athletic shoes, and, of course, her pearls. Big sunglasses rounded out her ensemble.

  Nikki leaned down to release the spaniels. “There aren’t many public places dogs can run off-leash. I think it’s great that the city allows it here.”

  The dogs took off, but only ran ten feet before looping back to circle Nikki and Victoria.

  “So what were you talking about this morning when you suggested I see a psychiatrist?” They walked side by side. Nikki was wearing black yoga capris and a worn blue T-shirt.

  Victoria glanced at her. “I think this business with Jeremy’s sister has brought up . . . feelings in you. About what happened.”

  “I’m fine.”

  There were at least a dozen other dogs running around: two pugs, a French bulldog, three Labs, a Bernese mountain dog, and several mutts.

  “It was a terrible thing, Nicolette. You did what you had to do to protect yourself, and your friend. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “I don’t think about it. Ever. Alison’s arrest has nothing to do with me,” Nikki said, feeling as uncomfortable as her mother sounded.

  Victoria had been there that night for Nikki after Nikki killed Albert Tinsley with his own handgun. But she and her mother didn’t talk about it. They never talked about it.

  “No, actually, it does,” Nikki admitted. She glanced at her mother, then at the dogs running ahead of them. Stanley had stopped to sniff the black Bernese mountain dog. “But only because you taught me how important it is to stand by someone you think is being falsely accused.”

  Victoria adjusted her sunglasses. “I would have stood by you, had you been guilty.”

  The tears that stung her eyes surprised Nikki. She was glad she was wearing sunglasses; otherwise, she would have been embarrassed. She looked up to check on the dogs. Ollie had already plopped himself down in the grass, but Stan was still checking out the Bernese that was apparently part of an entourage. A pug sat beside the Bernese, and a Golden Lab circled them both. “Come on, Stan,” she called. “He’s a lot bigger than you are. He’ll eat you for an appetizer.”

  The woman with the Bernese laughed. She was a slender blonde wearing a bandanna and hiking shorts. Early thirties. Three dog leashes hung from a carabiner hooked to a loop on her shorts. “Don’t worry,” she called. “He’s a big sweetie.”

  “Stanley!” Nikki called, slapping her thigh. He ignored Nikki. “Sorry,” she said, approaching them. Victoria kept walking along the path.

  “No problem. Stanley and Bingo are buddies. Aren’t you, guys?” The blonde leaned down to scratch Stan’s head. Bingo just stood there, looking like a big, black bear, tongue lolling contentedly.

  “Oh?” Nikki said. “You know Stan and Ollie?” She pointed to Oliver, who was rolling in the grass, probably in something disgusting.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we, Bingo?” the blonde said.

  “What a cute name.” Nikki put out her hand. “Okay if I pet him?”

  “Bingo’s cool.”

  As was Bingo’s owner. She was wearing amber aviator glasses with her bandanna tied like a cap. Sort of a chic, hippie look.

  “Nikki Harper.” She gave a little wave.

  “Prudence.” She slapped her forehead playfully. “I know, what were my parents thinking? And that’s Roko.” She pointed to the pug seated in the grass. “And that crazy gal”—she indicated the Lab that was still running in big circles around them—“is Cindy.”

  Stanley began to lick Bingo’s paw, which was bigger than his little, fluffy Cavalier King Charles head.

  “Nice to meet you, Prudence, Bingo, Roko, and Cindy.”

  “We used to run into your dog walker all the time,” Prudence said. “That’s how we know Stan and Ollie.”

  “Alison?” Nikki looked up with interest, then glanced around to locate her mother.

  Victoria had stopped to speak to an elderly woman.

  Nikki returned her attention to Prudence. “You know Alison?”

  “Yeah. Actually, we used to hang out once in a while after we left here. I’m a dog walker, too,” she explained.

  Nikki nodded. She got the impression that Prudence didn’t know anything about Alison’s arrest.

