Thursday morning was pretty much the same as the previous day. Nicole got to work at 8:00, an hour early, only to encounter the same crowd of paparazzi and TV crews as the day before. She left her car with the valet and fought her way through the pack, who were again assailing her with questions. She told them to call her lawyer. The building’s entrance was fortified with security guards, who made her show her pass before they’d let her in. She cringed at the idea of facing the same mob in a couple of hours when she left to meet with Robert’s lawyer. But there was nothing to be done about it.
Before settling down to work, she couldn’t resist checking XHN. Sure enough, there was a new story. This one went into her divorce from Brad and the fact that he’d spent time in prison in the UK for money laundering. Oh, no, she thought. This is really bad. She went to the other tabloid and newspaper sites, including the Los Angeles Times. They all had the story. In fact, the Robert Blair murder had gone viral, and every news outlet she checked seemed to have at least a few paragraphs about it.
She looked at her email and was upset to find it filled with messages from friends, acquaintances, and people she didn’t even know. Her friends offered sympathy and support, while the rest seemed motivated by morbid curiosity. What had happened? What had she seen? Was she a suspect? It occurred to her that some of these messages might be from reporters who’d found her email address on the law firm’s website.
When Nicole looked at her watch, she was surprised to see it was time to leave for the meeting with Robert’s lawyer. She’d blown most of the morning and accomplished nothing. She grabbed her purse, then retraced her route back down the elevator to the valet station. She handed her parking ticket to the valet, then slipped back into the building to wait. Security guards kept the paparazzi at bay. When her car was brought around, she came out again and shoved her way through the forest of microphones and barrage of questions. The media was especially aggressive today, demanding to know more about her ex-husband and his conviction. They pressed against her as she tried to open the car door, and she had to squeeze her way in. She started the car, then remembered Sue’s instructions. Lowering her window, she told the reporters to call her attorney.
As soon as she pulled out of the valet lane, a contingent of paparazzi on motorcycles was close behind. She drove quickly, weaving through side streets, but she couldn’t shake them. On Sunset Boulevard, she planned to turn left onto Beverly Drive, which would take her into the San Fernando Valley via Coldwater Canyon. But she knew she couldn’t arrive at Freeman’s office with these jerks on her trail. She slowed, signaling for a left, allowing the paparazzi to pull up beside her in the outside lane. When the light turned green, instead of turning onto Beverly Drive, she made a 120-degree left turn into the driveway of the sprawling grounds of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Meanwhile, her pursuers flew past her up Beverly Drive. Traffic was so thick at the intersection that it was impossible for even the most audacious of them to make a U-turn. She passed the giant pink hotel, then exited the grounds and wove her way westward through back streets. When she reached Beverly Glen, one of the few streets that lead into the San Fernando Valley, she turned north, emerging several miles west of her destination. She was running late, but at least she’d lost the paparazzi.
Freeman’s office was on Ventura Boulevard, as were countless restaurants, shops, medical buildings, supermarkets, and other businesses that line the eighteen-mile main corridor of the valley. She realized that the attorney’s office was not far from a street that wound its way up to Robert’s house on the hill.
She parked across the street from the lawyer’s address and walked a long block to the traffic light to cross the busy thoroughfare. A man was waiting at the corner, leaning against the post that held the button to activate the “walk” signal.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I just want to push the button.”
He moved away from it, then smiled at her and said, “You know, I did push it.” She pressed the button, taking note of his looks.
He was about her age, tall and lanky with sandy hair and a light sprinkling of freckles. He had a square jaw, a generous mouth, and an interesting angle to his face that went from chin to cheekbones. His blue eyes were fringed with long, fair eyelashes.
She smiled at him. “Well, maybe you don’t have the golden touch,” she said. Already, the light on Ventura Boulevard was starting to blink yellow, warning traffic to slow down.
She looked back at the man. “You see?” she said.
“Thanks,” he said. “If you hadn’t come along, I’d probably be standing here all day.”
She smiled at him again. Stop doing that, she told herself. Didn’t she have enough problems without picking up strange men on street corners? What was she thinking?
The pedestrian light was now green. She looked both ways before stepping off the curb. At that moment a dark gray SUV appeared on the adjacent side street. It revved its engine, sped up, and careened around the corner, as if aiming directly at her. The guy she’d been talking to grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back onto the sidewalk. “My god!” They both said it at the same time. Nicole’s heart was thumping in her throat.
“Th-thank you,” she managed to say. “I think you just saved my life.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe he did that. It looked like he really meant to hit you.”
