Victoria slid a small plate and fork across the table to her. Nikki ignored her and plucked another piece of fruit from the bowl. “Do you know a Wesley Butterfield?”
“I do not.” She pushed the fork she’d offered closer to Nikki. “Do you think he’s a suspect?”
“I wonder if the cops think so. He was interviewed. Along with Hector, whose prints were on the pruning shears. But apparently this Wesley Butterfield’s prints were not.”
Victoria picked up a small pad of paper and a pen. She was a great one for lists and always kept paper nearby. “I think you should start a list.” She wrote across the top of the page in her beautiful penmanship:
People who wanted to kill Eddie Bernard
. She slid the pad of paper across the table. “Write it down.” She offered the pen.
Nikki hesitated, then accepted the pen.
“Write down
Jorge
,” Victoria instructed.
Nikki held the pen poised over the paper.
“Write it down,” Victoria repeated.
Nikki exhaled . . . and wrote down Jorge’s name.
“Who else is a suspect?”
“I haven’t been able to locate Ree . . . She apparently left town Saturday and hasn’t been seen since. There’s no way she could have physically killed him and moved his body, but I guess she could have gotten someone to do it for her.” Nikki wrote her name down.
“Who else?” Victoria encouraged. “
Anyone
who might have wanted to see him dead. No matter how far-fetched. Remember in
Tell Me No Lie
, it was my beloved maid of thirty years who tried to poison me. The police never suspected.” She held up her finger. “Because they didn’t know that I had made her give up her illegitimate child at birth and never tell a living soul.”
Nikki loved the way her mother could relate real life to the movies she’d been in. She wrote down
Wesley Butterfield
. She knew nothing about him, but why else would Dombrowski have questioned him unless he was a suspect? Then she added
Lissa
. Then
Rocko
.
“Excellent,” Victoria said, looking at the list. “
Ginny
.”
“Ginny?” Nikki glanced up.
“We heard her threaten to kill him the night of the fight. Eddie was driving a wedge between her and Abe. He was a constant embarrassment. And then there’s the matter of Eddie and her little girl.”
Nikki cut her eyes at her mother.
Victoria raised her hands. “One never knows what goes on behind closed doors. Write down Ginny’s name.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And then add my name.”
Chapter 16
N
ikki looked up, certain she’d misheard. “Pardon?”
“Write down
Victoria Bordeaux
,” her mother instructed. “As a suspect.”
“Mother—”
“I’m serious. If you’re going to do this, it has to be done right. You can’t become emotionally involved. You can’t decide, based on your
feelings
, that Jorge didn’t kill Eddie . . . or that Jorge’s little cousin didn’t kill him, or the wicked stepmother . . . or me. Your investigation has to be based on facts.”
Nikki set her pen down. Took a sip of coffee. “But you’re
not
a suspect.”
“Why not?”
Nikki waited, totally perplexed, amused, and intrigued, all at the same time. She thought she knew her mother well, but Victoria was
always
unpredictable; she’d give her that. “You’re not a suspect because . . . you had no reason to kill Eddie?” Nikki asked.
“You don’t know that. What you
do
know”—Victoria held up her finger—“is that I once threatened to kill him.”
“You did?”
“Don’t you remember that time I called you in New York and told you I came home from a première to find Eddie and three naked women in
my
pool? And they were smoking
marijuana
.” She whispered the word. “On my pool deck. The Bernards’ pool had been drained for repairs,” she added as an aside. “I told you I told Eddie Bernard to get off my property and take his little floozies with him, and if I ever caught him in my pool, uninvited, again, I’d wring his worthless neck.”
“That’s not exactly a death threat . . . and it
was
at least ten years ago.”
“What time was Eddie killed?” Victoria asked.
“Sometime early Saturday morning, between one and four, according to the coroner’s report.”
“Where was I between one and four a.m. the morning of Eddie’s murder?”
“Mother, this is—”
“Where was I?”
Nikki exhaled. “This is silly,” she muttered. But she had little choice but to play along. “You were in bed. Asleep. Wearing that cute little black silk mask”—she drew two fingers across her eyes—“to block any light that might creep in from under the drapes.”
Victoria didn’t even crack a smile. “Do you have proof I was in my room?” She went on before Nikki could answer. “You don’t. And I don’t. None that I would be willing to reveal, at least. And I don’t have any security cameras monitoring the grounds and neither do the Bernards. For all you know, I could have done it.”
Nikki gave her mother a look. “
How
could you have done it?”
