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and Ollie. She just wanted to hear her mother’s voice, she supposed. Silly. “I should go. No one has told me anything about what’s happening. I’m not even sure if the police actually arrested Jessica or if they’re just questioning her, but I intend to find out.”
    “Please tell me you’re not going to get involved in this, Nicolette.”
    Nikki began to walk toward the glass doors that led inside, keeping her eye on a guy coming up the sidewalk, headed for the same door. He was dressed like an Amish man, of all things: full beard, straw hat, high-water pants and suspenders. In Hollywood, there were impersonators walking the streets every day: Marilyn Monroes, Elvises by the dozens, James Deans. Nikki had seen some crazy things in Hollywood, so crazy that she had begun to think nothing would surprise her. Then a man impersonating an Amish farmer appears at the police department . . . and Rex comes back from the dead to die again in Jessica’s bed. Nikki returned her attention to her mother, still eyeing the Amish guy.
    “She’s my best friend, Mother.”
    “I don’t know if she killed Rex or not. I don’t really care. I’m just saying this is a matter better left to professionals. To the police. Lawyers and such.”
    “The same way we left Dad’s murder investigation to the police?” Nikki hugged her bag to her side. “Is that what you mean, Mother?”
    Victoria sighed on the other end of the line. “Why don’t you come here tonight? Ina’s already gone, but I’m sure Amondo could make up your bed fresh for you.” Her voice wasn’t exactly gentle, but Nikki could hear the emotion behind her gruff exterior. Even though Victoria had been divorced from John Harper for many years by the time he had been murdered, she had mourned his death deeply. And gone to great lengths to hide that.
    “I don’t know where I’ll go tonight. Probably my place. Then again, I might be sleeping in a blue plastic chair.” Nikki waited for the Amish impersonator to enter the building before going through the front doors. “Talk to you tomorrow, Mother.”
    Victoria hung up. There were never good-byes on the phone with her.
    Inside the building, Nikki watched the Amish guy walk up to the glass window, speak to the clerk, and take a seat in the row of blue chairs. Nikki stepped up to the window.
    The female police officer looked up at her, making Nikki recall the saying, “if looks could kill.” It was a cliché, she knew, but clichés were always based on truths, weren’t they?
    “I’m sorry,” the officer said through the bulletproof glass between them. Her voice came out slightly muffled through the holes punched in the glass. “I don’t know anything more than the last time you asked. Or the time before that. Have a seat.” She returned her attention to the magazine she was reading.
    Nikki returned to her campsite. At midnight, the female cop behind the bulletproof glass was replaced by an Hispanic male. Same empty look on his face, same lack of information or willingness to share. Nikki dozed on and off the rest of the night, occasionally making pilgrimages to the bathroom and to the cop at the front desk, only to be sent back to her plastic chair. At one point, a junior-size Amish impersonator was released from the bowels of the station and without speaking a word, the older Amish impersonator had escorted the younger out the front door and into the dark night. Nikki felt as if she had been awake all night, but apparently she hadn’t been because eventually Jessica appeared in front of her, nudging her shoulder and startling the bejeezus out of her.
    “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I can go now.”
    Nikki shot out of the chair; she’d been hugging her Prada bag so close to her chest to keep it from being lifted that it had left red marks on her forearms. “They let you go?”
    “For now.” Jessica headed for the door, amazingly still able to teeter on four-inch heels, even after an overnight