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Authors: Cheryl Crane

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BOOK: Imitation of Death
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Nikki couldn’t resist a little smile. She hadn’t wanted to like Ginny. She had always liked Melinda and Ginny had usurped Melinda’s position. Nikki had tried hard in the beginning to
not
like her, but she just couldn’t help herself. Nikki might not have liked her fashion choices, but Ginny was sharp and she said what was on her mind, even if it was unpopular. You definitely didn’t see much of that in Tinseltown.
Ginny tipped her glass and one tiny ice cube clinked. “My assistant took the ice bucket to refill it, but she never came back.” She glanced over her shoulder at her daughter, who was still engrossed in her phone messaging.
“Ice? I can get you some ice.” Nikki jumped at the opportunity to get out of the room. Seeing Abe and Melinda so broken was hard. So sad. Besides, the kitchen was always the pulse of a home, any home, whether it was a multimillion-dollar mansion in Beverly Hills or a rundown apartment in South L.A. If Nikki expected to hear anything about the circumstances of Eddie’s death, she had a better chance of hearing it in the kitchen.
“You don’t mind?” Ginny asked. She glanced at her daughter again and frowned. “I’d ask Lissa, but she’s in
a mood
. She was supposed to go clubbing with her friends and Abe forbade it. With all the paparazzi crawling all over us, he was afraid it would be misconstrued as being insensitive to her stepbrother’s passing.”
“The ice bucket?” Nikki asked, already headed for the kitchen.
Ginny shrugged. “Ashley took it.”
Back in the center hall, Nikki quietly pulled the doors closed behind her and went through the arches to a cross-hall. She passed the stunning great room, with its honey-glazed wood paneling and another marble-mantled fireplace lined with glazed herringbone brick. The mirror in that room was also draped in black. On the other side of the hall was a light-filled space that could have been used for a morning room or a music room. She walked past the wrought-iron black-and-gold staircase that was characteristic of the French Regency time period. Past the stairs was a handsome study with paneled walls and a floor of polished wood.
Up the stairs, Nikki knew, was a master bedroom with a balcony and his and hers dressing rooms and bathrooms. There was a “lady’s office” on the same floor and two additional bedrooms. On the third floor were four more bedroom suites. Below the stairs, in the basement, was a media room, a wine cellar, an additional bedroom suite, and a large man-cave, where Abe enjoyed spending time alone. It was a gorgeous house, one that maybe only a person like Nikki, who had seen a million gorgeous houses, could truly appreciate.
She followed the hall to the opposite wing, through a breakfast room with a double-barreled vaulted ceiling, to the cook’s kitchen, featuring a stone hood over a Lacanche range and a striking marble center island. Sure enough, there on the counter was a Tiffany & Co. sterling-and-crystal ice bucket. Ashley-the-assistant was MIA.
A tall woman with rich ebony skin, silky black hair, and the most amazing blue eyes, stood at the counter. She was wearing a white chef’s coat and teasing Victoria’s Uruguayan caviar into a tiny silver server.
The woman, who Nikki thought she recognized, looked up as Nikki entered the room. Nikki could tell that the woman recognized
her
. It was a familiar look. She got it a lot.
“Hi. I’m Nikki Harper, from next door.”
This was Ellen Mar, who had won a competition on a food wars show on the Food Network, making her an instant celebrity. Nikki had read an article a few days earlier, touting the Baltimore native as the latest, greatest TV chef in America. She had won the competition by creating desserts that appeared to be main dishes from around the world: Nutella crepes that looked like Pad Thai noodles with peanut sauce, a lemon tart that looked like Bath Street sushi, and cupcakes that looked like spaghetti and meatballs. Her prize had been a hundred thousand dollars and her own TV show on the Food Network, featuring this new, bizarre form of cuisine.
“Ellen Mar. It’s nice to meet you.” The chef walked around the kitchen counter, which was the size of a small aircraft carrier, offering her hand. “I’m a friend of Abe’s.” Her handshake was firm. Confident.
Nikki liked her at once. She didn’t seem intimidated by Nikki, nor overly impressed. “It’s so nice to meet you. My mother’s a big fan. We watched you compete on the
What It Isn’t
food challenge. I’m fascinated by the way you can take ground beef and make it look like a cupcake . . . or the other way around.” Nikki chuckled. “Though I have to admit it weirds me out a little. I sort of like my Jell-O pudding to look like Jell-O pudding.”
Ellen laughed; she had a musical voice. “That’s okay. The whole idea weirds me out a little, too.” She walked back around to where she’d been working at the counter. “That was definitely not my forte, originally.” She shrugged. “But the opportunity presented itself.”
