The Dead and the Beautiful (22 page)

Nikki tried not to get excited.
What are the chances?

“Tuesday? Really? Were you . . . around the day the murder took place around the corner? Ryan Melton's murder?”

“Sthcared the sthnot out of me. All thoseth police carsth and ambulancesth. I high-tailed it out of here, I can tell you that.”

“So you were here?”

“Wasth justh finishthin' up. Had been here for hoursth thinnin' that hedge.” He pointed to a natural barrier along the edge of the property.

“Did you . . .” She glanced in the direction of the Gomez house, which she could just make out through the trees. “See anything or anyone unusual? Before the police and ambulances?”

He narrowed his pale blue eyes. “You playin' detective again, Missth Nikki?”

She gave him a little smile but didn't answer.

“Nope.” He slipped the coupons into his back pocket. “Didn't sthee nothin' unusual. Didn't sthee anyone.” He thought for a minute. “Not a sthoul, excthept Mr. Angel. He jogged by same as he does most Tuesthdays.”

“Angel? Angel Gomez?”

Harley nodded. “Livths next door.”

“And you were sure it was that Tuesday that Ryan Melton died?”

“Crossth my heart, hope to die.” He crossed his chest with his hand for good measure.

And Nikki had to refrain from giving him a big kiss on the mouth.

Chapter 22

A
nd her day got even better. After talking to Harley and determining that he had seen Angel jog by at one-fifteen (he was sure of the time because he'd stopped working to have the second half of his bologna
sthandwhich
), Nikki headed home. She was getting into her car when, lo and behold, she saw Hazel Munro drive by in a light blue Mercedes convertible. Nikki recognized her red hair.

Hazel pulled into the driveway and five minutes later, she left with the blonde, Betsy. Nikki didn't hesitate. She followed the women into Beverly Hills, using all of her tailing skills. Which were nil. But how hard could it be? Don't be seen. It didn't matter. Betsy and Hazel were busy talking all the way into town; they wouldn't have noticed if an elephant had been tracking them.

Nikki followed them to Grove Drive, which featured a large outdoor shopping mall, The Grove. “A little shopping, ladies?” she said aloud.

They pulled into a cobblestone circular drive with a gorgeous magnolia tree in the middle. A parking valet hurried to open Betsy's door. Where else but in L.A. could you get valet parking at a shopping mall?

Nikki pulled in two cars behind them and stepped out of her car, keeping an eye on the two women while she waited for a valet.

“Thanks so much,” Nikki said as the valet approached. “The key's on the console.” She flashed
the smile.

“Enjoy your day,” the young woman called after Nikki.

Nikki followed Betsy and Hazel. They boarded a green trolley, which took shoppers to various points at the mall. It was a big draw; women in their spiky high heels could shop the day away without blisters.

Nikki debated whether or not to try and hoof it, for fear of being seen, but in the end, she hopped on the trolley and sat behind Hazel and Betsy. Again, the women didn't notice her.

So where are we going, ladies?
Nikki wondered.
Coach? MAC Cosmetics?

The two women got off and Nikki followed them, staying behind a gaggle of blondes, obviously all together. Instead of entering a store, Betsy and Hazel went into a restaurant.

“Lunch? Okay, why not?” Nikki murmured. She waited outside two or three minutes and then followed. It was a pub-like restaurant with dark wood and signs advertising not just Guinness, but Harp Irish Lager and Carlow O'Hara's Irish Red. Her stomach grumbled at the delicious smell of fried potatoes. She was starving.

Nikki took a guess and walked into the bar area. Betsy and Hazel were just sitting down.

Nikki slipped into a small booth so she could watch them without easily being spotted. A young woman with hair the color of Nikki's approached.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a melodic Irish accent. “I'm Bryda. Can I get you something to drink? We've got a thirty-two-ounce draught that's half price for happy hour.”

Nikki glanced in the direction of the bar. Hazel and Betsy were seated at one end. There were two men in conversation at the other end. Only two other booths were occupied. “I'm waiting for my boyfriend, but I guess he's running late. I'll take a Harp while I wait. But just a small one.” She chuckled. “I have to get back to work.”

The redhead smiled. “Be right back.”

Nikki sat back and watched Hazel and Betsy. Hazel was wearing a blue and green dress that went perfectly with her red hair. Sky-high heels, of course. Betsy was dressed all in white: white flowing pants, white silk top. Her four-inch heels were teal, as was her Rebecca Minkoff handbag. A little too matchy-matchy for Nikki.

