The Dead and the Beautiful (8 page)

“I don't know. I'm not sure they have any. If they had a stronger case, would they have let her out on bail?”

“Marshall said Lillie Lambert is her lawyer. That woman could get Jack the Ripper out on bail.”

“You've been talking to Marshall?” Nikki couldn't help but feel perturbed. “Since when do you two chat?”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “We've become friends, Marshall and I. We talk all the time.”

“About me?”

“Of course.” Victoria took a bite of the cracker. “But about other things, too. Anyway, he also said that your friend, that nice-looking police detective, is in charge of the case. Can't you just ask him what evidence the police have against the sister?”

“Detective Dombrowski is not going to tell me what evidence they have in a murder case.”

Victoria arched one perfect brow. “Well, how do you know that, if you don't ask, Nicolette?”

“What makes you think I even want to ask?”

Victoria continued to nibble on the cracker. “Because I know you and I know you won't just let it go. Ina says that Maria said you and Jeremy had words about the sister.”

“Alison.”

She patted her mouth with her napkin again. “Ina says that Maria says that you're convinced the sister didn't do it.”

Nikki could feel the lines on her forehead. “Does Ina say that Maria said anything else?”

“The daughter leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor.”

Nikki couldn't tell if her mother was trying to be funny or not.

Victoria met Nikki's gaze. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“I'm curious, that's all. Alison just isn't the type to do something like this. She's not even the type that a man like Ryan Melton would ever notice, let alone
speak
to. Something just doesn't add up.”

“So find out what that is, Nicolette.”

Nikki half-smiled. Her mother never ceased to amaze her. “Are you saying you think I should look into this?”

Victoria unscrewed the cap on her water bottle. “Are you seeking my approval?”

Nikki's gaze shifted to the sounds of laughter as Kameryn, Diara, and Angel appeared on the opposite side of the studio. Their laughter didn't seem quite like grief counseling to her.

Victoria glanced over her shoulder, then back at Nikki. She took a sip of water. “I'd check with the nice-looking detective.”

Chapter 8

T
he next morning, Nikki walked into Jeremy's kitchen. Alison sat at the kitchen counter. She was still in her pajamas. Her hair was a mess and she hadn't put her contacts in. Her wire-frame glasses sat too far out on the end of her nose.

She looked up, startled when she saw Nikki. She pushed up her glasses. “Jeremy's gone . . . to work.”

“I know.” Nikki dropped her Prada on the counter and nodded to Maria, the housekeeper, who did far more than just keep the house. She washed clothes, ran errands, and supervised the children. She'd been with Jeremy and his family since Katie was born, and had been a godsend when Marissa was dying. “Good morning, Maria.”

“Good morning, Miss Nikki.” Maria was a slender woman in her early fifties who had been born in Mexico but claimed Mayan descent. There was something about the way she carried herself that made Nikki see her as an exotic Mayan queen or princess. Even in khakis and a polo. She and Victoria's housekeeper, Ina, were neighbors and good friends. Which explained how Ina knew what had transpired at Jeremy's house over the weekend.

Maria dried her hands off with a kitchen towel, threw a disapproving look in Alison's direction, and walked out of the kitchen.

Nikki opened a cupboard and pulled out a coffee mug. She was on her way to work; fortunately, she kept her own hours at Windsor Real Estate. She poured herself a cup before turning to Alison. “Okay, so what do they have on you?”

“What?”

“What do the police have on you?” Nikki asked. She opened a drawer, grabbed a spoon, and dug a spoonful of sugar out of the bowl on the counter. Jeremy didn't have sugar substitute in his house. He didn't believe in it. He jogged to keep his waistline trim.

Alison stared into her cup as if coffee grinds would rise up and give her the answer.

Nikki reached into the refrigerator behind her and retrieved a carton of milk. “I can't help you convince Jeremy that you didn't do this if you don't talk to me.”

Alison slowly lifted her gaze, tears in her eyes. “Why would you do that?” she whispered. “Why do you care if he believes me or not?”

Nikki poured milk into her coffee. It was a good question. One she'd been asking herself since she defended Alison to Jeremy days ago. “Because I don't think you did it,” she said simply.

Alison pressed her lips together. “I have a lawyer. She says I won't go to jail.”

“Considering your track record and Lillie Lambert's, that doesn't mean you're innocent. At least it won't to Jeremy.” Nikki returned the milk to the refrigerator and took a sip of her coffee before she spoke again. “I'm not saying that to be mean, I just—”

“I know. Because of what I did before.” Alison hung her head. “But that was a long time ago. I'm not the same person I was. You have to believe me.” She looked up. “
Someone
has to believe me,” she added in a little voice.