“And now you’ve got your own show,” Nikki said.
“Thanks mostly to Abe. He’s got a small satellite company that’s going to tape the show right here in L.A.”
“Have you started taping?”
Ellen opened a drawer and produced a mother-of-pearl caviar spoon. “We start this week.”
The sound of Ashley’s voice caught Nikki’s attention. She was in a room off the kitchen, talking on the phone. Nikki glanced in that direction, then back at Ellen. “Well, congratulations.” She indicated the ice bucket. “I came for more ice.”
“I can do that, if you want to join the others,” Ellen offered.
“It’s fine. Really.” Nikki picked up the bucket.
Ashley’s voice was getting louder. Nikki could pick up a word here and there. She was talking about not being able to go somewhere tonight.
“Honestly,” Nikki said to Ellen, trying to half listen in on Ashley’s conversation. Apparently, Ashley had intended to go to a Jay-Z concert, but had had to cancel because of the death of her boss’s stepson. “It gives me something to do.” She walked to an icemaker installed in a drawer beside the commercial refrigerator. Like most million dollar kitchens, if you didn’t know what you were looking for on what appeared to be a solid paneled wall, you might be searching for twenty minutes. Fortunately, she’d been in the house often enough to know where the Bernards hid the icemaker. “I’m not good at this sort of thing.”
Ellen glanced over her shoulder in Ashley’s direction. She must have been catching part of the conversation, too. “I know. I feel that way, too. Which is why I’m in the kitchen, hiding in this chef’s coat,” she told Nikki. “But, honestly, who
is
good at a time like this?”
Nikki lifted her eyebrows. “My
mother
.”
Ellen’s face lit up. “Oh, my gosh. Mine, too.”
As Nikki used a plastic scoop to dump ice into the ice bucket, Ashley walked into the kitchen cradling a cell phone, her attention obviously on the call.
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to talk to her privately,” Ashley said in a gossipy tone, “but I can tell you one thing, Ginny Bernard is not all that broken up that the prick is dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one who did it.”
Chapter 7
N
ikki met Ellen’s gaze.
Realizing for the first time that she was not alone, Ashley stopped short. “I’ll have to call you back,” she whispered, sounding scared out of her pants.
For a moment, all three of them were silent. Nikki and Ellen both looked at the assistant, who looked back at them. Nikki slid the icemaker drawer shut with her knee, which seemed to make an amazing racket.
“I’m so sorry,” Ashley breathed. “I . . . I didn’t mean that. I was just . . . I obviously didn’t mean for anyone to hear that.”
Ellen cut her eyes at Nikki as if to say,
No duh . . .
Nikki pressed her lips together, amused by Ellen . . . intrigued by what she’d just heard. “It . . . it’s okay, Ashley.”
“Please don’t tell her. Please, please, please don’t tell Ginny I said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m angry. It’s just that I was supposed to go to this concert tonight with my boyfriend, and . . .” Ashley rushed toward Nikki, tucking her phone into her hip pocket. “I can’t get fired. I . . . I’ve got rent and a car payment, and—”
“It’s okay,” Nikki repeated, setting the three-thousand-dollar ice bucket on the marble counter. “I’m not going to say anything.” She glanced at Ellen.
“This is certainly none of my business,” Ellen muttered, turning around to grab a silver tray off the counter behind her. “I’m just the kitchen help.”
Nikki would have laughed in other circumstances. She liked this Ellen Mar. She liked her sassiness. “It’s been a crazy, awful day, Ashley. A lot of emotion involved,” she soothed, her thoughts going a thousand miles a minute.
What had Ashley meant? Was she really just running her mouth off because she was annoyed with her employer? Or was there more to the story?
“We all say things we rethink later. Things we wish we hadn’t said. Things we wish we had said differently.”
“I’m going to take this caviar in. I seem to have lost my help. He said he’d be right back. He was just going outside for a quick smoke. Anything I can get either of you?” Ellen asked.
“No, I should get the ice to Ginny.” Nikki reached for the bucket.
“I’ll do that.” Ashley practically snatched the ice bucket out of Nikki’s hands. “She asked me to get more ice forty-five minutes ago. It’s just that the phone has been ringing off the hook and I’m trying to answer Ginny’s phone and Mr. Bernard’s phone, and . . .” Her sentence trailed off as she tucked her head down and headed out of the kitchen behind Ellen.
Ginny’s assistant was getting away. Nikki had to think fast. “Ashley?”
Ellen kept going.
Ashley stopped and turned back, a look of dread on her pretty face.