Nikki wiggled her feet in her comfy Cole Haan, knee-high boots, which had sensible two-inch, stacked heels. Betsy's and Hazel's heels were cute, but Nikki's feet never hurt at the end of the day and she hadn't
had
to take the trolley. She could have walked.

Bryda brought Nikki her ale in a pilsner glass. Nikki wasn't going to order anything to eat; she'd packed a salad, which she could have at her desk later. But she caved and asked for an appetizer-sized order of chips. When they came, they were better than even she'd anticipated. The freshly fried, hand-cut potatoes were amazing with malt vinegar.

As Nikki ate, she continued to keep her eye on the women. Harley had said that he'd seen Angel jogging the day Ryan was killed. Around the time of day he was killed. Had Angel done it? Why would he? Did his wife know?

After finishing off the fries and half the beer, Nikki licked her fingers, trying to decide what to do. She wanted to talk to the two women, but obviously she didn't want to get caught
spying.

Betsy and Hazel were having glasses of white wine and salads. They were laughing and talking a mile a minute; Nikki could tell they were good friends. Were they outsiders among the Fab Four? The same way Ryan had been? Nothing really to do but look nice? Shop? Take long lunches at the mall?

After a moment of indecision, Nikki grabbed her bag and strode toward the ladies' room. She was almost past Betsy and Hazel when she stopped. Smiled. “Betsy! Hazel.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “Nikki Harper. We met at my mother's, Victoria Bordeaux's, a few weeks ago. At the garden party.”

“Oh my gosh!” Hazel bubbled. “Of course!”

Betsy smiled. “Good to see you, Nikki.” She glanced around. “You here shopping with friends?”

Nikki sighed. “I was supposed to meet my boyfriend for lunch, but he cancelled at the last second. Running late with a patient or something.” She made a “What can you do?” gesture. “I was already here. Thought I'd run into . . . Ugg,” she said. (What? For sheepskin boots?) “Before I head back to the office.” She segued as seamlessly as possible. “Hey, I was really sorry to hear about Ryan. I . . . I can't imagine how hard this must be. I know you were all such good friends.”

The two women exchanged glances.

Nikki was immediately suspicious, then realized she had no reason to be. What was wrong with two friends who had lost a friend looking at each other?

“Would you like to join us?” Betsy asked. She was polite, but not overly enthusiastic. She was definitely the more reserved of the two women.

“Oh, please,” Hazel begged. “Just sit for a minute.” She patted the bar stool beside her. “Here, next to me.”

Nikki pretended to hesitate, then gave in. “Just for a minute.” She stepped up onto the barstool.

“Can I get you a drink?” a male bartender, about Nikki's age, asked. He had dark hair, but an Irish brogue as well.

She suspected that everyone working in the restaurant had one. “No, thanks. But I do need to pay my tab. Bryda was my waitress.”

“Just put it on ours, Seamus,” Betsy declared with a wave.

“Oh, that's not necessary,” Nikki insisted. She crossed her legs, feeling a little uncomfortable perched on a stool at a bar in the middle of the day. Not that she spent much time on bar stools at night either. “I've never been here. Do . . . you two come often?”

“Every once in a while.” Betsy pushed her unfinished salad away and reached for her wine.

“Every once in a while,” Hazel repeated. “We like to shop here. The trolley's so much fun.”

“Oh, it is.” Nikki laid her palm on the bar. “So, how's Diara doing? My mother says she's been a champ on the set. Has she moved back into her house?”

“Oh, I don't know that she ever will. She's staying at the Beverly Wilshire.” Hazel shook her head, her red hair brushing her shoulders. “I know I could never go back into our house, not if Julian . . . died there.”

“Right,” Nikki agreed.

Hazel nibbled on her lower lip. “But this must be awful for you, too. You're boyfriend's sister being arrested for Ryan's murder. And she seemed like such a nice girl. She walked our Duchess and Duke. Yorkies.”

“And your dogs, too?” Nikki asked Betsy.

Betsy didn't meet Nikki's gaze. She drank the last of her wine. “I'm afraid so. I suppose we're not as good a judge of character as we thought.”

“Oh!” Hazel patted Nikki's hand. “Julian got the invite to the cocktail party Saturday night at Marshall Thunder's house. I'm
so
excited.”