She watched as the car disappeared in the distance, too far away for her to read the license plate. She remembered the detective’s warning that Robert’s killer might decide she knew something and come after her. On the other hand, she’d had similar close calls when she was crossing a street. This was L.A., where no one walked, and cars were oblivious to anyone foolish enough to attempt to cross a street.
“Are you OK?” the man said. “You’ve gone all white. Maybe you should sit down.” He gestured toward a bench at the nearby bus stop.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Josh Mulhern,” he said, putting out a hand to shake hers. “You work around here?”
“No. I have an appointment.” She gestured across the street and glanced at her watch. “And I’m late.” The pedestrian light had turned red again, and she pressed the button, impatiently hitting it twice.
“How about getting together a little later for lunch?”
“I can’t,” she said. “I work in Century City. I have to get back.”
“What about a drink after work?” he persisted.
She almost agreed, then remembered. She was planning to ask Stephanie to brave the paparazzi and drive her to her place this evening to get her clothes.
“I’m sorry, but there’s something I have to do tonight,” she said.
He looked disappointed, and she felt she was being ungracious, especially after he’d pulled her out of the path of that car.
“Look,” she said, taking her card out of her purse and noting her cell number on the back. “Here’s how to reach me. Give me a call, and maybe I can meet you later in the evening.”
He beamed at her, taking the card.
He seemed about to say something else, but just then the pedestrian light turned green again. She gave him a wave and took a careful look around before she hurried across the street. When she reached the other side, she looked back at him. He was still standing on the corner and seemed to be studying her card. She wondered if he’d recognized her name from the news and was deciding further contact was a bad idea. Whatever, she thought. Yet she did find herself thinking she wouldn’t mind meeting him for a drink if he did call.
The address the lawyer had given her was in a series of small, individual bungalows, each with its own entrance, like an old fashioned motor court. Low rent, she thought. From the sign on his door, DANIEL FREEMAN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, he appeared to be a solo practitioner.
She could understand why Robert wouldn’t use any of the attorneys he worked with. He was too secretive for that. And if—god forbid—Nicole was mentioned in his will, he wouldn’t want the firm to know.
She opened the door to the office and peeked in. There was a small reception room and a secretary sitting at a desk. An elderly woman reading a magazine was the only occupant of the small waiting area. Nicole stepped inside.
She introduced herself to the secretary, who asked her to take a seat. The other woman went in next but didn’t stay long, and Nicole was soon shown into Freeman’s office. Middle-aged, with thinning, dark hair and rimless glasses, he was almost nondescript, the kind of man who could easily fade into a crowd. She was sure she’d never met him before, but something about him was familiar. His desk was clear, except for a computer and a single folder. The office had a tidy, settled look.
His first words were, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She stared at him, digesting this. He was talking about Robert. He, too, thought she was Robert’s girlfriend.
“Thank you,” she said, deciding not to bother explaining.
“Mr. Blair was a new client,” Freeman said. “He came in on—,” he paused to look in the folder on his desk, “October 14, about five weeks ago, and said he wanted to establish a trust. He said he’d be turning sixty on his next birthday and thought it was time. Then he came back to sign the papers, about a week later. He wanted to keep the matter private and paid in cash.”
She didn’t say anything, just waited.
He cleared his throat, removed his glasses, polished them, and put them back on. “Now, for the business at hand,” he finally said. “You are the sole beneficiary of Mr. Blair’s estate.” Freeman looked back in the file. “That means he left you his house, worth an estimated $3.9 million; a checking account worth roughly $30,000; a small cabin in the Owens Valley worth an estimated $80,000; and an investment account of $380,000.
“The total value is below the threshold for estate tax, and Mr. Blair set up a testamentary trust to be effective immediately upon his death. This means you won’t have to wait for probate or other legal procedures before you assume ownership. There will be a short delay before you actually receive the property, only because the coroner must first issue a death certificate. That can take a week or so. I’m named as trustee, so I’ll take care of these matters.” He smiled, apparently under the impression he was delivering good news.
Nicole was speechless. How could Robert have done this to her? It appeared to give her a motive for killing him. Would the police be taking an even closer look at her? And what would the news hounds do with that? She didn’t want to think about it, nor did she want anything to do with his house or his money. But who would believe her? People have killed for less.
“Mr. Blair’s body,” the man went on. “Do you know when they’ll release it? I have his final instructions.” He held up a piece of paper.
“I have no idea.”
He smiled again. “Don’t worry. I’ll find out and let you know when they do. Meanwhile I’ll just keep this in his file.”
She felt herself flush. “Is the trust going to be filed with the county? Is it public record?”
“No,” Freeman said. “Mr. Blair wanted these arrangements to remain private. He didn’t want to embarrass or cause you inconvenience in any way. He was very clear about that.”
