The Dead and the Beautiful (16 page)

Alison rose from her chair. “I want to think you're right. I really do.”

“I am,” Nikki reassured her. She was already contemplating what her next step would be. Whom did she talk to next? “Thanks for talking to me. I'm going to run all this stuff around in my head and see what I can come up with.”

Alison groaned. “God help me. I sound guilty to myself when I hear my story.”

“Well, thanks for trusting me.” Nikki grabbed both cups of their now-cold coffee. “I won't share anything you told me with anyone. Lillie Lambert need never know you spoke to me.”

Alison followed her to the sink. “You have any idea who
could
have killed Ryan? I mean, everyone liked him. It just doesn't make sense.”

Right now, the only possible suspect Nikki had was Diara, which made no sense. She was shooting on the set of
Casa Capri
the day her husband was murdered. Nikki would have to look into that. She needed to make sure Diara was on the set at the time of the murder, which she was guessing fell in the window between one when Alison dropped the dog off and when Mars arrived. Which couldn't have been much time. She'd have to find out from Mars what time he arrived at the Melton/Elliot residence.

Nikki rinsed out the coffee cups and put them in the sink. “I'm going to go.”

“Right. Sure. I'll walk out with you. I should go anyway, and not force my brother into an awkward moment in front of his girls.” She followed Nikki out of the house.

“Ms. Sahira!”

“Miss Harper! Nikki Harper, do you have a statement?”

A group of men and women with cameras had gathered outside Jeremy's gate. The minute they saw Nikki and Alison, they started hollering to them and taking photos with cameras with telephoto lenses.

“Great,” Nikki muttered, heading for her car.

Alison stood on the front porch, frozen for a moment. “What do I do?” she asked, staring at the men and women outside the gate.

“Any comment on the accusation that you starred in pornographic movies in the nineties, Alison?”

Apparently, someone besides Marshall was reading Miss Tinseltown Tattletale's blog.

Alison covered her face with her hands and turned her back to the paparazzi.

Nikki was glad that while she was dressed casually, she looked okay. Thank goodness she'd taken the time to follow Marshall's advice and put on some makeup. If her photo was going to end up in a tabloid, she didn't need Victoria criticizing what she looked like. Nikki opened her car door, grabbed her sunglasses, and slid them on. “I'll wait for you, if you like,” she called back to Alison. “We can make a run for it together.”

“I don't want to go,” Alison groaned.

“You need to go to work, and you need to show
them
that you haven't done anything wrong.”

Alison looked over her shoulder at the paparazzi at the gate and then to Nikki. “I'll be right out.”

Nikki backed up her car and turned it around so she could leave first. Jeremy's car had a device to open the gate coming and going, but Nikki and Alison had to operate it manually. He'd just had the fence and electronic gate installed a couple of months ago.

Which was a good thing, apparently. Otherwise, the paparazzi would have been at his door. Nikki had grown up with the press and had experienced this—to some degree—her whole life. But Jeremy and Alison, they lived pretty quietly, despite Jeremy's previous fame. The only time anyone approached Jeremy with a camera was when he occasionally showed up at a cancer research fundraiser or was spotted at a restaurant with someone more famous than he was.

A minute later, Alison came out of the house wearing a baggy fleece jacket and dark sunglasses, and carrying a canvas messenger bag on her shoulder.

“Ready when you are,” Nikki called.

Alison got into her van and pulled behind Nikki. Nikki eased up to the gate, ignoring the paparazzi in front of her, put down her window, and hit the button to open the gate. The gate began to slide open and she eased the Prius forward. The crowd parted and Nikki stepped on the gas. She pulled onto the street and looked in her rearview mirror. Alison was right behind her, a death grip on the steering wheel.

They wound through the quiet neighborhood and then pulled onto Rockingham, a street made famous by the location of O.J. Simpson's house. Nikki glanced in her mirror again, waved to Alison, and dialed the number for the Age of Aquarius Aquariums.

“Age of Aquarius Aquariums, this is Mars.”

“Mars, hey, this is Nikki Harper.”

“You ready to have that fish delivered?”

She chuckled. “Not quite. Listen, what I called about was . . . do you know what time you arrived at Ryan Melton's that day?”

