Authors: Cheryl Crane

Imitation of Death (29 page)

BOOK: Imitation of Death

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“Nothing changes until three forty-five.” Nikki touched one photo after another. “Now note the
bald man
in the pool.”

“What M. saw,” Victoria said, obviously captivated.

“Also, the gardening wagon near the edge of the pool and a dark splotch around it where it had been rinsed off with pool water . . . containing chlorine. Probably destroying DNA evidence. Eddie was dead by then, in the trash.”

Nikki took a breath. “What Mr. M. saw was you, Melinda, in the pool in your bathing cap, not a bald man. After you gave Eddie the drugs, you went into your house and put on your bathing suit and swim cap. So your hair wouldn’t be discolored for the funeral.” Saying the words actually made Nikki feel sick to her stomach. “You were wearing the swimsuit and cap when you killed him.”

Melinda just stood there, staring at the photos. Nikki was amazed that she still remained dry eyed.

“Four o’clock, the pool is empty and the wagon is gone,” Nikki said. “But the light is on in front of the guesthouse. Note there is
still
no light from the main house. No one has gone in or out of the main house in hours. In the last photo Mr. M. provided, the guesthouse light has gone out, and Wezley is still unconscious in the grass, but his dress shirt is gone.” She looked up. “You had Wezley change his clothes. He just didn’t remember it. You probably told him he had blood on him. Then, when I started snooping around, you sent him the threatening e-mails. The police will find them on your hard drive. Your e-mails made him think he did it and he was going to kill me to protect his father’s church.”

Victoria’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “How dare you! How dare you put my daughter’s life in jeopardy!”

Melinda took a stumbling step backward. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” Nikki said from between clenched teeth, trying to keep her emotions in check. “You planned your son’s murder shortly after he returned from rehab, un-rehabilitated. Probably the night you caught him snorting coke. You brought an entire cast of people together to take the fall. It’s the cleverest kind of murder, premeditated, yet adapted to the situation. Because of the fight between Eddie and Jorge, you were able to easily frame Jorge. And you were framing Wezley as a backup.”

Melinda took another step back. “No, I didn’t kill him.”

“You did. After the fight between Eddie and Jorge, you slipped into Mother’s yard and took Jorge’s pruning shears, while Jorge and Hector were in the shed.” Nikki frowned. “But you didn’t kill him with the shears, did you?”

Melinda’s eyes had become glassy. She knew it was over. “No,” she whispered. “I couldn’t do it.”

“The coroner found unexplained blood in his chest cavity. You used something else first, before you sank the shears into his heart, causing so much damage that the original evidence was destroyed. Again, covering your tracks.”

In the distance, Nikki heard a police siren, then two.

“What did you use?”

“I intended to use the shears,” Melinda murmured, folding her hands neatly together. “The drugs . . . he was so out of it, I don’t know that he would have felt anything. But the idea seemed so gruesome.”

Melinda was silent for a moment. Nikki waited.

“I used my diamond nail file, first.”

Victoria gasped.

“It’s very hard . . . and pointy at the end. But then he still had the faintest pulse.”

“So you finished him off with the gardening shears that have Jorge’s name on them.”

Melinda lowered her gaze.

“The threatening note. You left it on my car seat Wednesday morning when you came to speak with me.”

“What threatening note?” Victoria looked from Nikki to Melinda. “How dare you,” she said again, taking a step toward her neighbor. “It’s a good thing the police are coming for you, Melinda, because your life would be in jeopardy at this moment if they weren’t!”

“How could you?” Nikki asked. “How could you kill your son?”

“He wasn’t going to change,” Melinda said in a small voice. “He was never going to change, or be rehabilitated. For the rest of our lives, Abe would be affected by his son’s behavior.”

“You did it for Abe?” Nikki said.

“Because I love Abe. Even though he doesn’t love me anymore.”

“You fool. You stupid fool.” Victoria sounded like one of the many heroines she had portrayed on film. “Abe didn’t tell you?”

The sirens were at the Bernards’ gate. An unmarked car, followed by a black-and-white Beverly Hills police car, pulled into the motor court.

Melinda looked up. “Abe didn’t tell me what?”

“He was still in love with you. In love with you,
again
,” Nikki said. She met Melinda’s gaze. Melinda was crying, at last. “He had decided to divorce Ginny and remarry you.”

Lieutenant Detective Dombrowski hurried across the side lawn, two men in uniform behind him.

Nikki glanced at the detective, then back at Melinda, who had fallen to her knees. “No, no,” she cried, wrapping her arms around herself. Sobbing. “My boy. My sweet, dear boy. My Eddie.”

