The Bad Always Die Twice (21 page)

“I doubt Rex was ever even in that plane,” Edith snorted. “You know that a body was never recovered. The FAA investigators said at the time that either his burned remains were dragged off by coyotes, or he survived the crash, wandered off and died.” She made a sound of derision. “He was always a liar and a cheat. With me, with his business partners, with his fans. I don’t know why anyone who knew him would be surprised by the thought that he staged his death.”

“Edith . . . I hope this isn’t too forward.” She scooted toward the edge of the white leather armless chair. “But do you think Ramirez could have had anything to do with all this? Maybe even with Rex’s murder?”

Edith rose from her desk and turned her back to Nikki to look out the window onto the gardens. There was a young man vacuuming the pool. “You’re asking because?”

“I’m not trying to invade your privacy, but I’m very concerned about Jessica. With no leads, the police may arrest her. I know it was wrong for her to have an affair with your husband, but that makes her immoral, not a murderer.”

“No, I don’t suppose she would have killed him, would she? Obviously, she had feelings for him.” Edith sighed. “So, to answer your question about my husband’s agent, the more I think about it, the more I believe he might be the one who killed Rex.”

Nikki’s eyes widened, but she kept her voice calm. “What would make you say that, Edith? Mr. Ramirez represented Rex for years.”

“Exactly. Giving Rex time to cheat him out of every penny he could . . . or maybe vice versa. I can’t tell you how many times Rex fired Alex, only to rehire him a few weeks or months later. The two of them had a volatile relationship.”

“Have you spoken to the police about this?”

“No, and I’d ask that you not say anything to them, either.” She shook her head, her back still to Nikki. “I’m keeping my mouth shut about Ramirez. Until we meet in court, at least.”

Nikki set the file on Edith’s desk. “In court?”

“I don’t think I’ll have a pool again. Too much work. I want to simplify my life. Do you think that’s odd? After all this?” She opened her arms, turning to face Nikki.

Nikki waited.

“Did you know that Alex Ramirez was involved in a car accident a few years ago that left his wife paralyzed from the waist down?”

Nikki recalled the family photo on his desk. “I knew she was in a wheelchair,” she said carefully. “But I didn’t know why.”

“He was driving while intoxicated on Laurel Canyon Road. He lost control of his vehicle and went off an embankment. He was uninjured, but her spine was damaged. In the end, he walked away without even a traffic citation and she’s never walked again. That’s the kind of man Alex Ramirez is.”

Nikki didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“I’m suing the bastard. Or at least I was, before Rex turned up dead again. Now I don’t know where we are with the lawsuit. My lawyers have been calling, but I just haven’t had the energy to meet with them yet. I imagine it will take years to sort this mess out now.”

“You’re suing him? For what?” Nikki asked.

“Well, when I initiated the lawsuit, I thought he was stealing from me. A few weeks ago, I was talking with a studio executive who had worked on
Shipwrecked Vacation
with Rex. Long story short, I discovered that the show has been throwing off more residuals than I was aware of . . . or being paid for. It’s doing a lot better overseas than I knew.”

“You think Ramirez was stealing from you?”

“I’m sure he was. The question now is whether he was stealing from me for himself, or for Rex. Obviously Rex had been living somewhere between the time his plane crashed in the Mojave, and when he turned up dead in your partner’s apartment.”

“So if Ramirez was funneling money to Rex, that would mean . . . he
knew
Rex was alive,” Nikki said, thinking out loud.

“Or maybe he didn’t know, maybe he wasn’t sending money to Rex, and he was just stealing from me. It’s hard to say at this point, isn’t it?” Edith pressed her hand to her forehead. “Anyway,” she continued, “that’s why I was eager to see Ramirez at my party that night. I wanted to tell him myself that he was about to be served.”

Nikki’s head was spinning now. “Well, do
you
think Ramirez knew Rex was alive?”

“I have no idea, and honestly, I don’t care. I just want
my
money. I want my money, I want Thompson, and I want to be happy.” She sat down in her leather chair again. “Is that so wrong?”

