MARY CLARK - The Cinderella Murder

“Sometimes I think no one knows best. Look at how I met Greg.” The word “met” was an overstatement given that she’d been unconscious at the time. She’d been hit by a cab on Park Avenue, and Greg was the ER doctor on duty. At the time, Laurie’s parents—and eventually Laurie—had been grateful for the reassuring treatment, but she wound up engaged to him three months later. Then Laurie’s mother had died a year after that, and Greg had been there for everyone.

Her father sat up and stroked her hair. “You only reminisce like this when something’s troubling you. I know you’re worried about Jerry. He’s going to be fine.”

Laurie took a deep breath. She couldn’t cry again today. “Not to mention, I just got off the phone with Brett. I swear that man might be a vampire—I don’t think he sleeps at night. I was the one who had to beg him to cover the Cinderella Murder, and now that someone’s coming after the show, he’s dead set against canceling it. Part of me is relieved I don’t have to make the decision, but he won’t even delay the production schedule. He gave me a big song and dance about how Jerry would want us to keep working, but I know it’s all about the bottom line.”

“I was wondering whether that bottom line had something to do with your decision to stay in this house. If so, I’m going to strangle that man.”

“It’s just a few more days, Dad, and we’re all on high alert now. And you heard what Detective Reilly said about the police keeping an eye on us.”

“You do what’s right for you, Laurie. You know I’ve always got your back.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s okay. If anything, this attack on Jerry has me convinced that whoever killed Susan is one of our participants. That makes it all the more important to me that we follow through on this.”

“I called the police up in Alameda County. They’re going to send some surveillance pictures of cars that were near Rosemary’s house around the time her neighbor was killed. I’ll go through them. Maybe we’ll catch a break.”

“You don’t sound too optimistic.”

His shrug said enough. She stood and gave him a hug. “I better call it a night. We meet with Frank Parker tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You weren’t kidding when you said Brett didn’t want to disrupt the schedule.”

“Hey, we saved the big celebrity interview for last. Then it’s on to the big summit session, and then back home to New York.”

“You do know you can’t set a timeline like that, Laurie. Don’t get your hopes up about solving this thing. All I want right now is to keep everyone safe. And don’t you dare—not for one second—blame yourself for what happened to Jerry.”

“Of course I do. I can’t help it.”

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. We realized after you and the others left to meet Madison that we didn’t have enough house keys to go around. Jerry gave me the last copy, assuming it would be fine to leave the door unlocked if he had to run out for a few minutes here and there.”

“Dad—”

“My point is that you can drive yourself crazy asking whether things would have been different if a , or b , or x , y , and z .”

He didn’t need to say any more. How many times had they both wondered if they could have done something to save Greg? She saw the light click off beneath the door as she closed it but knew neither of them would find sleep any time soon.

51

Laurie hadn’t expected to be at her best the next morning, but she felt like she was still half-asleep. She had spent the night waking up every twenty minutes, picturing Jerry being lifted onto the gurney by EMTs.

Alex must have had a rough night too. In the back of the van, parked at the curb in front of Frank Parker’s former home, a makeup artist was touching up his eyes. He had rightly said to Laurie, “I look like I was on a bender.”

For today, it was just the two of them and the camera crew from the Under Suspicion staff. Jerry, of course, was in the hospital, still in what the doctors politely called “a comalike state.” Grace had stayed at the house to keep Timmy busy while Leo pored through the surveillance footage coming in from Alameda County. If they could somehow connect the murder of Lydia Levitt to the break-in at the Bel Air house, they might figure out who assaulted Jerry. Laurie was nearly certain that person would also turn out to be Susan’s killer.

Right now, the immediate goal was to lock Frank Parker down on his timeline for the night of Susan’s murder. He and Madison had been consistent in sticking to their stories, but Madison’s mention of Susan’s car acting up before her death had added a new layer to the mix.

Laurie watched as a cameraman on a wheeled cart backed up to film Alex and Frank walking side by side. They were there now: a turn in the road entering Laurel Canyon Park, just off Mulholland Drive, the exact spot where Susan’s body had been found. For Laurie, it was a poignant moment. She couldn’t help but think of the playground where Greg had been killed. As she began to tear up, she forced herself to look toward the sky, focusing on the individual branches of a huge sycamore tree towering above them.

Her composure regained, Laurie kept up with the cameraman as he continued to film Alex and Frank walking out of the park and toward Frank Parker’s former home. The purported purpose of this stroll had been to get footage of the iconic setting for the show, but she and Alex had another goal in mind: to establish the short distance between the body and Parker’s house. It was less than half a mile.

As planned, Alex and Frank made their way past the home’s front gate to an interior courtyard, where, with the permission of the present owner, they had staged two chairs next to the front garden. Once they were seated, Alex stole a casual glance at his watch. “Our walk from the scene of Susan’s death was only ten minutes, and I think it’s safe to say that we weren’t exactly hurrying.”

Frank gave a warm smile. In the short time Alex had spent with the director, he had already managed to find a camaraderie that was apparent on camera. “You may not believe me, Alex, but I could have told you the number of minutes without even looking at a watch. I have an inner clock that never stops ticking, and I really can pinpoint the time of day—within one to three minutes—at any given moment. It’s a useless party trick, but I have a feeling that’s not why you brought up the time.”

“Susan Dempsey lived on the UCLA campus, more than eight miles from the spot where she was killed. Yet your house is only a ten-minute walk from that spot. Or perhaps five minutes if someone were running from your house in terror. And Susan was scheduled to be at your house the very night of her murder. You must understand why people suspected you.”

“Of course I understand. If I had thought the police were unreasonable in initially questioning me, I might have hired a team of lawyers and refused to have anything to do with the investigation. But that’s not what I did, is it? Ask any of the detectives who were involved. They’ll confirm I was cooperative. Because I had no cause not to be. I was shocked, of course, when they told me Susan’s body had been found. And where it was found. I provided a thorough account of my whereabouts for the night. They confirmed that account, and that really should have been the end of the story.”

“But it wasn’t the end of the story. Instead, your name is forever associated with the Cinderella Murder case.”

“Look, it would be easier if I could take some magic truth serum so people would finally believe me, but I get it. A young, bright, talented woman lost her life—and her family has never gotten the closure they richly deserve. So I have never expected anyone to feel sorry for me. She was the victim, not me.”