by Cheryl Crane
“What blog?” she asked, not sure if he was serious or not.
“Ooh, I read that, too,” Marshall said.
Nikki rolled her eyes.
The doorbell rang . . . gonged. All three of them looked in the direction of the front of the house.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Marshall gave his best movie-star smile. “I have guests to greet. Have some champagne, kids.” He indicated a waiter standing unobtrusively in the corner of the room. “Enjoy yourselves!”
Nikki shook her head as Marshall walked away, laughing to himself, she was sure. She waited until he was gone to speak to Dombrowski. “So how did you get an invitation?” she whispered. “And what are you doing here?”
“As Marshall said, we know each other outside law enforcement.”
She frowned. “Right. And you don’t think your presence here isn’t going to be a little conspicuous? Like some kind of Agatha Christie scene?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Marshall and I are friends. He invited me to his home.”
There was something in his tone of voice . . . She studied him for a second. “Wait. You’re saying you’re here as a friend, but . . . You know she didn’t do it, don’t you?”
“Would you like a glass of champagne?” he asked.
He did know Alison didn’t do it! A part of her wanted to jump in the air (something difficult to do in three-inch heels) and give a little yippee. She was right and he knew she was right. Did he also suspect Ryan’s group of friends? But a part of her wanted to snap at him—because he didn’t think Alison did it. Yet, the charges hadn’t been dropped.
“You want to tell me what you know?” she whispered.
“You want to tell me what you know?”
She crossed her arms. “You going to have the charges dropped against Alison?”
“No reason to do that. She’s still our prime suspect.”
There were voices now coming from the front hall. Feminine laugher. Nikki recognized Betsy’s voice. Diara’s. She moved to face the door, standing beside Dombrowski. Waiting, apprehensively. “Feel a little like James Bond tonight?” she whispered.
He smiled.
And suddenly, there were twenty people in the library, all talking at once. The Disney Fab Four were there, and their spouses, minus Ryan, of course. Lex Bronson was there, Marshall’s agent, Angel’s agent, and their dates or spouses. Marshall’s publicist. Introductions were being made. Dombrowski jumped right in, as if he spent every evening rubbing elbows with celebrities.
Watching him, Nikki was intrigued. Who are you? she wondered. Maybe she should take him up on that drink he once offered. Then she felt guilty. She cared for Jeremy. She maybe even loved him. She didn’t know. And she certainly didn’t know where they stood right now.
But she didn’t have time for personal reflection right now.
Nikki put on the smile and approached her first victims. Betsy and Hazel were standing together chatting. “Betsy, Hazel. So nice to see you.”
This time, Hazel’s smile was wary. Something had changed since Nikki saw them the previous day at that pub.
“Nice to see you,” Hazel said, sounding as awkward as she was acting. She was wearing her hair down, in a forties style with a side part, tucked behind one ear. A cute, black dress and towering black Christian Louboutin heels.
“Marshall’s house is lovely,” Betsy said. White cocktail dress, silver Christian Louboutin heels.
Had there been a sale somewhere?
“Did you help him buy it?” Betsy asked.
“I did. It had been on the market for a while. I think it’s turning out to be a good investment.”
“Ladies, I think you know Tom.” Marshall stepped between Betsy and Hazel with Tom in tow.
“How are you, Mrs. Munro? Mrs. Gomez? It’s nice to see you in more pleasant circumstances.”
Betsy turned to Nikki. “The detective interviewed us. You know, after Ryan . . . died.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Marshall said. “My publicist is waving me down.” He walked away.
Nikki met Dombrowski’s gaze. “So, Hazel,” she said, shifting her attention. “How was your shopping trip?” Again, she looked at the detective. “We ran into each other at The Grove yesterday, Hazel and Betsy and I.”
“Ah,” Dombrowski said. He had a lowball glass in his hand.
Single malt Scotch? Nikki wondered. Did that surprise her? It didn’t.
“We had a great time. We always do,” Hazel said, glancing over her shoulder at someone.