“No, it’s not.” Nikki opened the manila folder she’d brought along with her. As she searched for the inspection report, her gaze drifted to a W
HILE
Y
OU
W
ERE
O
UT
pink slip of paper on Edith’s desk. It was the date that caught her eye: Monday, October 4
^th
, the day Rex’s body was found in Jess’s apartment.

She rose to hand Edith the report to sign and as she did, she tried to read, upside down, what the pink slip said. It was from Star Security. Nikki recognized the name because her mother used the same security company. The note was hard to decipher, but apparently there had been a question of an old access code used at the front gate.

Nikki’s heart was suddenly pounding. She had no idea what the message might mean, or if it had anything to do with Rex’s murder, but she intended to find out.

“I just need you to sign here, and then initial a couple of places. Here and here,” Nikki said, standing up to lean over the desk, “and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Out of her hair and into someone else’s . . .

In the driveway, Nikki checked her cell phone. Three missed calls in the twenty minutes she was with Edith. Her guess had been correct. She hit the TALK button on her dash. “Call Mother.”

“I tried to call you,” Victoria said as soon as she picked up. She was
definitely
put out.

“I know. I was in the meeting with Edith. I thought you were at a luncheon.”

“I ate fast. I needed to talk to you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“There are all sorts of things wrong, Nicolette. You just have to look at the Middle East to see that.”

Nikki smiled, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. “I mean, is something wrong with
you?
Did you call me three times because
you
have an emergency, Mother?” The gate slid open, allowing Nikki to pull out of the driveway and onto the street.

“I went for a manicure this morning, before lunch.”

Nikki waited.

“Desiree did a nice job. She wanted to give me French tips, but I said no.”

“You called me three times while I was meeting with a client to tell me you decided
against
the French tips? That was your emergency?”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Nicolette. I would never call you three times to tell you I didn’t get French tips.” She hesitated. “Although I might have, had I decided to get them.”

“Mother, why did you call?”

“I can call you later if you’re busy. I don’t like to disturb you while you’re working. Not that you really need to work. The trust fund your father left you would be more than adequate to live on. To live well on.”

“I’m not busy now,” Nikki said, not taking the bait. “That’s why I called you back.” Nikki rolled to a stop and waited for a Benz to go through the intersection. The driver waved. Nikki smiled and waved. She had no idea who she was waving at. “I was busy, but now I’m not. Tell me about your manicure.”

“Why would I tell you about my manicure, Nicolette? You say the most ridiculous things. I called you to tell you what Desiree said about Edith.”

“Edith March?”

“Yes, Edith March.” Victoria’s voice was full of
tone,
now. “Desiree is Edith’s manicurist and she went to Edith’s that Saturday afternoon of the party, to do her nails. Only she didn’t do her nails.”

Nikki frowned. “Okay . . . ?”

“She showed up right on time, got as far as Edith’s sitting room off her bedroom, but was turned away by someone on Edith’s staff.”

Nikki was all ears now. “Go on,” she said, recalling Jessica pointing out at the party that Edith’s nails were chipped and that she needed a manicure. “Why was she sent away?”

“The maid said Edith didn’t have time. Paid her and sent her packing. But Desiree told me she doesn’t think that’s why she was sent home.”

“Why does
Desiree
think she was sent away?” Nikki asked, having no clue where the conversation was going, but intensely curious. Reaching the end of Outpost Drive, she turned onto Franklin.

“Because she was having a knock-down, drag-out shouting match with a man and didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“With Thompson?”

“I asked Desiree that. She said she couldn’t hear what was being said, but it didn’t sound like Thompson to her. She does his nails, too.”

Nikki gripped the wheel, thinking aloud. “Edith’s maid told me Edith and Thompson had an argument the afternoon of the party and that he left on his motorcycle. So, Desiree must have heard them arguing.” She paused. “What did Desiree mean when she said it didn’t sound like Thompson?”

“I don’t know. She just said it didn’t sound like him. She heard Edith arguing with a man, but it didn’t sound like Thompson.”

“Interesting. Did you ask her what time of day this happened?”