“Uh, a little after one. One-fifteen, maybe.”

That meant someone had to have gotten into the house, killed Ryan, and gotten out in under fifteen minutes. That was an awfully tight window. Was it even possible?

“And . . . I'm sorry to be a pain,” Nikki said. “But do you know what time you placed the call to 911?”

“Around one-thirty. One-forty at the latest. Hey, that was really cool of you to get those tickets for Moon and her friend to see the Dalai Lama.”

“I hope they have a good time. I have to run. Nice to talk to you, Mars.”

“You too. Just give me a holler and we'll get that fish tank of yours set up.”

“Have a good day,” Nikki said. As she hung up, she tried to decide what her next move should be. In the meantime, apparently she'd be cleaning Victoria's attic.

Chapter 16

“W
hy won't you tell me what she said?” Victoria pursed her lips in annoyance. She was in hair and makeup, preparing to shoot her next scene for
Casa Capri
. Then she had an interview with Ryan Seacrest. Nikki stood beside her mother's chair, watching her in the big mirror. She was as gorgeous as ever. To Nikki's surprise, the long days of filming seemed to energize her, rather than drag her down. Lately, it seemed as if Victoria had more energy in a day than Nikki did.

Saturday, while starting the attic project at Victoria's, Nikki had expressed her desire to snoop around the set a little and learn what she could about Diara, without being too conspicuous. Victoria had invited her daughter along for her Monday shoot. Nikki had had to call out at work, which she could be in trouble for because on Mondays the brokers all got together for Monday Morning Meeting. But she figured that she could get away with it this week since she was certain she was going to be the top broker in the agency again this month.

“I can't tell you because Alison spoke to me in confidence,” Nikki told Victoria.

“Could you lift your chin, Ms. Bordeaux?” the makeup artist asked. She was a cute Japanese girl with super-short hair and rosebud lips she had painted with bright red lipstick, staying inside the lines of her mouth so she had kewpie doll lips. Bizarre for seven-thirty in the morning. She didn't look a day over twelve, although Nikki guessed she was a little older than that since she was here and not in middle school.

Victoria raised her chin regally so the makeup artist could swipe a powder brush down her neck. “But I'm your mother. I won't tell anyone. And Asami won't either, will you, dear?”

“I don't hear anything anyone says,” the girl assured her. She dropped one brush onto the counter and grabbed another from a black brush roll that must have had fifty brushes in it.

“I gave my word, Mother.” Nikki sat down on a stool Asami had brought for her.

“I suppose you won't tell Jeremy either?” Victoria turned her head left, then right as Asami shaded her cheeks.

Nikki really didn't want to discuss Jeremy with her mother. With anyone. She hadn't talked to him since she saw him at his house Saturday. He'd told her he would call her. He hadn't. She left a message on his cell Sunday, while trying to put some order to her spare rooms for Alison and Jocelyn. So far, he hadn't called back. Nikki tried to tell herself it was just that he was busy with the kids. He liked to spend as much time as he could with them on the weekends.

But he was avoiding her. She knew that. Maybe he would call her tonight when he didn't see his sister and niece at the dinner table. They were coming to Nikki's today, after school. But then, maybe he wouldn't call her.

“What do you think?” Asami leaned over Victoria's shoulder.

All three of them stared in the mirror. Even clothed in a black cape to protect her clothing, Victoria was gorgeous. Her platinum hair framed her petite face elegantly, and her bright blue eyes shone even brighter than usual, thanks to Asami's tricks with her makeup brushes.

“Maybe bring the blush a little higher?” Victoria suggested.

“Definitely.” Asami went back to her brush roll on the counter.

“I haven't seen much of Diara, except when we're shooting,” Victoria's tone suggested casual conversation, but her glance at Nikki suggested more, which Nikki found interesting since her mother thought there was a chance Alison might have actually killed Ryan Melton.

“Do you know how the poor dear is doing?” Victoria asked.

