MARY CLARK - The Cinderella Murder

“How can you know anything about Martin when you’ve never met him? How can you judge AG when you refuse to learn anything about it? No wonder Martin says you’re trying to corrupt me!” Nicole had yelled. It was their very first argument.

But it wasn’t until Nicole invited Keith to join Martin and her at a revival that Susan truly became angry. Nicole had never seen her like that. Susan was always so calm, smiling like she was telling herself a secret joke or listening to her own private soundtrack. But that day, she was screaming at Nicole with such fervor that her pale face turned bright red, makeup streaking her cheeks. Keith needs attention from every girl he meets. First it was Madison. Now it’s you. But you ’re worse than Madison. She’s a harmless flirt, but you had to take my boyfriend to your ridiculous Bible-thumping cult! What is happening to you, Nicole? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.

Even now, Nicole could not actually remember picking up her political science textbook and throwing it at Susan’s head. She just saw Susan freeze, her mouth open in shock. She remembered trying to apologize, but Susan wouldn’t calm down. “That’s it, Nicole,” she had screamed from the doorway. “I love you, but you either quit that cult or you’re moving out!”

It was the last conversation they ever had.

Nicole had fled the dorm, too, walking to Martin’s house, and then into his bedroom unannounced. He wasn’t alone. In that moment, Nicole realized why Martin had liked her in the first place. She had always looked younger than her age. But as it turned out, she was not quite young enough for Martin Collins.

36

Mama Torini’s looked exactly as Leo remembered it: red-and-white-checked tablecloths, dark wood molding, bright yellow walls barely visible beneath decades of Italian movie posters and signed celebrity photographs. He couldn’t believe it had been twenty-two years since he was here with Laurie and Eileen. He wished his wife were here to share the experience with her grandson, but he had lost her ten years earlier to a heart attack, before she’d even had a chance to meet Timmy. He wished Laurie’s husband, Greg, were here, too. But like the song said, you can’t always get what you want. He was lucky to have Timmy and Laurie in his life.

Leo noticed a well-dressed man at the next table admiring Laurie’s appearance as she took her seat. As usual, his daughter was completely unaware of the attention. Her focus was entirely on Timmy as she pointed out an autographed picture of Wynton Marsalis with two of the restaurant’s waiters.

“So what did you and Grandpa do today?” she asked once they were settled in.

“We walked and walked,” Timmy said, “like probably a hundred miles. We walked even more than we do in New York. And you can feel it more because of all the hills. I was like . . .” He stopped talking long enough to pant like a tired dog. “I told Grandpa when we got back to the hotel room that if we took one more step, my feet would fall off.”

She feigned a look beneath the table. “We just walked here, and you’ve still got your feet. Did you actually see anything while you did all this walking and panting?”

“It was awesome! We saw everything,” he said excitedly. “Chinatown; the piers; a place called Exploratorium, which was totally cool. And, Grandpa, what was that super-steep, twisty street?”

“Lombard. And the kid here walked it bottom to top like a champ.”

“That certainly does sound like a busy day,” Laurie said.

Timmy’s rendition made it sound as if sightseeing had consumed their entire day. But Leo had found time to do some work on his own. His primary job here was to watch his grandson while Laurie was working, but if he was truly going to keep them both safe, he couldn’t turn off the part of his brain that had brought him to California—the cop part.

NYPD inspector Leo Farley had spent twenty minutes of Timmy’s television time on the phone with Detective Alan O’Brien, the lead investigator in the murder of Lydia Levitt. Somebody else calling the Alameda County sheriff’s department about an unsolved homicide the previous week might have gotten the brush-off, but more than thirty years on the job came in handy, despite retirement and being on a different coast.

He knew from Detective O’Brien that the police had no suspects in Lydia’s murder, even unofficially. The sad reality was that domestic violence was usually to blame when women were killed. But police had found absolutely no evidence to suggest any discord, let alone physical violence, in the Levitt marriage. By all accounts, Lydia’s husband, Don, was a stand-up citizen with an ironclad alibi at the time of his wife’s murder, thanks to surveillance cameras at his gym.

The next theory was some kind of secret life that might have put Lydia in danger. But a thorough search of the family’s home and computers had turned up no reason to believe that Lydia was anything other than she appeared to be: a seventy-one-year-old wife, mother, and grandmother who liked to garden, eat out at restaurants, and talk to her neighbors.

According to Detective O’Brien, the most likely explanation was that Lydia interrupted a burglary attempt at Rosemary’s house. The police were chasing down the local thieves in hopes of a tip.

“Did Rosemary tell you that her daughter was murdered twenty years ago?” Leo had asked the detective.

“She did,” Detective O’Brien had said. “She was understandably upset about her neighbor and then mentioned it brought back memories of Susan. The Cinderella Murder. Gotta wonder whether that one will ever be solved.”

“That’s actually why I’m in California.” Leo explained Laurie’s decision to feature Susan Dempsey’s case in Under Suspicion . “I’ve got to admit that I didn’t feel too right when I heard there was a murder at the home of one of the show participants right when production was starting.”

“You think Lydia Levitt’s murder is somehow related to Under Suspicion ?”

“I thought I should at least throw the possibility out there. And if you happen to pick up on anything that indicates a connection, I’d sure appreciate a call.”

Leo had to hope Detective O’Brien would keep his word. He sounded trustworthy over the phone. Until Leo could prove to Laurie that Rosemary’s neighbor was killed because of the show, he would never be able to convince her she was in danger.

There’d been one other phone call during Timmy’s nap, from Alex Buckley. That one he could share with his daughter.

“Alex called today,” he said.

“He called me too but didn’t leave a message. What’s he up to?”

Leo could never tell whether Laurie was actually interested in Leo’s Alex updates or was just following along, as she would with any other story.

“He’s looking forward to the trip out.”

“Great. Once we get to the summit session, he can go into cross-examination mode.”

“That’s why he was calling. He’s heading to Los Angeles tomorrow.”

Leo saw the confusion on his daughter’s face.

“I think you misheard, Dad. We’re laying the groundwork for now, getting some first-person narratives. Alex isn’t needed until the summit.”

“I know that was the plan. But I guess Brett decided he wanted Alex to have as much contact as possible with the suspects, or the players, or whatever you call them. Alex said something about Brett having sprung news on you before, so he was trying to make sure you knew he was flying out early.”

Timmy’s summary of the day’s activities had finally gotten Laurie out of work mode, but now Leo could see the tension immediately return to his daughter’s face. “No, I didn’t know that. Typical Brett.”