“And the pub was nice.”
“Yeah, too bad your boyfriend couldn’t join you.” Again, Hazel.
“Too bad,” Dombrowski echoed.
“Champagne?” Angel Gomez joined the group, a flute in each hand.
“Ooh, thanks.” Hazel accepted a glass.
“Thanks,” his wife said.
“Is this house over the top or what?” Angel asked. His words were slightly slurred.
Had he been drinking before he arrived?
“Bordering on obnoxious,” Angel went on, grabbing another glass of champagne as a waiter went by. “One for you, Nikki?”
“No, thanks.”
“I guess this is what happens when you have too much money,” Angel went on.
He’d definitely been drinking.
“Seems rather unkind to criticize your host while you’re drinking his champagne, doesn’t it?” Dombrowski said.
Angel looked at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Hazel, at least, had the good sense to squirm a little. Betsy just looked at Dombrowski with distaste.
“An invited guest, the same as you.” Dombrowski smiled, but there was something behind his smile. Nikki liked it. Not a threat, just . . . a warning.
“You don’t belong here,” Angel went on, taking a step closer to the detective, who was taller and broader shouldered than the singer. “You don’t belong with people like us. In places like this.”
“Angel,” Betsy said softly. She rested her hand on her husband’s arm, but he pushed her away. Hard.
Is this a man who could wrap a dog leash around his friend’s neck and strangle him? Nikki wondered. Possibly.
“Angel.” Marshall was back again. He smiled at his drunken guest. “I know you know Tom as the detective who investigated Ryan’s death, but did you know his mother is a Tisch?”
Nikki knew her eyes got big. She met Dombrowski’s gaze. His blue eyes were twinkling. His suits were tailored. And if she was a guessing girl, she’d guess that the Maserati in the driveway was his.
“Tisch?” Angel scoffed.
“I’m really sorry,” Betsy murmured. “He’s . . . had a long week.”
“Loews Corporation,” Marshall said. “You know, CBS, Loews theaters.”
Angel stared at Dombrowski. “You mean he’s rich?”
“Something like that.” Marshall smiled. “Tom, I have a book I want to show you. Some kind of rare edition.”
“Excuse me.” Dombrowski met Nikki’s gaze for a split second, then walked away.
Betsy led Hazel away to find an hors d’oeuvre. Which left Nikki standing alone with Angel. She wondered if Dombrowski was jealous. Was he watching them?
Nikki looked at Angel.
“What do you want?” he asked quietly, surprising her with his vicious tone. When she didn’t answer, he went on. “Leave us alone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She held his gaze, wondering if it was the gaze of a killer. Mostly, right now, it looked like the gaze of a drunk. “Where were you when Ryan was killed?” she dared.
“Why do you care? The police already arrested the dog walker.” He smirked. “But if you must know, I was having lunch. At Pizzeria Mozza. Check, if you like.” Again, the smirk. Then he went on. “So, listen, I don’t want you bothering my wife. Or Julian’s. I don’t want you talking to Diara, or Kameryn or Gil, either.”
“Why?” She kept her voice down,
but she felt like steam might be coming out of her ears. “Are you afraid that people are going to find out that the Fab Four aren’t the sweethearts your publicity wants us to believe?”
He took a step toward her. “I’m warning you, back off. You don’t know what we’re capable of.”
Nikki stared into his eyes for a moment. Was he threatening her? Or revealing a clue as to what had happened to Ryan? Either way, there was something in his green eyes that would have frightened her if she were more easily frightened.
“Nikki, good to see you again.”
Nikki looked over to see Diara, arms linked with Kameryn. Had they come to diffuse the situation?
Nikki smiled. “Diara, I’m so sorry about Ryan.” “Thank you.” She looked away and a few tears glistened in her eyes. She was dressed in a gorgeous white cocktail dress and sparkly white heels. Every hair on her long, blond head was perfect.
“Your mother’s a delight to work with,” Kameryn said. “We have a few days off from shooting. I hope she enjoys them.”
