Chapter 23
“T
o me?” she questioned.
“To everyone. My friends. Mr. Bernard. That detective.” He looked as if he might cry. “Worse thing is, I lied to Mac.”
“Mac?”
“My boyfriend. It was last November. We were going through a rough patch.” He massaged his temples. “I was hanging out at The Python a lot. Mac didn’t like it. And he didn’t like Eddie.”
“But you did?”
He looked away, then back again. “Please don’t say anything to Ms. Bordeaux. I’d hate for her to be disappointed in me. See, I liked the free cocaine. I liked hanging out with Eddie because he had cool friends. Not really
friends
,” he corrected. “But you know, the guy with the free drugs is never alone. I liked being a part of that scene.”
The elevator behind Nikki opened and she stepped aside. She wasn’t afraid to be alone in the garage with Rocko anymore. She nodded to the guy getting off the elevator as he walked past them. She waited until he disappeared into the rows of cars. “So what did you lie about?”
“About everything.” Rocko scuffed his black boot. “The whole thing with Eddie.”
“The . . .
affair?
” she said, for lack of a better word. She heard a car’s engine start.
He nodded. “Mac and I were fighting a lot and there was this cute guy at the coffee shop who kept asking him out and I was jealous. I was jealous,” he repeated. “And I wanted to make Mac jealous, so I told him that Eddie and I had sex.”
Nikki actually felt badly for Rocko. He really
was
upset.
“After that, the lie sort of took on a life of its own. Mac told someone at work, who told someone else. It got back to Eddie.”
Nikki tucked her phone into her bag. “That’s how you ended up in the fight at The Python Club?”
“It wasn’t really a fight. I tried to talk to Eddie. He punched me. Then I got all pissed and called the police.” He exhaled. “It was all the drugs I was doing. Coke to get high, then downers so I could sleep. I wasn’t thinking right. I kept
wanting
to tell the truth, but the lie snowballed. Next thing I know, I’m meeting with Eddie and Mr. Bernard and Mr. Bernard is offering to buy me a new motorcycle to keep my mouth shut.”
“About a liaison that never took place?”
Rocko nodded.
“But . . . you said you met with Mr. Bernard
and
Eddie. Didn’t the fact that Eddie hadn’t had sex with you come up?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t Eddie’s money. He didn’t care. He just wanted me to keep my mouth shut. He didn’t want people thinking he was bi, or whatever.”
Nikki thought for a moment. “So what you said about the argument with Eddie this last Friday was true? You
didn’t
crash the party?”
He shook his head. “No. Everyone in town was talking about the party, about going. Eddie e-mailed a lot of people, inviting them. I had no intention of going. I only stopped by because I had to make the service call. I couldn’t find anything wrong; the filter was working fine. Then I left.”
“And you didn’t go back later that night?”
“No, ma’am,” he said firmly. “I went home and had a Lean Cuisine and watched a
Big Bang Theory
marathon on TV with Mac.”
“You didn’t kill Eddie.”
He shook his head again.
“And you don’t know who did?”
Again, she got a no.
Nikki squeezed his muscular forearm. “Go home, Rocko. Have a nice evening with Mac.”
He gave her a half-smile and walked over to a green crotch rocket parked near the elevator. She watched him put on his helmet, start the bike, and drive away before she walked to her Prius, two rows over. She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and was climbing in when movement caught her eye. Someone lunged toward her. She was almost in the car, prepared to slam the door, when Kaiser caught her by the arm and pulled her back out.
“I need to talk to you,” he said in a gruff voice.
She tried to jerk her arm from him. “Jeez! You scared me half to death.” She backed up against the car, feeling like an idiot. Her phone was now
in
the car, in her bag. How was she going to call the police to tell them where to find her dead body? “What do you want?”
He reached around her and closed the door, pressing up against her and pinning her against her car. She looked up at him. Up close, the swastika tattoo wasn’t any more attractive.
“You need to stop asking questions about me.”
“Do I?” She sounded braver than she felt.
“Yeah, you do, because, otherwise, you’re going to end up in the same place as Eddie. In the cemetery.”
Nikki was pretty sure she was shaking. “Are you saying you killed him and you’ll kill me if I don’t drop it?”
He frowned. “I didn’t kill Eddie. Eddie killed himself with drugs.”
She glanced in the direction of the elevator. The light was blinking. It was headed down again.
Please, oh, please, let someone be going to their car.
She looked at Kaiser. He smelled good, like Calvin Klein cologne, which didn’t seem to fit with the tattoo and the intimidation. “Eddie didn’t die from a drug overdose. He died because someone stuck a pair of gardening shears in his heart.”
“But it wasn’t me. And that detective cleared me.” He pointed at her angrily. “Which means
you
need to stop asking people about me, and stop bringing my name up around town.”
“What detective? Dombrowski?” She dared to look him in the eye. “He talked to you?”
“I got an alibi. He checked it out.”
What Kaiser was saying didn’t make any sense. He was a known drug dealer. He’d killed a man. Allegedly. He’d threatened Astro.
“But you.” He pointed again. “You’re stirring up trouble and I don’t like it.”
“But . . . you’re a drug dealer. People like you—”
“I said, let it go!”
He slammed the heel of his hand against her car and she jumped . . . but she didn’t burst into tears. She was scared, but she was more angry than scared. Jorge’s very life could be at risk and she wasn’t going to let this tattooed, anti-Semitic jerk get in the way of her finding the truth.
She looked him in the eye, trying to look as tough as she could. “You say Lieutenant Detective Dombrowski cleared you. You mind if I call him and confirm that? With my cell phone . . . in the car.” She pointed behind her.