She sat there a moment, absorbing this. Robert didn’t want to embarrass or inconvenience her. What a joke! People were going to find out. There was no way around it.
Freeman waited patiently, his hands folded on his desk. At last, realizing their business was concluded, she got to her feet. Freeman handed her his card and offered her his services if she needed anything. “Now that you’re a woman of property,” he said, “it might be wise for you to make out a living trust.”
She thanked him, and they shook hands again. This time, he covered their interlocked hands with his left hand in a gesture of sympathy. It was at that moment she thought of who he reminded her of—a funeral director. Still stunned by the news he’d delivered, she found her way out of the office.
When she was back in her car, she called to make an appointment with Sue. She had to tell her about the inheritance, and she didn’t want to risk doing it over the phone. The secretary immediately put her through.
“I’m free until after lunch,” Sue said. “Why don’t you come now?”
By the time Nicole arrived, Sue’s receptionist had gone to lunch, and Sue herself greeted Nicole in the waiting room. In Sue’s office, a small table had been set with two places and a platter of sandwiches, as well as a coffee pot.
The sandwiches looked good, a choice of Brie with watercress and apple slices, pastrami on rye, and tuna on wheat. “I didn’t know what you like,” Sue explained, “so I decided to give us some choices.
Nicole reached for half a pastrami and explained to Sue about Robert’s attorney and the bequest.
Sue was quiet for a moment, munching on her apple and Brie sandwich and washing it down with a sip of coffee. “Well,” she finally said, “here we have a perfect example of good news and bad news. That much money could completely transform your life and give you some wonderful opportunities. On the other hand, in the eyes of a lot of people, Mr. Blair’s bequest would give you a motive for wanting him dead.”
She pressed a napkin to her lips and continued, “Here’s what I’m wondering: Mr. Blair appears to have believed his life was in danger. The fact that he set up this trust a few weeks before his death is just too powerful a coincidence. So why would he leave you his estate, when it could make you a suspect?”
“I have no idea,” Nicole said. “The fact that he was stalking me shows he was more than a little nuts. Maybe it never occurred to him that he was putting me in a bad position. The bottom line is that I don’t want his money. It makes me sick to think that he had feelings for me. He never should have made me his beneficiary. And here’s what I want to know: What if I refuse to accept the inheritance? What happens then?”
There was a pause while Sue thought it over. “You could do that. Then the money would go to the state. But, Nicole, I want you to think very carefully before you make a decision. This man obviously had mental problems, and if he’d lived, he might have—no, probably would have—become a nuisance, or worse. Believe me, having a stalker can wreck your life. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he was killed and he left you a substantial amount of money. At the same time, he’s disrupted your life in a big way. That money, whether you claim it or not, will cast suspicion on you. Refusing his bequest isn’t going to change that.
“If you really don’t want it, think of the good you could do if you contributed to some worthy causes. When everything settles down, you could sell his house and use the proceeds plus his other assets to set up a foundation. It’s not like you have billions to give away, but you could make a difference. Or you could keep the money. As I said, it could change your life. Frankly, after all this man’s behavior has put you through, you deserve some kind of compensation.”
Nicole had finished her sandwich and was pouring herself more coffee. “What would you do?”
“The decision is yours, Nicole,” Sue said. “I’m just laying out the options.”
Nicole gazed out the window for a long moment. This wasn’t just about Robert and whatever creepy delusions he was harboring about her. It could determine how she lived her life, what her future might be.
Finally she said, “Do I have to tell the police about it?”
“No,” Sue said. “Certainly not. This is a private matter, and it’s none of their business. The way Mr. Blair set it up, it shouldn’t even come to their attention. Even if it does, they have no case against you. They would need evidence. According to Rick, his source in the D.A.’s office tells him they have nothing to build a case on. If they did, and you were an actual suspect, they could put a hold on the transfer of Mr. Blair’s property until you’re no longer under suspicion. But I don’t think that’s likely.”
“OK,” Nicole said, “but it would get ugly if the media found out about it.”
“Very ugly,” Sue agreed.
Nicole thought about it for a moment and said, “Why didn’t Rick himself tell me what the D.A.’s office is up to?”
“Well,” Sue said, “I hope I wasn’t talking out of turn, but I did suggest to Rick that he back off for a bit. From what you said, I gathered you didn’t like the attention he was giving you—especially after your experience with Mr. Blair. I thought you’d appreciate some peace and quiet in that department.”
“You’re right,” Nicole said. “It’s a relief not having to worry about being hassled right now.”
“Don’t expect it to last,” Sue said. “He seems to have his sights set on you. He isn’t used to women who say ‘no’ and mean it. That just makes you more desirable.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Nicole said.