Nikki nodded and sipped her coffee. That was it. That was why she was here. That was why she would do whatever needed to be done, to prove to Jeremy that people could change. That Alison wasn't the same girl who had been in that car the night of that robbery and that she didn't kill Ryan Melton.

Alison looked up at Nikki. “Do you think he'll ask me to leave? Jeremy? If he asks me to leave here, I . . . I don't know where we'll go. I can't go,” she said, her voice quavering. “If I leave here, this
stable environment,
the judge will give Farid custody and I”—she looked up at Nikki—“I can't live without my daughter.”

“She's the one you need to think about, Miss Alison.”

Nikki looked up to see Maria coming back into the kitchen, a laundry basket in her hands. The woman washed a lot of laundry.

“I'm trying, Maria,” Alison bleated.

Nikki walked around the corner of the island to give Maria room to put away the dish towels from her basket. “So try hard to think what evidence the police could have against you. They have to have something other than the dog leash. Did they find something on the security tapes?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No way.”

“Then why did Detective Dombrowski issue a warrant for your arrest?”

Alison grabbed both sides of her head. “My lawyer said I can't talk about the case.”

Nikki groaned and took another sip of coffee. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe Alison really didn't know what the cops had on her. When she was arrested, she would have been told what she was charged with, but the police wouldn't necessarily have told her what evidence they had against her. According to the episodes of
Law & Order
that Nikki watched, that information might not be divulged until the discovery phase of the case in pre-trial.

“Okay,” Nikki said, refocusing. “Can you tell me who cleaned Ryan's fish tank? What was the guy's name?”

Alison looked up, her eyes big.

“Alison, Detective Dombrowski mentioned his name in front of me. I saw the guy in the living room at the Melton house. I spoke to him. It's not a State secret.”

“People who won't help themselves,” Maria muttered. She slid a drawer shut maybe a little harder than she needed to and carried her basket out of the kitchen.

“Maria hates me,” Alison whimpered. “Everyone hates me. Everyone thinks I did this terrible thing and I didn't.”

“Everyone doesn't hate you. But everyone is getting a little impatient with you. What was his name, Alison?” Nikki thought for a minute. “It was something bizarre, wasn't it? A planet?” She wracked her brain.
Pluto? No, that's a cartoon dog.

“Mars,” Alison whispered. “Age of Aquarius Aquariums in Venice. He's got a store there.”

“Okay.” Nikki blinked. Crazy name. But it worked with
Mars.
Sort of. “Okay, that's a good start. I'll talk to Mars. See what he knows.”

“You will?” Alison stared at Nikki. “Are . . . are you allowed to do that?”

“What? Talk to a guy about a fish tank?” Nikki grabbed her bag. She had a house to show on Mulholland Drive. Then she'd head to Venice and try to catch Mars at his store. “Sure. Why not? I've been thinking about getting a fish tank.”

“Really?” Alison asked.

Nikki scowled. “Of course not. But he doesn't have to know that.”

 

The house Nikki went to see was just east of Sumatra Drive on Mulholland. A private driveway led to an amazing Mediterranean villa with soaring cathedral ceilings, custom plaster treatments, and hand-carved moldings. It was 8,000 square feet with five bedrooms, seven baths, and had a hand-leaded glass double door that opened into the front entryway. What was most incredible about the house were the paintings by a renowned Italian artist who had supposedly made his name restoring paintings in the Vatican. Nikki would have to do some research into the artist, but she was pretty certain she could find a buyer at the ten million–dollar price the owners were looking for.

Leaving the gated property, Nikki turned west to head toward Venice. She only passed two houses before she came to the Melton/Elliot house where she'd been the week before. As Victoria had told her, by word of mouth from the housekeepers, people had, indeed, set up a shrine outside the gate. Nikki slowed down, unable to keep from staring. Interestingly enough, there were people at the gate, too. Fans, she guessed.

Nikki didn't know why, but she pulled over, parking behind a yellow VW Bug. She got out and walked back toward the closed gate of the Melton/Elliot house. Fans, mourners, whatever you wanted to call them, had heaped flowers on the driveway in front of the gate. There were photographs of Ryan Melton, some torn out of magazines, two in photo frames. There were candles and stuffed animals; a large white teddy bear stared back at Nikki from the wrought-iron gate.

Nikki couldn't decide if the tribute to Ryan Melton was touching or creepy.

There were two young women on the edge of the driveway. One was crying. The other stood like a mourner, her head down, her hands clasped.

Nikki made eye contact with the crier. She was in her early twenties, dark hair, wearing a Carney's employee T-shirt under her jacket. Nikki nodded.

The girl nodded in return, then offered a half smile. “It's hard to believe, isn't it?” the girl said.

Nikki looked at her.

