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would have chosen. Poor Diara. How horrible would it be to get a call on set that your husband had been murdered? “You heard?”
    â€œHeard what? Did you hear? It’s supposed to be a closed set, but you know, they never are. Everyone and their brother traipsing through wanting autographs.”
    Victoria couldn’t possibly know about Ryan’s death. Not even she would go on this way if she did. “Mother? Why did you call?”
    â€œTo tell you about Diara and Kameryn, of course. They practically got into a catfight.”
    â€œAbout what? No . . . when ?” Nikki asked quickly.
    â€œJust before lunch. The director sent us home. Amondo and I went to Spago.” (Amondo was the patient man who had served as Victoria’s assistant, secretary, bodyguard, driver, and sometimes companion for nearly two decades.) “I had a lovely celery and apple soup and the duck confit,” her mother went on. “You and Jeremy should go there. For lunch. Lunch was excellent and not as pricey as dinner. ” Victoria whispered the last words.
    Nikki shook her head. She would have laughed were it not for the police and ambulance and fire truck on the street and Ryan’s body in the lounge chair. His unseeing blue eyes. “And you never heard from anyone on the set the rest of the day? No . . . news?”
    â€œWhat news? I just turned my phone on. Let me get my glasses. They’re here somewhere. Ah.” There was a pause. “It says I have seven missed calls. I don’t know how to check those,” she said dismissively. The phone beeped several times in Nikki’s ear. “Come for dinner, Nicolette, and I’ll tell you all about Diara and her little fit. She may find herself unemployed if she’s not careful. Seven.”
    Ollie whined in the back of Nikki’s car.
    â€œMother, I might have a . . . situation. I might not be—”
    â€œNonsense. You never come for dinner anymore. Not when there’s just the two of us. Casual . . . but not too casual, darling. You know how I dislike denim.”
    Before Nikki could respond, Victoria hung up. Nikki could just picture her mother riding in the back of her white Bentley, giving Amondo instructions as to what streets to take, even though she hadn’t driven a car in twenty-five years, and punching random keys on her cell phone. Victoria was smart and a quick study when she wanted to be, but for some reason she remained stubborn about cell phone use.
    Nikki tossed her phone on the car seat and punched the Start button on her Prius. She’d have to go to her mother’s and tell her about Ryan. But first, she’d go to Jeremy’s and make sure Alison was okay.
    Dombrowski had let Alison go, but she hadn’t liked how he acted. What did he know that he hadn’t been saying? And what had possessed Alison to run like that when he said she could go? Running should never be involved when talking to the police.
    Nikki pulled away from the curb. She had a bad feeling this wasn’t the last time Alison was going to hear from Detective Dombrowski.

Chapter 4
    â€œM urdered? And they wanted to talk to you?” Jeremy kept his voice down so his three children, all in the family room doing homework or coloring, didn’t hear, but he had some tone in his voice.
    He, Alison, and Nikki were all standing in his massive kitchen in his home in Brentwood. Nikki was making pancakes on the stove while bacon spit in a tray in the oven. She didn’t usually play this role in Jeremy’s home, but the kids had to eat and Alison was certainly in no state to cook. Jeremy had just arrived. So Nikki had declared it breakfast night. It was one of the uncharacteristically fun things she remembered her mother doing for her as a child. Of course, on breakfast night, Victoria had never actually cooked the breakfast for dinner; there was a housekeeper to do that. And they had eggs Benedict. Nikki’s