“When I excused myself to go to the restroom when I first returned to the terrace with Marshall after the fight at the Bernards’, I could have gone in through the kitchen and out another door. While Jorge and Hector were loading their trucks and doing whatever it is they do to pack up to go, I could have taken Jorge’s shears that he left in that bucket beside the house. I could have then hidden them until I had the opportunity, in the middle of the night, to slip out. I could have killed Eddie while he was immobilized by whatever alcohol and drugs he had consumed and then transported his body to the alley.”
“Mother—”
Victoria threw up her hand, silencing Nikki. “I could have moved the body. I’m strong for my age and size”—she held up one finger—“and you know it.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I got Amondo to help me. He’d kill for me if I asked . . . and go before a firing squad without ratting on me. Then I could have returned to bed, all in time for Ina to find the body.” She opened her arms and let them fall. “So, like it or not, I’m a suspect.”
What Victoria was saying was so preposterous that Nikki didn’t know what to say. She would have laughed, but she could tell by the look on Victoria’s face that she was serious.
“Write down my name.” Victoria tapped the piece of paper.
Nikki hesitated, then wrote
Victoria Bordeaux
.
“Excellent.” Victoria picked up her paper, took a sip of her orange juice, and glanced at her daughter again. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work? Or are you taking the day off? You’ve got a lot of leads to follow up on today.” She began to scan her newspaper. “Did you know the president of the United States is coming to California today? His helicopter lands at Stanford University at three. Isn’t that interesting?”
Nikki picked up her list of suspects and her cup of coffee and headed inside. She hadn’t thought about taking the day off, but maybe it would be wise. “Have a good day.”
“You, too, darling.” Victoria’s attention remained on her paper. “Say hello to Ellen when you see her for lunch.”
Nikki grabbed a second cup of coffee, then a shower, and sat down on her bed in her robe, hair piled up on top of her head in a towel, and opened her laptop. She Googled Wesley Butterfield. A little trick Marshall had taught her. He was always Googling friends, acquaintances, what have you. She got a couple of hits for Facebook and MySpace pages, but it was a prepubescent in New Jersey . . . not the right guy.
She Googled the name again, and found a
Wezley
Butterfield. In his early thirties. Resided in Los Angeles.
Bingo
. A Wikipedia page. She scanned it.
He was the son of a man named Colin Butterfield, who was the founder and leader of a large independent church in L.A. That’s how Nikki knew the name! The Church of Earth and Beyond followed beliefs that involved self-improvement through various means of counseling and health practices and . . .
alien life forms.
Colin Butterfield had been a Scientologist and had broken off—or maybe been kicked out, she couldn’t tell—from the group a few years ago, forming his own church. The previous year, the church had been recognized by the federal government as a religious organization and given tax-free status.
Nikki scrolled down to the middle of the page to check out a grainy photograph. The caption read
Colin and Wezley Butterfield, 2011
. She recognized the father right away. He’d been featured on the cover of a magazine recently. But the thirty-something young man with dark, curly hair looked vaguely familiar, too.
Nikki grabbed her Cheaters off the bedside table and slid them on. She leaned closer to the computer screen, then pulled her glasses off in surprise. Wezley Butterfield was the disheveled man she’d seen in the alley Saturday morning.
Nikki Googled Wezley Butterfield, this time with a
z
, and on the second page of results, found a blurb from the
L.A. Times
from the year before. He’d been arrested for a D.U.I. . . . and for possession of cocaine—Eddie’s favorite party drug—with the intent to sell. Was that why the police had questioned Wezley multiple times? Obviously, he must have been at Eddie’s party. How else would he have ended up in the alley that morning, looking the way he had? Did they suspect he provided the cocaine Eddie used the night he was killed? Or had he just been
with
Eddie that night? Could he account for Eddie’s final hours?
Nikki closed her laptop and went to her window. Before she left for work, she wanted to speak to Hector, but she hadn’t heard the mower in a while. She couldn’t see him from her window. He must have gone.
She got dressed, thinking her mother was right; there was no way she’d have time to work today. She’d take a personal day. Her first stop would be Astro’s gym. She was curious as to why he hadn’t contacted her. He’d seemed like such a fan of Victoria’s that she thought for sure he’d take advantage of having Nikki’s personal number. She wanted to see if he knew anything about Wezley, and if he knew what time the party broke up that night. Had Eddie been murdered during the party, or after?
Dressed in black jeans, short boots, and a cute Matsuda cardigan sweater over a tank, Nikki hurried out of her bedroom. On impulse, she stopped at her mother’s bedroom door and knocked. No answer. She slipped in. Victoria had no privacy issues; Nikki was welcome in any room in the house, but she always felt strange in her mother’s pink boudoir without her being present.