“If you need anything.” Nikki spotted a notepad and pen on the counter. “If Ginny or . . . anyone needs something, you could give me a call. This is my personal cell number.” She jotted it down.
Ashley gave a quick smile, looking obviously relieved that Nikki wasn’t going to squeal on her. “Thanks.”
Nikki ripped off the corner of the paper. “And maybe I could get your number,” she asked as she offered hers. “Just so I can check on Ginny and the family, through you.”
“Oh, sure. Of course. “ Ashley gave Nikki her number.
Nikki tucked the slip of paper into the pocket of her slacks as she followed Ashley and the ice bucket out of the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, Nikki and her mother were on their way home, through the side gate, of course.
“You know anyone at the Staples Center?” Nikki asked, her thoughts still racing. “Or someone who has a connection to Jay-Z?”
“What’s a
Jay-Z?
”
“Never mind, just a thought,” Nikki said, as much to herself as to her mother.
“So,” Victoria asked. “You hear anything good? I thought maybe you’d run home for ice, you were gone so long.”
“Um . . . I don’t know.” Nikki wasn’t sure if she was ready to share with her mother. They walked across Victoria’s yard, side by side. “But I met Ellen Mar, you know, from the Food Network.”
“That nice girl who makes food look like other kinds of food? I met her, too. Pleasant young woman. You should have lunch. I think you two could be friends.”
“I’m not calling her for lunch, Mother. We just met, in passing.”
“Nonsense.” Victoria started talking about Nikki needing to make female friends.
Nikki’s thoughts drifted back to Jorge. She wondered if he’d been released from the police station; she suspected he hadn’t. She’d give Ina a call when she got back to the house. “Oh, but I got Ginny’s assistant’s phone number.”
“Excellent.” Victoria strolled beside her daughter; it was a cool evening, with a slight breeze. “And I got Melinda an appointment with my new hairdresser tomorrow.”
“Mother, tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Melinda’s son is dead. She wants to go to temple. She can’t very well go with bad hair,” Victoria reasoned. “So I called Fifi—I know, silly name, sounds like a poodle, but she’s French, or at least wants to think she is—and she agreed to come to the house, so Melinda wouldn’t have to drive to the salon.”
“That was very nice of you.” Nikki walked into the kitchen.
“Always willing to help a neighbor in need,” Victoria explained, going to the refrigerator. “I’m still hungry. Are you?” She opened the refrigerator door and peered in. “The good thing about Fifi is that she’s better than any psychiatrist. If Melinda knows anything about the case against Jorge, Fifi will find out.”
“You asked your hairdresser to interrogate Melinda?” Nikki asked, incredulous.
“Of course not.” Victoria frowned, still studying the contents of the refrigerator. “That would be inappropriate, Nicolette. I’m just saying, if Melinda feels like talking, she’ll talk to Fifi. Then, naturally, Fifi will talk to me. We could have Brie and French bread.”
“No thanks.” Nikki sighed, suddenly feeling tired. “I’m going to call Ina and probably turn in.”
“You’re worried about Jorge.”
Nikki stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. “Of course, I am.”
“So am I. I think I should call my attorneys in the morning, if Jorge hasn’t been released.”
“I told Jorge that.” Nikki lifted her hand and let it fall. “He doesn’t want a lawyer. He says he believes in the American justice system.”
“Silly boy.” Victoria sighed. “I don’t suppose it will do any good for me to suggest you stay out of this?”
It was Nikki’s turn to sigh as she rubbed her temples. “If Jorge’s arrested, and he refuses to get a lawyer, do I have any choice?”
Victoria let the refrigerator door close. She met Nikki’s gaze. Her tone was kind when she spoke again, bordering on motherly. “Just be sure, Nicolette, that this is about Jorge and not your father.”
“It won’t be about my father,” she answered softly. “It’ll be about making sure the justice system doesn’t fail our family again.”
 
Nikki was dressing the next morning to take the dogs for a walk when there was a knock on the bedroom door. More like a bang. Nikki knew that bang.
“Phone, Nicolette.” Victoria knocked again, not giving Nikki time to answer. “Phone for you. Nicolette!” Her mother’s pitch reached a high note on her name.
Nikki pulled a t-shirt over her head and opened the door. The dogs bounced up and down at her feet, excited to see Victoria. Of course, they greeted everyone that way. Oliver barked, but Nikki held up her finger to him and, for once, he obeyed and fell silent.
“It’s Ina,” Victoria said in a stage whisper. She was already dressed in her signature outfit: a jogging suit, this one pink, by Christian Dior. She wore a white silk turban that exposed only the front of her platinum hair, and a short string of pearls. “She wants to talk to you. Jorge’s been arrested, but he doesn’t want his mother to come to the jailhouse. He doesn’t want her to see him like that. Ina wants you to go. Can you go?”
