“Did
she
want the funeral today? Melinda?” Nikki didn’t know what she was going to do with that information right now, but she had learned from Rex’s murder that you never knew what would later prove to be a vital detail in an investigation. Rex March had been one of Nikki’s famous clients. He’d been killed in a plane crash, only to be found dead in Nikki’s business partner’s bed six months later. In trying to prove Jessica’s innocence, Nikki had learned a few sleuthing techniques and one had been to pay attention to details, even when the details didn’t seem, at the time, to be important.
“I don’t know. I just heard Ginny on the phone with someone from the county, then she was talking to Melinda and Mr. Bernard in Mr. Bernard’s study. Then I had to go over to the Wilshire to get her bags.” The moment the last words came out of her mouth, Ashley had a look on her face that told it all. She’d slipped up.
Nikki wrinkled her forehead. She knew she wasn’t supposed to. She knew she was probably Botox-bound, but she couldn’t help herself. “You had to go to the Beverly Wilshire to pick up Melinda’s bags?” she asked. “What bags?” Nikki leaned closer, taking the dog, still perched on her boot, with her.
After Abe had filed for divorce, Melinda had moved into the guesthouse, refusing to get her own place. According to what their housekeeper, Pete—weird name for a fifty-year-old Jewish woman—told Ina, Melinda insisted it was important that she be near Eddie during his outpatient rehab, following an inpatient stint. That had been two or three stints back. Once Abe and Ginny were married, everyone assumed Melinda would be on her merry way. Melinda hadn’t left, and Abe had refused to make her go, even when Ginny demanded it. According to Pete, according to Ina. Had Ginny finally gotten her way? Had Melinda moved out? But Melinda had been there at the party that night. And so had Ginny . . .
“You had to get her luggage?” Nikki prodded when the young woman didn’t respond right away. “So, Melinda had been staying at the Beverly Wilshire?”
“Yes.” Ashley shook her head. “I mean, no. I
did
go for luggage, but it was Ginny’s, not Mrs. Bernard’s—Melinda’s,” she said, cringing. “I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this.” She glanced at the gate. “I should go in.” She looked back at Nikki. “Thanks a lot for the tickets. I can still keep them, right? If . . . I don’t tell you about Ginny being at the Wilshire?”
“Of course!” Now Nikki felt guilty. Had she crossed the line? But she wasn’t doing anyone any harm, gleaning information about the Bernard household. She had no intention of telling anyone anything she heard . . . as long as she didn’t have to. This was about saving Jorge, not spreading gossip. “Enjoy the concert.” Nikki tapped on the car door.
The assistant gripped the steering wheel, but she didn’t pull forward. “I guess it wasn’t a big secret. I mean, people saw her at the Wilshire, I’m sure.”
Nikki waited: one dog on her foot, a leash tied around her ankles. She couldn’t go anywhere easily, anyway.
“So Ginny was moving out?” Nikki asked. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Not . . . really . . . moving out.” Ashley made a face. “Staying at the Beverly Wilshire doesn’t really count as moving out, does it?” There was a hint of disdain in her voice when she said
Beverly Wilshire
.
Nikki gave a little silent sigh of relief. She knew that tone. Ashley was annoyed with her boss about something and she had information, information she was pretty much dying to share.
“I mean, she has money to stay at the Beverly Wilshire, but I can’t have a raise? I’d make better money selling shoes on Rodeo, and the hours would be better.”
Nikki waited.
Ashley went on without further invitation. “Ginny and Mr. Bernard had a bad fight last week. Last Monday . . . no, it was Tuesday. She’d just had it with Eddie. You know, Melinda had made a big fuss over him getting out of rehab. Again. They had a big family dinner the Saturday night before Eddie died. Ellen Mar made this gourmet meal. They had family and friends over. There was no alcohol allowed, not even any wine.”
“Mr. Bernard and Ginny fought about the dinner?” Nikki asked.
Ashley shook her head. “Over the fact that Melinda had made a big fuss and Eddie was already using again. I guess Ginny caught him and told Mr. Bernard, but Mr. Bernard didn’t do anything. Ginny told me she knew it wasn’t for real the day Eddie got out of rehab. She was just hoping it
was
, you know, for Mr. Bernard’s sake.”
“So the argument was about . . .”
“Eddie. Same thing it’s always about. Ginny said she was tired of Eddie making a mess of their lives. She hated all the bad publicity. She and Melinda both did. She said Melinda just didn’t have the guts to say so to Mr. Bernard. Mrs. Bernard always got really upset seeing Eddie on the covers of the tabloids. And I guess it was all Ginny ever heard about at her charity meetings and stuff. Mrs. Bernard said it was bad for Mr. Bernard’s business, and Ginny agreed and thought it was time Mr. Bernard kicked him out.”