Asami raised perfect black eyebrows. “She seems fine, which creeps me out a little. I can't imagine. If my boyfriend was murdered, I'd . . . go crazy. I'd be ripping my hair out, sobbing uncontrollably. There's no way I could work. Ah-ha!” She held up the brush she had, apparently, been looking for and went on. “And what's with the private burial? Just the Fab Four. Gabriela, in props, said she overheard that they all had dinner at Angel and Betsy Gomez's Saturday night. She said Ryan's already been cremated and stuck on a shelf. In the same mausoleum as Norma Talmadge at Hollywood Forever. We're going Friday, my boyfriend and me, to check it out.”

Nikki met her mother's gaze.

“You don't know Norma Talmadge?” Victoria asked. “The Talmadge sisters.”

Nikki shook her head.

“Then I was remiss in your early film education. Norma was a star in the twenties. She was the first to have her footprints in cement in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre.”

“Ah,” Nikki said.

“We should watch one of her films.” Victoria turned in her chair. “Asami. Would you like to come to a Movie Night? We're doing Thursdays now, although I've had to go to every other week with our shooting schedule. Either dinner or cocktails, then a movie. It's quite fun.”

Asami's dark eyes, ringed in blue eyeliner, got wide. “Your house, Ms. Bordeaux?”

“Yes, I had a screening room long before it was in vogue, didn't I, Nicolette?”

Nikki knew her mother well enough to know that it was a rhetorical question.

The young woman clutched a makeup brush with two hands as if it were a scepter. “I . . . I'd loved to come.”

“Wonderful. I'll have my secretary, my
assistant,
” Victoria corrected herself, “put you and your boyfriend on the guest list for sometime soon.”

Nikki had been trying to get her mother to use the word
assistant
rather than
secretary
for years. Victoria's assistant, Cora, who only worked part-time, was older than her mother and equally sharp. She reminded Nikki of Granny on the
Beverly Hillbillies
TV show. Until she opened her mouth. Then she was Margaret Thatcher. With extra attitude. Scary woman, Cora. Nikki didn't cross her.

“It's always a small group,” Victoria went on. “I like a mix of guests. I'd never invite a whole room full of actors or politicians. Dull.” She fiddled with a piece of platinum hair at her temple. “Do you have a cocktail dress, dear?”

Asami nodded.

“Good. That's what you wear. And nice heels. A girl your age and height should stay away from flats.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Bordeaux,” Asami gushed.

“Certainly. Are we done here, because if we are, I'll thank you for doing such a nice job with my makeup this morning. Of course, you always do wonderful work.” She glanced at Nikki. “Asami is a very conscientious worker. She started out here on the show as an assistant makeup artist, and now she's been promoted to a lead makeup artist.”

“Mostly because of Ms. Bordeaux,” Asami said. “When Ms. Andrews said she didn't want me near her anymore because I knocked over a water bottle she'd left open on the floor, I was afraid I was going to get canned. Then your mother requested that only I do her makeup”—she raised both hands—“and I ended up being promoted.”

“How is dear Beatrice?” Nikki asked her mother. “You haven't mentioned her since she didn't make your garden party.”

“Oh, she had some silly excuse. I didn't believe it for a moment. Do you know I heard she actually spoke to the writers about killing off my character?” Victoria grew more indignant by the moment. “When they said no, at least not yet, she requested she not share any scenes with me. How does she think that's supposed to work? How can our characters be enemies if they never speak?”

Again, rhetorical. “Um . . .” Nikki tried to think of a way to steer the conversation back to Diara. “So . . . Asami, what other cast members' makeup do you do?”

“It varies day to day. There are three of us makeup artists and two assistants.”

“Ah.”

“She does Diara's all the time, though,” Victoria put in. “Diara likes Asami.”

“What's she like?”

“She's nice. Not as nice as Ms. Bordeaux. Ms. Bordeaux is always giving me cool makeup from the freebies left here for her.” Asami began to roll up her makeup brushes. “But Ms. Elliot is nice. She gave me a Coach scarf once. Mr. Melton gave it to her. She said she didn't like it.”

“Did . . . Mr. Melton come to the set often?” Nikki asked.

Asami shook her head. “Nah, we hardly ever saw him. I think she liked keeping her private life separate from her work life.”

“Ms. Bordeaux?” Megan, the redhead Nikki had met the previous week, walked into the room. She had a headset on again and was carrying a stack of paperwork in one arm. “They're going to be ready for you in ten.” She spotted Nikki. “Ms. Harper, nice to see you again.”