He cursed under his breath and turned slightly away from her as if in indecision. Then he reached inside his leather jacket.
Nikki trembled. He was reaching for a gun. She saw the handle inside his coat.
Was this it? Was she going to die in a parking garage?
It’s funny how the mind works when you think you might die. Time really did slow down . . . almost stop. But the darnedest things go through your mind.
She thought of her mother.
As Kaiser slid his hand slowly out of his jacket, Nikki debated whether or not to close her eyes. Was it better to not know it was coming, or did she want the satisfaction of making him see the light die in her eyes?
“You need to stop asking questions about me,” Kaiser repeated, almost in a whisper. “You could cost me my life and the lives of others.” Then he opened his hand and flashed a badge.
She only saw it for a second. The first thing she saw was the
U.S.
in the center of the shiny gold shield. Then, the words
Special Agent
, then
Drug Enforcement Administration
.
Holy crappoli!
By the time Nikki realized what he had shown her, he was walking away.
“But the tattoo,” she called after her.
He touched his neck. “Airbrushed. Hollywood make-believe.”
She took a deep, shaky breath, got into her car, and locked the doors. Why, she had no idea. Only then did she exhale.
So . . . she guessed she could cross Special Agent
Kaiser
off the suspect list. As soon as her heart slowed down.
Marshall’s party, the following night, was every bit the dog and pony show he’d said it would be. His mansion on Beverly Drive was lit up like a Christmas tree, complete with gushing fountains, moving searchlights . . . and a red carpet to greet the limos. Had there been trumpeters in tights announcing the arrival of the guests, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
As Nikki waited in a line of cars for valet parking, she considered doing a donut in Marshall’s yard and going back the way she came. It had been a rough day. A rough week. And as much as she hated to admit it, as unfeminist as it seemed, all she wanted right now was to curl up in Jeremy’s arms, in his bed, and let him whisper sweet nonsense in her ear.
The trip to prison to see Jorge had been worse than she’d imagined. When she’d arrived at the visitors’ center, she’d learned that while Jorge
could
have visitors, she would not be one of them today. Apparently, the only way to visit a prisoner in the state system was to receive a questionnaire, signed by said prisoner, and submit it to prison staff for consideration. The female guard (who looked like one of Tolkein’s hobbits) denied her access to Jorge and had made a point of telling her she would be required to list all convictions and arrests, even arrests not leading to a conviction. Nikki had wondered if there was a statute of limitations on the arrests. She didn’t bother to ask; she had a feeling Jorge himself was going to be more of a hindrance to her visiting than her juvenile run-ins with the law.
Nikki had left the prison frustrated and annoyed. With Jorge. With herself. A week had passed since Jorge’s arrest, and she still didn’t know who had killed Eddie. She only knew who hadn’t: Rocko was off the list, as was DEA Agent Kaiser.
And then there was the matter of the threatening note left on her car seat. She didn’t know what to do about it. Her solution, for now, was to pretend it didn’t exist. She had more slippery fish to fry.
She had left a couple of messages on Hector’s cell phone, but had gotten no callback. She’d also called his house and talked to Rosalia. Rosalia had promised that her husband would return Nikki’s call, but she still hadn’t heard from Hector. If Hector didn’t get back to her in the next day, she’d track him down at work on Monday. She really didn’t think Hector was responsible for the note. It just wasn’t his style and, honestly, he wasn’t that clever. But she was trying to follow all her leads and, as her mother had suggested, not allow personal feelings to get in the way.
Next in line, Nikki pulled up and a valet in a tuxedo opened her door. “Ms. Harper. Good to see you this evening.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t recognize him, but that often happened to her. She grabbed her silk handbag off the seat and struggled to get out of the car. Why in heaven’s name Marshall had to make these things black-tie affairs, she didn’t know. Her dress was a navy blue satin sleeveless number with a splash of Swarovski crystals on the left hip: a Chanel copy of a 1930s original and one of her favorite gowns. She was quite sure that tomorrow the media would be commenting on the need for Victoria Bordeaux’s daughter to expand her wardrobe, but she didn’t care what the press thought. She liked the dress and she intended to continue wearing it.
The young man offered his hand to help her out of the car. Nikki’s heels had barely reached the red carpet when she heard the familiar whirr and snap of dozens of cameras. In this age of digital cameras, the press no longer flashed and popped. Instead, they sounded like a swarm of clicking insects.
Nikki flashed
the smile
.
“Ms. Harper, would you like to comment on the arrest of your mother’s gardener for the murder of Eddie Bernard?” someone shouted. A big microphone loomed in front of her.
Nikki strolled down the red carpet, smiling left, then right.
“Ms. Harper! You were seen going into the Los Angeles County State Prison today. Did you visit with your mother’s gardener?”
“Will Jorge Delgado confess?”
The questions came faster and Nikki tried to walk faster . . . with grace. And not fall in her heels.
“Do you think Mr. Delgado’s case will result in changes in immigration laws?” someone shouted.
“Does your mother feel responsible for Eddie Bernard’s death?” another demanded.
Nikki kept
the smile
plastered on her face and hurried through the front door, escaping the press as she crossed the threshold. As she entered Marshall’s enormous foyer, she realized her heart was pounding and she was breathing in short, shallow gasps.
“Ms. Harper!”
“Nikki!”
They were still calling after her.
“Nik, you okay?”
There were people everywhere. The room was loud and voices echoed off the Carrara marble floor.
“Nikki.”
She felt someone touch her bare arm and she spun around.