Nikki opened the top drawer of a pretty little French acacia wood dresser and grabbed three signed glossy photos of her mother. Surely Astro would love to have one, and there was just no telling when extras would come in handy. She’d throw them in the trunk of her car. Next to the photos, she located a manila envelope of gift certificates and coupons Victoria received in swag bags. These gift bags were given to her and other celebrities in green rooms, at premières, and at fundraisers. The two bottom drawers held more swag gifts: perfumes and colognes, watches, cashmere pajama bottoms, jewelry, makeup, and who knew what else. And Nikki was sure there were several small appliances like toasters in a closet somewhere. Victoria regifted the gifts, and encouraged Nikki to do the same.
Nikki flipped through the gift cards. She was sure she’d seen one for Villa Blanca. She’d treat Ellen to lunch. She found gift cards for all sorts of restaurants, gyms, and golf courses. There were also gift cards for manicures, facials, a
surf butler
—whatever the heck that was—at a hotel on the beach. Even a five-hundred-dollar gift card at a tattoo parlor that had been featured on the TV reality show
LA Ink
. Nikki chuckled. Her mother could certainly use
that
one. . . . Finally, at the bottom of the pile, she found the one she was looking for. She closed the drawer with her hip.
Next stop, B. H. Fitness . . .
Nikki walked into the gym through the double-glass front doors, her handbag slung on her shoulder with the signed Victoria Bordeaux eight-by-ten glossy inconspicuously tucked inside. She’d even had her mother personalize it. The Sharpie signature on Astro’s bare chest would eventually fade, but glossies on acid-free paper could last decades.
Nikki was disappointed that she didn’t spot Astro in the open workout room. She didn’t see Kaiser or his female sidekick, either. However, Gwen, with the spiky orange hair, greeted her with a grin at the front counter.
Gwen folded her hands and leaned on the counter. Leaned close. “Change your mind about that Jamba Juice?” she asked seductively.
The smile.
“Sorry.
Still
have that boyfriend,” Nikki said sweetly. She glanced around. “I . . . I was hoping to find Astro.”
Gwen was wearing tiny, tight, black boy shorts and a pink tank top that accentuated her muscular arms and the tattoos that ran from the shoulder to just below the elbow of her left arm. Nikki tried not to stare; there were bright green vines, big flowers in pink and blue, and . . . were those
monkeys?
“You like?” Gwen asked, running her hand down her arm.
“It’s really . . . something,” Nikki said enthusiastically. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with monkey tattoos.”
“It’s an original design.” She turned sideways so Nikki could get a better look. “This one’s a tamarin.” She pointed to an orange monkey that was entirely too realistic looking to be on a woman’s arm. “And this one’s a snub-nose.”
That one’s creepy, is what it is
, Nikki wanted to say, but she pretended to be interested.
“You have any?”
Nikki looked up. “Any?”
“Tats.”
“Me? Oh, no.” Nikki shook her head. “I have a hard time ordering lunch. I’d never be able to come up with something I wanted on my body permanently.” She took a step closer, placing her hands on the countertop. “So, Gwen . . . have you seen Astro?”
“He, um”—she glanced up, in the direction of the open gym—“called in sick today.”
“So he didn’t come in at all? Not even for client appointments?”
Gwen shook her head.
That was weird. Astro didn’t seem like a guy who called in to work sick. “Was he here
yesterday?
”
Gwen looked around again, obviously checking to see if someone was there. A particular someone. “Called in sick yesterday, too.”
Nikki frowned. That seemed doubly odd. “So, have you seen him since Monday, when I was here?”
The young woman looked uneasy. “No. He left Monday. Kind of suddenly.”
“Do you know why?”
Gwen hesitated. “I’m really not supposed to talk about employees. You know. HIPAA and all.”
“I think that pertains to medical records.”
Gwen nibbled on her lower lip.
“Did you give Astro my business card the other day? When I couldn’t find him?”
Gwen grimaced. “Look, I really like you. I think you’re super cute, in a conservative kind of way.”
Conservative?
Nikki glanced down at the tight black jeans that were practically jeggings, her cool Japanese designer cardigan, and semi-high-heeled boots. She thought she’d left the house looking modern and hip.
“I
really
don’t want any trouble,” Gwen said in obvious discomfort.
“And I’m not here for trouble.” Nikki held up both hands. “Definitely not trouble. I’m just trying to find Astro.”