“So you're coming?”

“We wouldn't miss it for the world. You'll be there, won't you? Julian said you're best friends with Marshall.”

“We've been friends for years. He's a great guy.”

“And
so
good-looking.”

“Marshall was concerned it would be too soon, you know, after Ryan's death. But apparently there's a good chance he and Diara will be doing a movie together with James Cameron. I guess he wanted to celebrate.” As the words came out of Nikki's mouth, she wondered if she was dooming her soul with such lies. But they weren't hurting anyone, right? And the Fab Four and their spouses would be treated to good caviar and champagne at Marshall's.

“Are you and Angel going to be able to make it?” Nikki asked.
So I can question him about your friend's murder?

Betsy gave a quick smile that seemed a little forced. “We wouldn't miss it.”

“It's going to be a very small group,” Nikki said. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“We should go, Hazel, if we're going to go shopping.” Betsy slid off the bar stool. “I think I'll run to the ladies' room. Hazel?”

Hazel stood.

“We'll be back for the check in a few minutes, Seamus,” Hazel called to the bartender.

“No problem, Mrs. Munro. I'll get yours, too, ma'am,” he told Nikki as he turned to the cash register.

“So we'll see you Saturday night at Marshall's?” Hazel bubbled.

“Looking forward to it.”

“Have a good day,” Betsy said as the two women walked away.

Nikki sat where she was and waited for her check. “Nice ladies,” she remarked when the bartender brought her a slip of paper and left one on the bar for Betsy and Hazel.

He began to stack up their salad plates and collect their silverware. “Mrs. Gomez and Mrs. Munro? Nice enough. They always tip well.”

“So . . . they come often?”

He glanced in the direction of the ladies' room. “First Friday of every month. Wondered if they'd be here today, what with their friend being gone, God rest his soul.”

Nikki wasn't quite following what he meant. “You mean, Ryan Melton?”

“Aye.” He slid the dirty dishes into a tub under the bar. “Because they always met him here. First Friday of the month.”

Nikki looked at him as she pulled her wallet from her handbag. “Always?”

He nodded. “For . . . the last six, seven months.”

“But it was just the three of them, not Gil, Kameryn Lowe's husband?”

He thought for a minute. “No, just Mr. Melton and those two. Always sat at the bar, right here.”

“So they all had lunch together, the first Friday of every month?”

“He never ate. He came in, had a beer,” Seamus said. “One of the ladies handed him a big envelope and he left. They stayed for lunch. Cobb salad for the ginger, chicken Caesar for the blonde. No croutons.”

“An envelope?”

“Big one.” He demonstrated the size of a manila envelope.

Nikki slid some bills across the counter. “You know what was in the envelope?”

“No, but they always tried to hide it. Either Hazel or Betsy would take it out of her bag and slip it to him when she thought no one was looking.” He gave her a crooked smile. “But a bartender sees everything.”

“You said one of the women. Not the same one every month?”

He thought for a second, then shook his head. “Just one of them.”

She slid off the barstool.
An envelope? Sometimes Betsy gave it to him, sometimes Hazel. What did that mean?
“Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You, as well.”

Nikki walked out into the warm sunshine and back to her car. No trolley, no Ugg shopping for her.

 

Back at the office, Nikki retrieved her salad from the refrigerator in the break room and went back to her office. Sitting down, she glanced at the empty desk across from her. It had belonged to her partner, Jessica. Even though Jessica had been gone for a year, the powers that be at Windsor Real Estate hadn't given her desk to another broker yet.

She took a bite of romaine and avocado, and debated making a phone call. She wondered what Jess would do. Of course, she already knew the answer. “Go for it” had always been Jess's motto.

Nikki opened her drawer and pulled out a business card; it had been in the drawer for six months. His office phone number was printed on the front, but he'd penned his cell number on the back. Not all that subtle, now that she thought about it.

She punched in the numbers on her cell and the call clicked through. The phone rang on the other end.

“Lieutenant Dombrowski.”

Nikki had an urge to hang up. How juvenile was that? “Tom? Nikki Harper.”

“Hello, Nikki Harper.”

She could hear his handsome smile in the tone of his voice. “I have a question for you,” she said.

“What makes me think I'm not going to like this?”

Nikki heard phones ringing in the background. People talking. She guessed he was at the police station, in some sort of bullpen. “Did you check Ryan Melton's bank statements?”