Nikki remained on the stool. “You too. We were just talking about Diara and Ryan. Nice couple. Although Asami said he didn't come to the set very often.”

Megan thought for a second. “No, I guess he didn't. Which I always thought was a little strange because Angel Gomez and Julian Munro come all the time. And Kameryn's husband, Gil.”

“Any other men visit her?” Victoria injected.

“No, not really,” Megan answered. She shrugged. “Her agent, that's it.”

“Do Angel, Julian, and Gil come together?” Nikki questioned. “Or separately?”

Again, Megan thought. “Both. I guess they still have business together, you know.”

“You see one more than the other?” Nikki dared.

“Not really. Julian's pretty nice. He always says hi and calls me by my name. He gave me an autograph the first time I met him. I made the mistake of asking Angel for one once.” Megan rolled her eyes. “He was
not
nice.”

“Ginger, in food service, told me he threw a muffin at her once,” Asami put in, packing up her makeup case that was the size of a small trunk. “She brought the wrong kind to him.”

Megan frowned. “Hard to believe he's married to Betsy; she's so nice to everyone when she's on set. She doesn't act like her husband is rich and famous. She acts like a regular person.”

Victoria started to stand up and Asami hurried to help her remove the black cape. “I should go. Don't want to be late for my cue. Coming, Nicolette?”

Nikki rose off the stool and grabbed her Prada. “Be there in a sec.”

Victoria glanced in the mirror one last time as she went by. “Thank you again, Asami.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Harper.” Asami headed out of the room, behind Victoria, carrying her massive makeup case.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Nikki waited until her mother and the makeup artist were out of the room.

Megan stood at the door and touched her headset at her ear. “I'll be right there,” she told someone.

“I'm sorry. I won't keep you.” Nikki slung her Prada over her shoulder. She was wearing gray Armani slacks and a pale blue Chanel sweater her mother had bought for her ages ago. “Now, don't feel like you have to answer me, but . . . do you know if Diara was here the whole day, the day her husband was killed?”

“The detective asked me the same question.”

“Detective Dombrowski?”

“That's him. Good-looking. He was here Thursday or Friday.”

“The police don't think Diara had anything to do with her husband's murder, do they?” Megan breathed.

“I . . . I think everyone is just trying to get a timeline.”

“Right. Well, we all left early.”

“Because of the argument Diara and Kameryn had?” Nikki said.

“No one knows what it was about.” Megan shrugged. “Of course, after Ryan was found dead, Diara and Kameryn were fine. Kameryn's been sticking pretty close to Diara. Being a good friend.”

“Do you know what time the argument was?”

Megan shifted the pile of papers from one arm to the other. “One, maybe? We were getting ready to break for lunch. It was crazy because I've never seen them argue.”

One. And about the same time Alison said she dropped the dog off with Ryan. But Mars said he placed the 911 call around one-thirty. There was no way Diara could have argued with Kameryn at one in the CBS Television Studio on Beverly Boulevard and gotten to her house on Mulholland in time to kill her husband for Mars to find him at one-thirty.

“Thanks,” Nikki said.

“Sure.” Megan led the way out of the room. “I'll show you where they're shooting the next scene and get you a chair.”

Nikki followed. So she would have to cross Diara off the list of suspects.

Just because Diara didn't strangle her husband, didn't mean she wasn't a part of the murder. What if she'd staged the fight with Kameryn so she
would
have an alibi?

 

“Thanks for dinner, Aunt Nikki.” Jocelyn got up from the mission-style cherry dining table and pushed in her chair.

Nikki smiled. She didn't know when she'd become
Aunt Nikki,
but she liked it. Of course, Jeremy still hadn't called her, so maybe it wasn't going to last very long. “You're welcome.”

“And thanks for letting us stay a few nights.” She picked up her dinner plate. “I think Mom and Uncle Jeremy needed to be separated for a little while. It's just like they were little, the way they used to fight, Mom said.”

Nikki glanced across the table at Alison, who had mostly picked at the pasta primavera Nikki had thrown together for dinner. “Siblings disagree sometimes,” she said, wanting to defend Jeremy, but not sure how. “And this is hard. For everyone.”