It was the first time Nikki had heard her utter his name since his death.

“Ladies,” Dombrowski said, striding across the stone patio.

“The photos are on the table,” Nikki told him. “They’re yours. I believe Mrs. Bernard will cooperate. I’ll be at Mother’s when you need me.”

Victoria linked her arm through Nikki’s and they turned and walked toward the gate together.

“Nice job, Nicolette,” Victoria murmured, patting her arm.

Nikki dropped her head against her mother’s shoulder for just a second, then lifted it high.

Was there anything on earth better than a mother’s praise?

Epilogue

V
ictoria walked onto the terrace in her pink silk robe and matching mules. “Did you see this, Nicolette?” She dropped a magazine onto the newspaper Nikki was reading at the breakfast table.

Nikki glanced at the cover of
People
magazine. She saw herself looking back. In a small inset was a recent picture of Victoria, striking, as always. “
People
magazine? I made the cover of
People
?” Nikki didn’t know if she was amused or horrified.

“The headline is in rather poor taste, wouldn’t you say?” Victoria took her chair at the table and pushed her empty coffee cup toward Nikki.

The headline across the top read:
Exclusive! Nikki Harper Nails Murdering Mommy
. Still staring at the glossy cover, Nikki grabbed the carafe Ina had left for them and poured her mother’s coffee. “Where was this taken?” She squinted. “In front of the police station last week?”

“Apparently on one of your trips to speak with Detective Dombrowski.”

Victoria sounded miffed, but Nikki didn’t know why. Nikki’s cell phone vibrated and she picked it up off the table. The message was from Marshall. OMG! it read. The entire message was in caps.

PEOPLE!

YOU LOOK GORGEOUS!

CALL ME!

Nikki tossed the phone down; she’d call him later. She studied the cover more closely. “I don’t look bad,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Thank goodness you had your hair trimmed. I told you it needed a trim.” Victoria sat back in her chair, crossed her legs and sipped her black coffee. Though she was still wearing nightclothes, she’d already done her hair and her face. She looked amazing in the morning light. “At least they didn’t put Melinda on the cover. Can you imagine her in that hideous jumpsuit they make you wear in prison?”

Nikki hid a smile. “You look stunning.” She pointed at the small photo of Victoria in the corner. “Didn’t you wear that Chanel to the Govenor’s ball?”

Victoria picked up her reading glasses, set out by Ina. She slid them on. “That’s a nice dress. Excellent structure.”

“What’s it say inside?” Nikki began to thumb through the pages.

“I have no idea.” Victoria gave a wave, dismissing it. “I didn’t read the story.”

“Wow.” Nikki opened the magazine. After a minute, she said “It’s mostly about you, not me. Look at these beautiful photographs.” She scooted her chair closer so her mother could see. “Didn’t I see this one on Mr. M.’s wall?”

Victoria leaned over, adjusting her readers. “Ah, with Frankie.”

“You with
Frank Sinatra
,” Nikki pointed out.

Victoria smiled, gazing at the large photo of her in a black cocktail dress arm in arm with Frank Sinatra and a small inset picture of Nikki wearing a vintage black dress that looked very similar. “You look like me,” she mused. She brushed her manicured fingertips on the glossy color photo. “I wish you wouldn’t do this, Nicolette.”

“I didn’t ask them to feature me on the cover of their magazine.”

“I mean put yourself in danger.” Victoria spoke softly. She looked up at Nikki with her Bordeaux blues. “I understand that you want to help others, but you could have been hurt. Or worse. Melinda was obviously not a sane woman.”

“Oh, I think she was perfectly sane.” Nikki sighed, not quite comfortable with the emotion she heard in her mother’s voice. It seemed as if she’d spent half of her life trying to get Victoria’s attention, but that spotlight, when she found it, was always too intense. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have killed me if I’d pulled some of the nonsense Eddie pulled over the years.” She looked at the photos again. She was told all the time that she resembled her mother, but she never saw it. Victoria was gorgeous, and Nikki . . . while she may not have been the ugly duckling, she never thought of herself as beautiful. But looking at the two photos, she was shocked to see her mother’s beauty in her own face. “Besides,” she joked, “you encouraged me. You didn’t want to see Jorge rot in jail, either.”

“Next time we hire a private investigator,” Victoria said firmly, gazing at the mother/daughter photographs.

“Next time?” Nikki shook her head. “Oh, no. I’ve learned my lesson. There won’t be a next time.”

Victoria smiled. “Darling, with Bordeaux women, there’s
always
a next time.”

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th St.
New York, NY 10018

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2012940002

ISBN: 978-0-7582-7954-5

BOOK: Imitation of Death

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