“That someone could kill an amazing man like Ryan Melton.” She looked at Nikki, her pale blue eyes entirely serious. “Who would do such a thing? Who would rob the world of such beauty?”

“He was perfect for Diara,” the mourner, a blonde, put in. “They were the perfect couple. So beautiful together.”

Nikki noticed that she, too, was wearing a Carney's T-shirt. Both must have worked at the iconic restaurant/diner world famous for its hot dogs.

“I mean . . . what kind of world are we living in?” the crier continued. “That we can't appreciate such beauty. That we have to destroy it.”

Nikki didn't know what to say. Fortunately, it didn't seem to matter.

“I mean . . . all human life is precious, obviously.” The crier wiped at her wet face. “But . . . Ryan . . . he was . . . special. A gift from God. Wasn't he?” She looked at Nikki with her big, teary eyes.

“He . . . he was,” Nikki agreed, feeling completely awkward. What was she doing here? She had a fish specialist to call on in Venice and she had a pile of paperwork sitting on her desk. “Special.” And, she recalled, she'd promised her mother she'd pick up a birthday gift for her half brother.

“Have . . . have you heard any news?” the mourner asked Nikki. Her hair was pinched off in little dreadlocks that were actually kind of cute. “I . . . I saw that they arrested someone—the dog walker—but that doesn't make any sense. If she did it, they wouldn't have let her out on bail, would they?” She leaned down to adjust an eight-by-ten glossy photo of Ryan at her feet.

“I . . . I haven't heard anything.”

The blonde looked up at Nikki, then got that look on her face that Nikki knew all too well. “I know you,” she said slowly. She pointed. “You . . . you're that famous old actress's daughter. I just saw you on TV on E! with your mom. You were at some fundraiser for the Christopher Reeve Foundation.”

Nikki smiled. “Nikki Harper.”

“Just shoot me! It is you! And your mom is Victoria Bordeaux. I'm Jessie Bondecker. It's really nice to meet you.” She grabbed her friend's arm. “Monica, this is Nikki Harper.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were growing red. “I can't believe that you're here. But, of course, I bet you were friends.” She got a tragic look on her face. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

Nikki wondered how she could make a graceful exit.

“It's really nice to meet you,” the brunette said. “I heard that last night Heidi Klum was here. Did you hear that?”

Nikki gave a quick smile. “I . . . I wouldn't know.” “Jessie and I once waited all night outside Greystone Manor, you know, the fancy nightclub, because we heard Rihanna was going to be there,” the brunette explained. “But we never saw her. Oh,” she added quickly. “But we think we spotted J. Lo.”

“Nikki was a friend of Ryan's,” Jessie explained to her friend Monica.

Nikki would have protested that they weren't really
friends
, that she'd just met him once, but she doubted it would make a difference.

“You know,” Jessie said, “Monica and I were talking, and I think the police just arrested that poor dog walker woman to throw the real killer off.” She adjusted her frameless glasses. “Do you know if he had any international ties? We wondered if he was involved with some Saudi prince or something. Or . . . or maybe he was working with the CIA. They took his computer, you know—”

Nikki's ears perked up. “His computer?”

“Uh-huh. There had to be something on it, right? Otherwise, they wouldn't have taken it.”

“How . . . how do you know the police confiscated Ryan Melton's computer?” Nikki asked.

“My brother told me,” Jessie said enthusiastically. “His roommate works for a computer company or something. They have a contract with the Beverly Hills police and he heard that one of their IT guys was called in to look at Ryan's computer.”

“His computer?” Nikki said. “You're sure?”

A car went by behind them and someone beeped. Nikki took a step closer to the gate, trying not to step on a bundle of daisies.

“I'm sure,” the girl said earnestly.

“When was this? Do you know?”

“Right after it happened. Can you imagine, getting to touch Ryan Melton's computer? Your fingers touching the same keyboard he touched?”

Nikki knew that people didn't always tell the truth, but this was too weird not to be true. “I . . . I should go,” she said. “It was really nice to meet you. Both of you.”

“You too.” Jessie whipped a pen out of her handbag. “Would . . . would you mind giving me your autograph?”

“Um . . . sure. I . . . I guess.” Nikki gave a little uncomfortable laugh. This never got any easier. “I'm not really famous or anything.”

“You are to me.” She thrust out the pen.

Nikki took it. “What would you like me to sign?”

“My bag.” She held out the cheap canvas rucksack, the strap still over her shoulder.

The surface wasn't the easiest to write on, but Nikki signed her name anyway. She couldn't think of any way to get out of it.

“Just shoot me,” Jessie breathed. “Thank you so much. If . . . if you ever want to stop by Carney's and say hi, we're there all the time, me and Monica. We can give away free fries without getting into trouble.”