Page 36 of Naughty Nelle

Other than groping him with her hands or attacking his cock with her mouth? Bile rises to my throat. I swallow it down before I say no.

With a deep breath, I compose myself. I need to end this line of questioning. I don’t want to think or talk about Katrina anymore. She makes me sick.

“Pops, you must know they’re getting married on national TV. On a special edition of her TV show in May. The wedding is going to make her a bigger household name than she already is. Send her ratings through the roof. And probably make her a shitload of money. And even if it doesn’t, why would she want to kill a man who can take care of her financially? Brandon’s loaded. He can wipe out her credit card debts and enable her extravagant lifestyle. I bet she’s already spending gobs of his money. Seriously, Pops, she’s as much a murderer as I am.” (Though truthfully, we’d both love to kill one another.)

Pops polishes off his sandwich and takes another glug of the root beer. “You’re probably right. I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

I smile. “Pops, has it ever crossed your twisted mind it was just someone driving through the neighborhood who accidentally ran Brandon over and then freaked out and took off? There are a lot of crazy drivers in the Hollywood Hills, and that’s not counting the ones who drink and do drugs all day long.”

Pops rakes his stubby fingers—the ones that have fired a gun—through his thick shiny hair. “You’re probably right. It’s just gonna be hard to find that person. Right after the accident, a city street sweeper came by and erased all tire tracks and footprints. We couldn’t even find a single hair to connect us to the suspect. We only have one clue.”

“Something captured on a surveillance camera?” Or someone.

Pops shakes his head. “I wish, but there are no surveillance cams on Brandon’s private road until you get to his house.”

“What about in the neighborhood?”

A look of frustration washes over his face. His shoulders slouch. “There was a power outage that morning. Some motherfucker moving van took down a power line, and everyone within three miles lost power.”

That happens frequently in The Hills. The outages can sometimes last for hours…until the DWP fixes the problem. Brandon’s house was probably affected that day as well though I wasn’t aware of it. I rode with him in the ambulance to the hospital and didn’t get back home till late in the night. The sound of the blaring siren resounds in my head, arousing more vivid memories. Unconscious, with his head bandaged, his face drained of all color, and his breathing labored beneath an oxygen mask, Brandon didn’t look like he’d make it. A lapsed Catholic, I prayed for him and hoped God heard my words and witnessed my tears. Losing him was unfathomable.

“Babycakes, I want to show you something.”

Pops’s voice once again jolts me out of the excruciating memory. Just like the day Mama was murdered, it’s unforgettable. I think I’ll relive it forever and ever. Forcing it to the back of my mind, I focus my eyes on my father as he yanks open a creaky desk drawer. He reaches into it and retrieves a small zip lock bag. He slides it open and shakes out what’s inside. I study the heart-shaped green object that’s now sitting in the palm of his wide hand.

“We found this close to the crime scene.”

At the words crime scene, a chill sweeps over me. Pops explains to me that even if Brandon’s accident wasn’t a premeditated murder, his hit and run could be tried as a felony because of the severe nature of his injury—punishable with a big fine and up to five years in prison. Personally, I think that’s too lenient; whoever ran over Brandon should get a much longer term.

“Do you have any clue what this is?” he asks, glancing down at the evidence. “All we know is that it’s a piece of Venetian glass from Italy.”

“It looks like it could be part of an earring or some kind of pendant. Why is it so chipped and scratched?”

“Probably, it was brushed along the street by the sweeper or it got stepped on before anyone noticed. Does it look at all familiar to you?”

I shake my head. “I don’t recognize it.”

“Is it something Katrina would wear?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Pops, I thought we were done with her. But if you really want to know, I don’t think she’d wear anything that didn’t come from Tiffany’s or one of those other fancy shmancy Beverly Hills jewelry stores.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, he rubs his dimpled chin with the thumb of his other hand. He always does this when he’s thinking or onto something. “I have a hunch that whoever ran over Brandon Taylor was wearing this.”

I play devil’s advocate. “A lot of super rich women jog up and down Brandon’s street. The housewives of Beverly Hills. It could have simply fallen off one of them. And with all their money, they may not have noticed or cared.”

“Yup. That’s a definite possibility.” I sense a tinge of frustration in my father’s voice, but know he’s not going to give up. Even though it’s now considered a cold case, he’s never stopped looking for Mama’s murderer.

I play detective. “Were you able to get any fingerprints off it?”

“No luck. The surface is too scratched.”

“That’s too bad.”

Pinching his lips, Pops puts the evidence back into the plastic bag and after sealing it, returns it to the drawer. He glances down at his watch. A wedding gift from Auntie Jo, he never takes it off. They’ve been married thirty years. The frayed brown leather band shows its age.

He pushes himself away from his desk. “Gotta go. Your mother’s made her famous pot roast and I promised I’d be home by six.”

He shrugs on his signature last century trench coat and rounds his desk as I stand up. He gives me a bear hug.

“Put some meat on those bones, babycakes. Come by one night; your mother will fatten you up.”

I laugh. The last thing former size-twelve me needs is fattening up.

“Give my love to Jo.” I pause. “And tell her I’ll work on getting her onto the set so she can personally meet Brandon Taylor.”

Pops’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh boy, you’re gonna make her night. She’d love that! That woman is totally in love with him.”

Every woman in the world is in love with Brandon Taylor. Except he’s giving his heart to only one. A sharp pang of jealousy stabs me. I hate her.

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