Nikki’s foot was beginning to fall asleep; she was getting pins and needles in her ankle, but she didn’t want to distract Ashley by trying to move the dog or unwind the leash. “So Ginny left Mr. Bernard over this?”
Ashley shrugged her skinny shoulders. “I don’t think she
really
left him. She was just trying to make a point. I heard her tell Mr. Bernard the night of the fight that either Eddie had to go, or she was going. I guess Mr. Bernard called her on it because he was the one who asked his assistant, Jason, to make the hotel reservation for Ginny.”
“And she actually moved out?”
“Not really. I mean, she slept there a couple of nights, but she kept coming back to the house to get stuff, to put stuff back in her closet. That’s how she ended up here Friday night and found out Eddie was having that party. She was
really
pissed. But . . . what you heard me say on the phone the other night. About Ginny not caring that Eddie was dead and her killing him. It wasn’t true. She was
really
upset. She felt bad for Mr. Bernard. I know what people say about her being a trophy wife and all, but I really think she loves him.”
A white van pulled in behind Ashley and Nikki glanced at the side of the panel van. “
Carrie’s Cleaning
?” she read to Ashley.
“Oh, shoot. I need to get inside. We called them to clean up the mess in the backyard. Melinda said she’d do it, but Mr. Bernard said that was ridiculous, for her to be cleaning up, considering the circumstances. He’s been really nice to Mrs. Bernard since it happened. Ginny’s been going out of her way to be nice to her, too. She’s the one who had me call this cleaning company and leave a message yesterday. Guess they got it.”
Nikki grabbed Oliver’s leash in her left hand and drew it over her head, unwinding herself. She unceremoniously dumped Stanley off her foot and took a step back. “You’ll let us know as soon as you know about the funeral, right? I know Mother will want to attend.” Victoria liked to attend all the important funerals in Hollywood.
“Sure.” Ashley pulled her car up a little to reach the security camera and intercom. “I’ve got your number.” She grinned, looking back. “Please thank Ms. Bordeaux for the tickets. I still can’t believe she got them for me.”
“Enjoy!” Nikki waved and took another step back, watching as Ashley pushed a button, waited, then spoke into the intercom. Nikki waited until the gate opened and Ashley and the cleaning van went in to the motor court. Only after the gate had closed again did she hurry across the drive toward the open gate to her mother’s driveway.
She was going to have to hurry or she was going to be late to her Monday Morning Meeting with the other agents at Windsor Real Estate. And the sooner she got out of that meeting, the sooner she could start finding out what happened the night Eddie Bernard was murdered.
Chapter 10
T
he fifth time Nikki’s cell phone vibrated and she checked it, Mr. Downy, her boss and one of the senior partners at Windsor Real Estate, turned to her mid-presentation. “Dear, do you desperately desire to take that?”
Did he realize how ridiculous he sounded with the whole alliteration thing? He reminded her of a caricature of Roger Sterling on the TV show
Mad Men
: tall, slender, white haired. Always with a hint of male chauvinism in his tone. A Marlboro dangling from his lip would have made the look complete. Nikki wasn’t a fan.
Nikki had let each of the previous calls go to voicemail and already left the room once to check them: Jeremy, just leaving a message between appointments, telling her how much he’d enjoyed the previous night, even without a sleepover. Her mother, who called twice and left no message, except to say she
didn’t want to leave a message
. And Rosalia. Nikki had tried to call Ree twice since Saturday, getting no answer, just a full mailbox. Rosalia left a message saying she hadn’t been able to get ahold of Ree, either, and she would have Hector stop by Ree’s place after work to check on her. Apparently no one in their family had heard from Ree since the fight with Eddie Friday night.
Nikki looked down discreetly at the phone in her lap; this call was worth taking. It was Ginny’s assistant. “I apologize, Paul. A new client. Possibly a big one,” she said, using her mother’s technique, the stage whisper.
Downy responded appropriately with a wolfish grin. “Always cleverly clambering for clients. That’s our Nikki.”
Afraid she’d lose the call, she hit the
CALL
button as she slid out of her chair at the conference table. She smiled, nodding to several of her coworkers as she made her escape. She could see the jealousy on their faces. Right now
they’d
have chatted with Ginny’s assistant to get away from Paul Downy.
“Nikki Harper,” she said into the phone.
“Hey . . . um. It’s Ashley. Ginny Bernard’s assistant.”
Nikki made a beeline for the door. “You didn’t catch me at a bad time. Not at all. How can I help you?”
“Um . . . I can call back if this is a bad time.”
Nikki walked out of the conference room, closing the door behind her so that Downy and the other agents couldn’t hear. “No, no, Ashley, you’re fine. You got me out of a boring meeting.”