  “We’d go for coffee or a sandwich,” Prudence continued, “but then she got into party planning and she didn’t have as much free time. You know, trying to juggle both businesses.”

  Party planning? Nikki thought. Alison didn’t have a party planning business. She used to own a party store, but that was a while ago. It went bankrupt before she started the dog-walking business.

  “When was the last time you saw Alison?” Nikki asked.

  “Oh, I see her all the time. I saw her here last week. We say hi. Chat while we walk the dogs, but we haven’t gone for coffee in . . . gosh, since Christmas. She doing okay?” Prudence asked.

  “She’s doing well. Actually, she’s my boyfriend’s sister, so I see her all the time.”

  “Cool. Well, she’s nice. Shy, but nice. I like her.”

  “She is nice. And a hard worker. I . . . didn’t realize she was getting back into party planning,” Nikki said, trying to sound casual. “She say who she was planning parties for?”

  Prudence shook her head. “Nah, we didn’t really talk about that. We talked mostly about the dogs.”

  Losing interest in the Bernese, Stanley trotted away, turned his head, barked at Nikki, and headed off in the direction of Oliver and Victoria.

  “Looks like you’re moving on,” Prudence said, watching Stanley go.

  “I guess we are.” Nikki walked away. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” Prudence called after her. “Have a nice walk. Tell Alison I said hi.”

  Nikki turned and waved. “I will. Enjoy the sunshine.”

  When Nikki caught up to Victoria, her mother looked back at Prudence. “A friend?”

  “No, Stanley just stopped to say hi. Come on, boys.” Her dogs trotted to catch up. “She said she knew Alison. That they used to get coffee after walking their dogs. She’s a dog walker, too.”

  “That’s interesting, dear.”

  “What’s interesting is that she said she and Alison used to go for coffee, but then Alison got too busy with her party planning business.”

  “What party planning business?”

  Nikki frowned. “That’s what I was wondering.”

  “How do you feel about tamales?” Ellen asked as Nikki got into her new, white, Audi convertible.

  “How do I feel about them? I feel good.”

  Ellen put on her sunglasses. “I mean, do you like them? Homemade tamales?”

  “Is there any food I don’t like?”

  They both laughed as Nikki buckled in and Ellen pulled away from the curb in front of Nikki’s house. The two had met under unfortunate circumstances the previous year when Victoria’s neighbor had been murdered, but since then, they’d become good friends.

  “I want to try out a tamale place on Pasadena Avenue. Mom’s Tamales. Guy told me about it.”

  “Guy?” Nikki asked, pulling a scarf from her handbag to tie over her head. If they were going to hit the freeway, she’d need it. Otherwise, she’d be sporting a tangled mess for Ma
rshall’s cocktail party that evening. “As in Guy Fieri?”

  Ellen had the most beautiful smile. She could have been a model. Instead, she became a chef. “You know him?”

  “Only from watching The Food Network,” Nikki chuckled. “Triple D: Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.”

  “That’s him. We’ve run into each other a couple of times over the last few months. Network parties and stuff. Anyway, he heard how much I love tamales, so he recommended I try these.”

  “So . . . you going to end up making cupcakes that look like tamales, or vice versa, for your show?” Nikki teased.

  Ellen adjusted her white ball cap. “You never know.” She signaled and turned. “So how was your morning? Have a nice walk with the doggies?”

  “And Mother.”

  “Your mother?” Ellen laughed. It was Victoria who had first suggested that Nikki and Ellen become friends. Ellen knew exactly what she was like. “You took Victoria hiking in Runyon Canyon?”

  “We didn’t hike. We went for a walk.” Nikki relaxed in the smooth leather seat. Ellen had the top down. It was warm and sunny and the breeze felt good on her face. “It was actually nice. She was on her good behavior.”

  “That’s always a plus.”

  Nikki watched the houses, then businesses fly by as they drove out of her neighborhood and turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard. “I ran into someone who knows Alison. Another dog walker. She told me that she and Alison used to go for coffee after walking their dogs.”

