The Trials of Nikki Hill by Dick Lochte, Christopher Darden Page B

her friend.
    “You gonna be okay?” Loreen asked.
    “I’m fine,” Nikki said. “Just need a little sleep.”
    “If sleep doesn’t come and you want to talk, call me.”
    Nikki thanked her and headed away. She’d almost reached her car when Loreen passed by, tapping the BMW’s horn and waving. Nikki unlocked her door and slipped behind the wheel. She started the car and drove away, thinking about the last time she’d had a conversation with her father.
    It had been just after her grandmother’s funeral. He had called her at work to thank her for taking care of the arrangements. She had been surprised when he went on to question her about the man she’d been with at the church. Feeling surprisingly girlish, she’d started to tell him about Tony Black. He’d interrupted her midsentence. “Sorry, but I gotta cut this short. Tricia has to use the phone.”
    When Blackie died, there had been no appearance at the funeral and no phone call. Just a Hallmark condolence card signed “from William and Patricia Hill.”
    Nikki was so busy reliving painful memories she didn’t notice the sedan that followed her from Playa Del Rey, zooming past as she turned into her drive.

F IFTEEN
    I n the community of Manhattan Beach, not far from Ladera Heights, there exists a park built around a five-story mountain of sand. Nikki made a practice of climbing its difficult surface at least three days a week.
    Her time of choice for the workout was sunrise, when the temperature was tolerable and she didn’t have to worry about some novice climber suddenly turning into a gasping and moaning roadblock directly in her path. The morning after the Mavens meeting, for no particular reason, she pushed herself for one more climb than usual and hit the top just as the sun was balanced on the eastern skyline. She was breathing heavily; her leg muscles were burning but she felt good. Alive.
Love those endorphins!
    Bird, who was not allowed on the sand, had long ago settled for using the wooden stairwell to keep pace with his mistress. He rested beside her, panting not from the climb but to cool off his body.
    As she did her stretching and bending, Nikki became aware of two young brothers watching her. They had the
    loose-limbed appearance of athletes and were wearing Nike gear that looked like it had arrived from the factory that morning. The shorter of the two approached her, drawing back as Bird leaped to attention.
    “Hi,” he said to Nikki, keeping his distance from the dog. “My name is Charles.”
    She paused in the middle of a stretch. “Sit, Bird,” she said. She looked at the young man, saying nothing to him, waiting to hear his pitch. He surprised her by saying, “My friend finds you very attractive.”
    She looked over at the other young man, who was grinning at her. “Cat got his tongue?” she asked.
    “He’s sorta shy. Prefers it if I break the ice.”
    It’s a complicated old world,
she thought,
and it isn’t getting any simpler.
“Better get yourself a new pick, because this ice is definitely not broken,” she said. “In fact, it’s getting frostier by the minute.” She continued her stretches, plainly ignoring him.
    He mentioned his friend’s name, which was the same as a legendary baseball player. “You’ve probably heard of his father.”
    Nikki undid the towel that was tied around her waist and began dabbing at the perspiration on her face. She said nothing.
    “He’d like you to have dinner with him tonight,” Charles told her.
    “Not with him or his father. Tell him he might get better results next time if he did his own asking.” Bird was picking up her annoyance. He emitted a rumbling low growl.
    Charles glanced at the dog and lost just a bit of his confidence. “Name the place,” he said to Nikki. “The new Spago. The Shark Bar.”
    “You got wax in your ears?” she asked.
    Charles waved a dismissive hand and turned away, swaggering toward his friend. “Forget it,” he called out.