Nikki watched Angel walk away. “I’m sure she will.”
“Gil, honey, come say hi to Nikki.” Kameryn waved her husband over. Like the other men in the room, he was dressed in a nice tux. Again, Nikki was struck by how similar in looks he was to Angel.
“Hey, Nikki.” Gil flashed a handsome smile. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, but it looked good on him. He could have done a menswear ad in GQ with his jawline. “It’s good to see you again. It was nice of Marshall to invite us. Nice for all of us to get out. You know, after the tragedy.” He slipped his arm around Diara, then his wife.
He was smooth; Nikki would give him that.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Gil.”
After that, they fell into conversation about Casa Capri and what was going on with the characters. It was awhile before Nikki could break away from the group. She tried several times to get to Lex Bronson, but he seemed to be purposely avoiding her. And watching Diara. Seeing him in the same room with her, Nikki could tell he was definitely enamored. He excused himself within an hour.
Nikki must have had a look of disappointment on her face because Marshall came over with a canapé for both of them. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him,” she said quietly.
“Doesn’t matter. He is having an affair with Diara. He thinks he’s in love with her, but he didn’t kill her husband.”
She popped the lemongrass cured salmon canapé into her mouth. “No?”
He passed her his cocktail napkin so she could wipe her mouth. “Nope, in Brussels the week it happened.”
“Guess I can cross him off my list.” She turned to him. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me Tom was a Tisch?”
A shrug. “Never came up, I guess.”
“So he’s a multimillionaire . . . and a cop?”
“I don’t know his personal finances, but he grew up well, yes. So,” he lowered his voice, “you find out anything?”
She glanced in the direction of the Fab Four and their three remaining spouses, all standing together, alone, heads together. It reminded her of the first night she met them, at Victoria’s garden party. That evening Ryan hadn’t been with them either . . .
“Possibly,” she whispered. “Very possibly.”
Chapter 25
Sunday morning, Nikki’s phone rang as she was making coffee. She wore boxer shorts, a T-shirt, and a robe. It was early for a call. She picked up her cell from the counter.
Victoria didn’t wait for Nikki to speak. “How was the party at Marshall’s? I don’t know why I wasn’t invited. I could have questioned the suspects.”
Nikki frowned. If she kept it up, she was going to need Botox. “I thought you thought Alison did it,” she said, keeping her voice down. Alison was still upstairs, but she could hear her moving around.
“I never said that.”
“Mother, you most certainly—”
“So do you want to hear what I found out or not?”
Nikki poured boiling water over the fresh ground coffee in a French press. “Found out from where?”
“A party rental company in West Hollywood.”
Nikki fitted the lid on the French press. “How did you—”
“I made phone calls, of course. Yesterday. I said my planner dropped the ball when she was arrested for murder and she wasn’t returning my calls.”
“Mother, whose name did you give?”
“I didn’t give a name, Nicolette.”
“And you talked to someone who knew Alison?”
“Ah, so now you want to hear what I know.”
Nikki groaned.
“Have you thought any more about what we talked about, darling? About seeing a shrink?”
“That’s an awful word. I don’t need a psychiatrist.” What I need is caffeine before I talk to my mother. She thought it, but knew better than to say it. “Back to what you found out?”
“Fine. Alison was buying some sort of party favors, renting costumes—”
“Costumes?”
“Let me finish,” Victoria said. “She was renting costumes and props twice a month. She always rented them on a Friday or a Saturday and returned them on Monday. She refused delivery.” She added, “Even though it’s free.”
Nikki leaned against the counter, utterly impressed. And a little in awe. “How do you know all this?”
“Joshua.”
“Joshua who?”
“Heavens, I don’t know. The young man who answered the phone at the seventh place I called. I told him I knew Victoria Bordeaux and offered to send him a signed glossy.”
Nikki laughed. “I can’t believe you, Mother.”
“I can’t believe myself sometimes,” she chuckled.