She walked down the hall to a small breakroom, which was a misnomer. This wasn’t a place where a girl could take a break; it was the place she could feed, which was why Nikki generally avoided it. Basically a galley kitchen with a table, the breakroom’s counters were covered with boxes of snack crackers, bags of chips and pretzels, and plates of cookies and cake. Nikki wondered what happened to clients sending over a good old-fashioned fruit basket once in a while. The only fruit available today was an elaborate fruit bouquet with a note that read
Thanks a Million!
with a smiley face drawn inside the letter O; the fruit was covered in chocolate.
“So what’s up?” Nikki asked Ashley. She grabbed a clean, white Windsor Real Estate/90210! coffee cup off an open shelf, ignoring the enormous chocolate chunk cookie at three o’clock calling her name.
“Um, sorry, I was expecting an assistant or an answering service. This is really
your
phone number?” she asked, sounding excited and incredulous at the same time.
“I don’t have an assistant,” Nikki said. “This
is
really my number.”
“Wow . . . okay.” Ashley seemed to be trying to wrap her head around that. “I was calling about Eddie’s funeral. It’s tomorrow. At Mr. Bernard’s temple. On Burton Way. You know it? It’s at two o’clock.”
Nikki rifled through a couple of boxes searching for a respectable tea bag. She just wanted plain tea, not pomegranate, not chamomile, not green leaf tutti-frutti. Just tea. It didn’t have to be organic. It didn’t have to be gourmet.
Lipton
would be just fine. She nabbed one with the familiar yellow tag. “I know just where it is. Mother and I will be there.” She hit a red button on the faucet and filled her mug with boiling water. “So . . . that means the autopsy was completed?”
“I guess so,” Ashley said. “I have to take clothes to the funeral home later.” She sounded less than enthusiastic.
“Ginny and the Bernards are lucky to have you, Ashley.” Nikki meant that sincerely. She remembered how hard it had been to take a suit to the funeral home where her father’s body had been. And because his apartment in New York City had still been considered a crime scene, even days after his murder, she couldn’t even get in to get his own clothing. She’d bought a suit for him at Saks and taken it to the funeral home. Armani. Her dad had always liked Armani. It still had the tags on it. A suit that would only ever be seen on a dead man.
“Someone has to do it, Ashley.” Nikki dipped the tea bag in and out of the water. “The Bernards are fortunate to have you to do it. Otherwise, who would? One of his parents? Ginny? They shouldn’t have to do that today.”
No one should ever have to take their child’s clothing to a funeral home
, she thought.
“I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. I was thinking more like—you know—that I had to take clothes somewhere for a dead guy.”
“I understand.” She kept dunking the tea bag, her thoughts moving from dead Eddie to locked-up Jorge. “So the cleaning crew get the backyard in order? I know it was a mess.”
“All cleaned up, but we had a little
incident
.”
“Did you?” Nikki grabbed a spoon from a drawer, eyed it, dropped it in the sink, and tried for another, hoping this one would be cleaner. Windsor Realtors were known for their fashion sense and high-priced properties, not their ability to wash cutlery. “What happened?”
“There was some trash over by the guesthouse and I guess one of the crew stepped into some of Mrs. Bernard’s rose bushes. Those pink ones. She about had a cow; started hollering and swearing at the guy and when she realized he didn’t understand English, I guess she started cussing him in Spanish.”
“You’re kidding?” Nikki pulled the tea bag from the mug with the spoon and wrapped the string around it to get the last drop.
“That’s not usually like her, to go off on someone like that. Now, Ginny, you know how she is,
she
can cuss you.”
Nikki laughed as if she understood completely, though, in truth, she’d never been the victim of one of Ginny’s attacks. But she’d heard, through Ina, who heard from the Bernards’ housekeeper. “Oh, I know what you mean.” She tossed the tea bag into the trash can and grabbed a packet of sugar, treating herself. She usually tried to use sugar substitutes, but she really liked sugar. “So what happened? To the poor clean-up guy?”
“Mr. Bernard came out and smoothed things over. He walked Mrs. Bernard into the guesthouse and stayed awhile with her. I think Ginny was glad he handled things, but she was a little peeved that he was in there that long with her.”
“Huh.” Nikki added a second packet to her tea. It could turn out to be a long day; she didn’t want her blood sugar to run low.
“But you know Ginny. She’s always been a little jealous of Mrs. Bernard. Which I always thought was kind of weird, you know, because Ginny’s the one married to him now. Mrs. Bernard ought to be the one pissed at Ginny.”
“Relationships are complicated.” Nikki picked up the mug, blew on her tea, and watched the surface ripple.
Relationships . . . relationships . . . Everything was always about relationships. Maybe even murder.
“Hey, Ashley,” she said suddenly. “This is going to sound like a weird question, but do you know who was at the party Friday night?”
