Free Imitation of Death by Cheryl Crane Page A

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