  “You mean before she was arrested?” Ellen knew that Alison was Jeremy’s sister, and knew Nikki was looking into the circumstances of her part in Ryan’s murder.

  “No,” Nikki said, thinking back to her conversation with Prudence. “That’s what was weird. This woman said they used to go out for coffee before Alison opened her party planning business and got too busy.”

  “Why’s that weird?”

  Nikki looked at Ellen. “Because Alison doesn’t have a party planning business. She has a dog walking business.”

  Ellen frowned and adjusted her big, white, Gucci sunglasses. “I thought she had both.” She braked as the light ahead turned red.

  “No, she had a party store in West Hollywood, but when the economy went south, she lost a lot of business. She ended up closing it two years ago. Then about a year ago, she started walking dogs.”

  They sat at the light.

  Ellen removed her sunglasses and looked at Nikki. “Nik . . . are you sure . . .” She stopped and started again. “Alison doesn’t have any kind of party business?”

  “Hasn’t in years.”

  Ellen thought for a minute. The light turned green and a second later, someone blew their horn behind them. She put on her sunglasses and hit the gas. “Hmm. I just assumed . . . because she asked me for a recommendation.”

  “For what? When?” Nikki asked.

  “Gosh, now I feel weird.” She glanced at Nikki, then back at the road. “Like I’m tattling on Jeremy’s little sister or something.”

  “Look, I’m trying to help Alison, and I know for a fact that she’s not being totally honest with me. Which means she’s not being totally honest with Jeremy. I’m afraid this could be the end of their relationship.”

  Ellen sighed. “We were at Jeremy’s last fall. November, maybe. He had that backyard barbeque.”

  “Right. His annual Turkey Day Is Almost Here party.”

  “Alison and I were just chatting in the kitchen while she tossed a salad. She asked me if I could recommend a discreet caterer. She said something about losing hers.”

  Nikki made a face. “A discreet caterer? What for? Alison didn’t have a party last fall. Certainly not one she needed a caterer for.”

  Ellen shrugged. “I’m not sure what she meant. But I’m sure that’s what she said. She needed a discreet caterer.”

  A discreet caterer. Nikki was still mulling that over when she arrived at Marshall’s that evening.

  Chapter 24

  Nikki arrived at Marshall’s early, in her Prius, and parked beside a Maserati she didn’t recognize. The Fab Four and their spouses, she was sure, would come in limos. As she walked up the driveway to the house, she took in its massive elegance. It was a 12,000 square foot Neoclassical with a dramatic two-story marble entry. The monument to Marshall’s box-office stardom was lit up by spotlights and featured multiple fountains that were arranged all over the finely trimmed front lawn (thanks to Jorge & Son). The statuary was life-size: Roman and Greek replicas.

  The house had seven bedrooms and ten baths, a library, a formal dining room that seated twenty-four, a gourmet kitchen, and a master suite that included a marble bath with a sauna. Outside, there was a pool, a spa, an outdoor kitchen, two open cabanas, a tennis court, and a bocce court, among additional amenities. Marshall’s partner, Rob, thought it was ridiculous that one man should own such a house. He’d grown up with a mother and father and six siblings in a single-story, three-bedroom house. He thought Marshall’s place was more like a mausoleum than a home. And Marshall didn’t like it any better. He bought it as an investment, and to satisfy his agent and his publicist. It was all part of his movie-star, heterosexual image. He didn’t like the house, said he was lonely there, and only stayed overnight when he had to. Most nights he slept in the cozy two-bedroom bungalow next door to Nikki, with Rob.

  Before Nikki could ring the doorbell, which sounded more like a door gong, the front door opened. A gentleman in a tux greeted her. “Good evening, Ms. Harper. Shall I have your car parked?”

  “Parked it myself, Elgin.” She walked into the cavernous open hall; her voice seemed to echo off the Carrara marble floor. “You look nice this evening.”