“No, not really. I wouldn’t have been caught
dead
at one of Eddie’s parties.” She paused. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. No pun intended.” She took a breath and went on. “Ginny had given me the whole day off, so I was in Monterey with friends.”
“Right. And I don’t suppose it was the kind of party with a guest list.”
“Definitely not,” Ashley agreed. “I imagine the usual losers were there, though, like with his other parties. The gym rats, the unemployed sons and daughters of other celebrities. Probably some hookers and drug dealers. You knew Eddie. You know what kind of people he hung out with.”
“Right,” Nikki said, trying to wrack her brain to recall who she had seen there that night who she knew, other than the Bernards. Then suddenly—just like in the cartoons—it was as if a light bulb went on over her head. She hadn’t
known
anyone at the party, but someone had introduced himself. Right before he had Victoria Bordeaux autograph his pectoral muscle. Astro. Astro Wharton. You couldn’t forget a name like that. “Hey, Ashley, do you know what gym Eddie went to?”
“Um . . . it was on North Bedford. That big one with the red sign. B. H. Fitness, I think.” She hesitated. “Why?”
Nikki exhaled. Why did she want to know? Because she wanted to talk to Astro. Because she wanted to know who had been at the party. Because she wanted to know who might have wanted Eddie dead badly enough to kill him and toss him out with the garbage. Because if she could find other possible suspects, that might give Jorge a fighting chance . . . even if he wouldn’t fight for himself.
“Ashley, I don’t think my mother’s gardener did it. I’ve known him since we were kids, and he’s not the kind of guy who would do something like this.”
“Well, I don’t know him, obviously. I have no idea what did or didn’t happen. Just what Ginny told me about the fight and the gardener pulling a gun on Eddie—”
“No, Ashley.” She set her mug down on the counter. “It wasn’t Jorge who had the gun, it was Eddie,” Nikki insisted. “I know. I was there.”
“Well, anyway. Did you listen to the radio this morning? They were following the gardener’s transfer to the courthouse, where he was going to be officially charged, I guess. Then to prison. It’s just so unfair,” Ashley went on with the kind of righteousness—and innocence—only the young could possess. “Politicians want to talk about how far we’ve come with equality for all races and all, but it’s just not true.”
“The radio? What’s been on the radio? You mean the news?”
“Talk radio. My boyfriend is obsessed with those stations and I give him a lift to work in the morning, so I end up having to listen to that crap.”
Nikki headed down the hall, taking her tea with her, leaving the cookie, still calling her name, behind. She wanted to slip into her cubicle-size office before the meeting let out and one of her coworkers cornered her and started asking questions about the body found by Victoria’s trash over the weekend.
“People are talking about how this is the case,” Ashley continued, “that will finally force legislation controlling illegal aliens entering the country. Meaning Mexicans,” she intoned.
“But Jorge was born here!” Nikki protested. “He’s an American citizen, the same as you or me.”
“That’s what I mean. My boyfriend’s parents are from Mexico, too, but he was born here. He’s working on his MBA, he has a full-time job, he pays taxes out the ass, but he still gets attitude from people. But, like, that would matter to one of those idiots on those shows.” There was a woman’s voice in the background, then Ashley’s tone completely changed as she said into the phone, “That’s right. Two o’clock. Then you’re invited to the Bernards’ afterwards.”
“Can’t talk anymore? Got ya.” Nikki walked into her office, which was only slightly larger than a federal prison cell. “I’ll let you go. You and your boyfriend enjoy the show, and thank you, Ashley.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.” Nikki sat down at her desk, placing the mug of tea in front of her. She glanced at her ex-partner’s bare desk. “For being a nice person?”
Nikki checked the time on the dashboard as she backed the Prius into a parking space on the street, only a block from the gym. She was going to be cutting it close if she wanted to make it to her appointment in Malibu on time, but this seemed too important to put off.
“Yes!” Nikki slapped the steering wheel with delight as the car eased into the parking spot on the first try. Her mother had been giving her a hard time about not driving the Jaguar she’d given Nikki on her fortieth birthday, but who could park a Jaguar the way you could park a Prius?
She hopped out and popped the hatch. She always kept her gym bag in her car, just in case the mood struck her to hit the gym. It didn’t strike her all that often . . .
At the front desk, Nikki explained to a muscle-bound chick with spiky, orange hair and a sleeve of tattoos that she was shopping for a new gym. She slyly refused to give the name of her current gym, explaining that it belonged to a friend and she
didn’t wanna hate
. Five more minutes of nonsensical chitchat and she had learned that Eddie
had
been a member there, that Astro was a trainer there, and she ended up getting her one-day pass for free. After turning down a Jamba Juice date with
Gwen
at the desk (
oh, gosh, sorry, I’m in a relationship
), Nikki hurried into the locker room and was on the elliptical trainer five minutes later.