“What made you decide to call party rental stores?”
“I saw no reason for that nice girl in the park to lie to you. Which meant maybe Alison was doing some sort of party work again. Maybe she doesn’t like dogs as much as she thought she did. I, myself, don’t understand how one can make a living walking dogs.”
“Back to the parties, Mother.”
“From what I gather, Alison was throwing some sort of themed parties: knights, pirates, and so forth.”
“Unbelievable,” Nikki whispered to herself. “And you’re absolutely sure it was Alison?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have been calling to tell you if it wasn’t Alison, now would I?”
She had a fair point.
“Did this Joshua know who she was giving parties for?”
“He did not. But he said it was a small group.”
Nikki felt a buzzing in her head. It wasn’t caffeine because she hadn’t had any yet. “Did you ask how small?”
“Well, of course. Honestly, Nicolette.”
Nikki waited. Victoria did know how to create drama.
“Eight,” she finally said. “Always for eight. Four men. Four women. So four princes, four princesses, four pirates, four tavern wenches.”
Nikki couldn’t help herself. She laughed when her mother said “wenches.”
“What on earth is so funny?” Victoria inquired.
“Nothing.” Nikki grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Thank you, Mother. I really appreciate this.”
“Well, do you know what it all means?”
“No.” Nikki poured her coffee. She heard Alison coming down the steps. “But I’m going to find out. I’ll call you later.”
“You do that.”
Click.
Alison walked into the kitchen as Nikki poured half-and-half into her coffee. She didn’t give Alison time to speak. “We need to talk.”
“O . . . kay . . .” She drew out the word.
“Grab your coffee. Come on outside. It’s beautiful out.”
Alison stared at Nikki. “Is Jocelyn all right?”
“I’m sure she’s fine.” She grabbed an orange from a bowl of fruit on the counter and called to Stan and Ollie, who raced to the back door.
Her backyard was fenced
in and overgrown with gorgeous flowering plants and bushes. Marshall was always telling her she needed to clean it up, but she liked it this way. It reminded her of an old English garden. She even had a little patch of herbs she could snip from for cooking.
There was a table for two under an arbor covered in clematis and honeysuckle. Nikki tied her robe around her waist before sitting down with her coffee. Stan and Ollie trotted down a stone path that wound around toward Rob’s house. “Stay here, guys,” she called after them. “No visiting this morning.”
Five minutes passed before Alison came outside, looking pale and scared.
“Jocelyn’s okay?” she asked again.
“I haven’t heard from Jeremy, which means she’s fine. Sit down.”
The air smelled divine under the arbor. Nikki took a sip of coffee, letting Alison get settled in the teak chair across from her.
“At my mother’s garden party, you told Marshall that Diara and Ryan didn’t spend much time at clubs or out partying. You said they dined privately with their friends.”
Alison kept her gaze downcast, concentrating on the coffee in her cup.
“You were talking about the Fab Four and their spouses.”
Alison said nothing, but her pale face was looking paler by the second.
“I need to know what you were doing for them, Alison. Besides walking their dogs. Costumes? Twice a month?”
Alison was quiet for a moment; then her voice was shaky when she spoke. “Do you think it has anything to do with Ryan’s murder?”
“I don’t know,” Nikki answered evenly. “Because I don’t know what it is.”
Alison pressed her lips together. She looked like she was going to cry, but she was fighting it. “The whole point was confidentiality. I signed something saying I’d never tell.”
“And go to jail for murder if you had to?” Nikki challenged. “To keep their secrets?”
“If this gets out, if Farid finds out . . .” Alison’s voice quickly took on a desperate tone. “No judge will let me keep Jocelyn. Making a skin flick fifteen years ago, before I was a wife or a mother, when I was young and foolish, that’s one thing, but this—” Tears finally filled her eyes and she looked away.
“So tell me, tell me everything and maybe we can keep it from getting out.” Nikki slid her hand across the teak table. “I’ll do everything I can to keep the information private.”