“Of course I asked her what time!” Victoria gave an indignant snort. “What kind of detective wouldn’t ask the time of an event that could be key?”

Nikki was smiling again. “What time, Detective Bordeaux?”

“Her appointment was for three o’clock. She said she waited less than ten minutes before the maid came with the money and sent her away,” Victoria said triumphantly; then, with less confidence, “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Nikki said, thinking back to the message on Edith’s desk. “But I’m going to find out.”

Back at the office, Nikki was disappointed to find that Jessica wasn’t in. She was eager to tell her what Edith had had to say about Ramirez and about what the manicurist told Victoria. After making a couple of phone calls (her P.I. work was certainly cutting into her day job) she looked up the number of Star Security and dialed. Leaning back in her squeaky desk chair, she identified herself as Anita, Edith March’s assistant, and provided the address of her residence. She explained that she was calling on behalf of Mrs. March, and was put on hold. A few seconds of nervous anticipation and the phone clicked.

“Star Security, this is Dave, how may I help you?”

Nikki again identified herself as Anita, using a slightly nasal tone of voice—she had no idea where that came from.

“How can I help you, Anita?”

“One of the house staff took the message last Monday,” Nikki said, trying to sound aggravated, “and it makes no sense whatsoever. Something about an old security code was used to enter the front gate?”

“I’m sorry . . . who am I speaking to?”

“This is Anita.” She cringed, not knowing Anita’s last name. “Mrs. March’s assistant.”

“Could I have the password, Anita, to access the information?”

Shoot
. . . Nikki tried not to panic. She didn’t know the password! “I’m not asking you for the security code, Dave. I’m simply asking you to translate the message left on October 4th at . . .” She paused. “Nine twenty-five a.m. I’m not privy to the password. Mrs. March is funny about her security codes, which I imagine you would understand, especially in light of what happened last week,” she said, taking on the tone Victoria used when she was trying to gently bully someone into doing something for her.

“Ummm . . .”

“The message was that the security code used . . .” she prompted.

“On Saturday the 2nd. Ummm, it was expired.”

Her phone beeped. Another call was coming in. Mother again? She ignored it. “Expired?”

“According to our records, the code was changed March 27
^th
of this year. Mrs. March called it in herself.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, having an
ah-ha!
moment. “That would have been after Mr. March’s death. His
first
death,” she clarified. “So the code used was the previous code?”

“That’s correct,” Dave said. “Access was denied. Then we received a phone call . . . from a man,” he said, obviously reading notes out loud. Then, “Shit.”

“Yes?”

“The caller provided the password and the last four digits of Mr. and Mrs. March’s social security numbers.”

Her phone beeped again and she lowered it for a second to see who was calling. It was Jessica. Nikki spoke into the phone again, using her Anita voice. “What time of day?”

“It’s logged in here. Two-ten p.m. He . . . he provided the password. I . . . I’m terribly sorry for the . . . um . . . error. Was . . . was there a security problem?”

“Let’s hope not, for your sake, Dave. Have a good day.” Nikki’s hand was shaking as she set her cell phone on her desk.

So who had called into Star Security and demanded access to the Marches’ Outpost Estates home? Had it been Rex? A boyfriend of one of Rex’s hussies? Maybe, but not likely. Thompson, trying to create a lie? Who else would have had access to the information? Ramirez? Probably. The only information the security company had was that a male with the required information had called. What if this was some sort of setup leading to Rex’s death? Thompson, Rex, Ramirez? Or was it really Rex? And where did Edith, who supposedly didn’t know Rex was alive, fit into all this?

Nikki’s BlackBerry rang, startling her, and she picked it up. It was Jessica again. “Sorry, Jess, I was just going to call you—”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, Nikki. You’re not going to believe this. The coroner released some kind of preliminary report and he’s determined when Rex was killed.”

Nikki switched gears. “And?”

“Saturday night. The night of the party.” She sounded like she was close to hysterical.

“Well, that’s good, Jess. You were at Edith’s party that night. You have more than a hundred witnesses.”

“No, you don’t understand, Nik. He was killed
after
I left the party. Now I don’t have an alibi . . .”