  He smoothed his finely pressed white shirt. “Thank you.” Elgin ran the monstrosity of a house for Marshall and did a superb job, but more importantly, he was devoted to keeping his boss’s secret. Nikki would have trusted the guy with her life; Marshall did.

  “Would you care for a cocktail? We’re serving in the library.”

  “Nikki!”

  She looked up to see Marshall coming down the white marble staircase that was broad enough to drive a Roman chariot down. He was dressed in a black Armani tux and was fiddling with a diamond cuff link.

  “Hey.” She smiled, tickled to see him. She had so much to tell him.

  “You look gorgeous,” he called. “I love you in that dress.”

  She cut her eyes at him. She was wearing a fifties vintage teal Ceil Chapman dress. It had a scooped neckline and teal bugle beads in swirled patterns. Her favorite part of the sheath dress was the godet at the hem in back; she’d bought the dress for the flirty little kick pleat. “Are you making fun of me? You know I like to get my money out of a dress.”

  “They don’t call you Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter for nuthin’,” he teased with a wink.

  Both Victoria and Nikki were known, in the celebrity world, for their habitual reuse of gowns, something rarely done in Hollywood. Victoria thought nothing of appearing in public in the same dress three times in the same year; she thought it was a waste to wear a dress once and then donate it, sell it, or let it sit in a closet. And while Nikki had more money than she knew what to do with because her father had left her a fortune, she was as thrifty as her mother. Besides, when she bought a dress or a gown that she loved, she wanted to wear it again.

  “Let me see.” He took her hand and she twirled for him on her three-inch silk heels. “Gorgeous,” he repeated. “I love the French twist. And the new bangs.”

  “Fringe.” Nikki patted her updo, which she had, of course, done herself. “Thanks.”

  “You ready?” He offered his elbow. “You know who you’re going to ask what?”

  She looked at him. “Are you suggesting I’m going to interrogate your guests?” She pretended to be shocked.

  “Well, I certainly hope you’re going to. That was the point of this party, wasn’t it?” He led her down the hall toward the library.

  He’d just had
a new Crestron system installed in the house. It featured security, phone, lighting, and audio control throughout the house by the means of monitor screens and touch pads. Classical music—Bach—played softly in all the rooms.

  “I don’t,” she hemmed. “Mostly I think I just want to watch them. See how they all behave.”

  “So you’re sure one of the Fab Four killed Ryan?”

  “No, I’m not sure. I just have a feeling. But it could be one of the spouses.”

  “Ooh. I like that idea. Do tell.”

  “Later. They’ll be here any second. Lex Bronson coming, too?”

  “Oh, he’ll be here. I think he thinks I’m looking for a new agent.” They walked into the library.

  Nikki was surprised to see that she wasn’t the first guest to arrive. Lieutenant Detective Tom Dombrowski turned to them, a book in his hand.

  “Good evening.” He was dressed in a tuxedo; tailored, not off the rack. Brunello Cucinelli.

  Nikki couldn’t help herself. She laughed out loud. “You invited him?” she asked, looking at Marshall. “You plan on having the kind of cocktail party that requires police protection?”

  Marshall’s mouth twitched with a smile. “For your information, I actually know Tom outside of the police world.”

  “Good to see you, too, Nikki.” Dombrowski returned the book to its place. “You’ve got a great collection here, Marshall. Eclectic. The Iliad of Homer and Odyssey of Homer, first edition, folio issues, London, 1715, Thomas Hardy’s works bound by Rivière & Son. And, signed, limited first editions of Stephen King’s Dark Tower books, one to seven.”

  Marshall looked at Nikki, then back at Dombrowski and laughed. “I have to confess, I’m not much of a reader. When I bought the house, Nikki said I had to fill the library with books. Apparently, I bought books.”

  Dombrowski turned to Nikki. “Flying solo tonight?”

  “Jeremy’s out of town. A weekend with the kids.”

  “So, the gossip blog I read this morning is not to be believed? You and Dr. Fitzpatrick haven’t broken up over the fact that his sister is a murderess?”