“Ina’s still on the phone?” Nikki asked, pointing at the cordless house phone in Victoria’s hand.
“Yes, she wants to talk to you. I just said that.”
“Let me have the phone, then.” Nikki put out her hand, wondering why her mother was telling her all of this if Ina could tell her.
Victoria handed over the phone, but stood there.
“Ina.” Nikki turned around and walked away. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re worried sick about Jorge.”
“Thank you. I’m just sorry your mother’s name has to be dragged into this.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Victoria interrupted. “Maybe I should be the one to go to the jail to see him.”
Nikki ignored her mother. “It’s all right, Ina. Anyone can be
accused
of a crime. That doesn’t mean he or she is guilty.”
“He’s a hothead. He’s always been a hothead. I told him his temper would get him in trouble one day,” Ina fretted. “He says he doesn’t want me to come to the jail, to see him like that, but I’m worried about him.”
“Ask her if he’s been arraigned yet,” Victoria instructed.
Nikki walked farther away from her mother. The dogs were now racing back and forth between the two of them. “So he was arrested last night, or this morning?”
“I don’t know,” Ina said. “Sometime last night, I think. They held him for hours. Questioned him. Then they arrested him. But I don’t know—”
“Has bail been set?” Victoria asked. “Ask her if bail’s been set.”
Nikki couldn’t hear Ina over Victoria’s talking. “He hasn’t been arraigned, right?” she said into the phone.
“Tomorrow, he thinks, but he doesn’t know.”
Nikki walked to her window and opened the heavy draperies, letting the morning sunlight in. “He’ll be arraigned tomorrow, Mother.”
Oliver began to chase Stanley and bark.
“Well, bail can’t be set,” Victoria said with great authority, “until he’s seen a judge at the arraignment. Bail is set by a judge, Nicolette.”
Ina started talking again, but between the dogs barking and Victoria shooting questions at her, Nikki was only getting every other word.
“Ina, I’m sorry, could you hang on for a second?” Nikki covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Mother, could you do me a big favor and run them downstairs? They’re making so much noise I can’t hear Ina. I’ll be right down.”
Victoria looked disappointed, but walked out of the room with a flourish of her hand. “Come along, gentlemen. We’ve been dismissed. I suppose we’ll have to go to the kitchen for treats.”
At the sound of the word
treats
, the dogs took off after Victoria.
“Sorry, Ina. I’m back,” Nikki said into the phone. She gazed out the second-story window to see the pink and white azaleas Jorge had been pruning Friday afternoon when she had waved to him. She couldn’t help but think of the pruning shears she had seen in his hand. The same shears protruding from Eddie’s chest the next morning.
“Did Jorge seem to think he’d be allowed any visitors?” Nikki asked. “I’d be happy to go to the police station. He’s still at the Beverly Hills police station, being held there, right?”
“He’s still at Beverly Hills, yes,” Ina said. “I don’t know if he’s allowed to have someone. He just said he didn’t want me to come. Nikki, he says he doesn’t want a lawyer. But I have money saved.”
“I don’t think it’s about the money, Ina.” Nikki’s gaze drifted to the closed gate between their property and the Bernards’. She could see over a portion of the fence, between the hedges. There was someone on the pool deck in her bathrobe, fiddling with something on one of the tables. The area was still littered with glasses, napkins, towels, and other party remnants. “I think Jorge feels that he doesn’t need a lawyer, that no one needs to spend money to prove their innocence in America.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Ina huffed. “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous.”
Nikki smiled to herself, still looking down onto the Bernards’ pool deck. She couldn’t tell, from her vantage point, if the woman was Ginny or Melinda. Both had the same color blond hair and were approximately the same height.
“Do you think you can go talk some sense into him?” Ina asked. “He’s always listened to you, Nikki. He loves you. He’ll listen to you.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Ina. How about if I make a phone call, see if I can get in to see Jorge today, and then I call you back?” She turned away from the window. “How are
you,
Ina? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m fine. I’m with Rosalia. I’ll be fine. Just talk to Jorge. Talk some sense into my
hijo testarudo
.”
Nikki smiled to herself. Ina always called Jorge that—her stubborn son. She looked out the window again. The woman poolside turned toward the Bordeaux property. It was Melinda. She was just standing there now. Nikki’s heart ached for her. She didn’t know what she could do for a mother who had lost her son, but maybe she could keep another mother from losing hers.
BOOK: Imitation of Death
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