MARY CLARK - The Cinderella Murder

Martin Collins was attractive and charismatic. He duped thousands of people into turning over their hard-earned money to him every year. Now he was using those skills to sweet-talk the viewers watching him on television.

Laurie muted the volume and led a ghostly pale Rosemary to a wing chair in the living area of the suite. Laurie sat on the couch facing her. “I wish I had all the answers,” Laurie said. “But we don’t know much more than you do, and new information is coming in fast. The reports about Dwight Cook are true, but police suspect foul play. We think this Steve Roman person is trying to shut down the production, but on whose behalf? We’re not sure.”

“Because of Susan? Is this the man who killed my daughter?”

Laurie reached out and held Rosemary’s hand. “We honestly don’t know. But the LAPD is on top of this. They’re going to search Steve Roman’s apartment tonight in San Francisco, and they’ve got out a high-priority arrest warrant throughout the state. Alex is downstairs right now speaking to security. We’ll be sure there’s security around the clock for you, Rosemary. And we’ll all breathe a sigh of relief—and hopefully learn more—once Roman is caught.”

As she made her way to the elevator, Laurie checked her phone. There was a text from Alex: All set with security. Waiting in lobby.

She almost missed the familiar face of the man exiting the room at the end of the hall. Richard Hathaway.

On instinct, she turned her back, continuing to check her phone, until she heard the ding of the elevator. What was Hathaway doing here? He had turned down the offer of a hotel room.

Laurie walked quietly to the end of the hall, pressing her ear gently to the door of the room he had left. She could hear music playing inside. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she was tapping on the door.

When it opened, Madison Meyer appeared in a white robe.

68

Madison tightened her robe’s sash around her waist. “Laurie. Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Um, I was here to see Rosemary,” she said, pointing down the hall. “I— Did I just see Richard Hathaway leave your room?”

Madison’s face broke out into a wide smile, then she let out a girlish giggle. “Fine. I guess there’s no harm in admitting it now that we’re both grown-ups.”

“You and Hathaway?”

“Yep. I mean, not this whole time, of course. But let’s just say those rumors about the handsome young computer science professor were true. I heard he was down here for the production, so I figured I should say hi—see how my older crush turned out. I’m actually surprised myself, but we’re . . . rekindling .”

Laurie found herself with nothing to say. There was too much happening on the case right now to carry on with Madison about her love life. Madison wanted to know if the search for Steve Roman was going to affect the filming schedule. “Just so I can tell my agent,” she added.

Laurie refrained from rolling her eyes. “We’ll know more soon, Madison. Congratulations on your romance with Hathaway.”

As Laurie pressed the elevator button, she realized that something was bothering her about discovering Hathaway in Madison’s room. The facts themselves certainly weren’t surprising. After all, Hathaway had a reputation as a ladies’ man, Madison was an obvious flirt, and they were both extremely attractive.

But, still, something was nagging at her. She’d had this same feeling the previous night when she’d spoken to Nicole about her fight with Susan. Maybe this case had her second-guessing every conversation.

As she stepped onto the elevator, she noticed the eye of a security camera in the upper corner to her left. Surveillance was ubiquitous in the modern world, she thought, shuddering at the idea of Dwight’s secretly monitoring them these past days.

Secretly. The cameras. Unlike this hotel security camera, Dwight’s equipment had been hidden behind the walls.

Once she stepped from the elevator, she pulled up Detective Reilly’s number on her cell and hit ENTER. Come on, she thought. Please answer.

“Reilly.”

“Detective, it’s Laurie Moran. I’ve got something for you—”

“Like I said, Ms. Moran. We’re working every angle. It takes time. Just ask your dad.”

“Dwight Cook had the house in Bel Air wired for surveillance.”

“I know. I’m the one who told you, remember?”

“But the equipment was hidden behind the walls, and he only offered us the house last week. He didn’t rebuild those walls on a week’s notice. This has to be his regular MO.”

“The boat,” he said, following her logic.

“Yes. Be sure to check the boat for hidden cameras. If Dwight’s death wasn’t an accident—if he really was murdered—you might have it all on video.”

“I’ll call the team at the boat and have them check. And good work, Laurie. Thanks.”

She had just hung up from Reilly when her cell rang. It was Alex.

“Where are you?” she asked. “I’m in the lobby but don’t see you. You won’t believe who I spotted Madison with—”

Alex interrupted. “I pulled the SUV around out front. You ready for some good news?”

“After the last couple days? Definitely.”

“It’s Jerry. He’s conscious. And he’s asking for visitors.”

69

Steve Roman sat behind the wheel of his pickup truck outside the soup kitchen. He knew Martin Collins would be inside. He had photographers here every week to make sure they caught him on film, feeding the needy. Steve also knew that the millions of dollars Martin had raised for this center far exceeded what AG actually spent here feeding the homeless.

He had seen over the years the way Martin’s excesses had grown. Early on, Martin would offer explanations for his seemingly small indulgences—a fine meal was the ultimate pleasure, a custom-cut suit would make him more presentable to donors, and so on. But over time, the indulgences became larger and more frequent—the mansion, trips to Europe, vacation homes—and Martin stopped making excuses for them.

But Steve had always truly believed that Martin’s impact on the world—and guidance of Steve personally—made him a genuine leader. That’s why he had always been willing to do everything the church had ever asked of him.

Steve felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten as he replayed Martin’s words to the media that day. He had described Steve as a “disturbed individual” who had “found his way into” Advocates for God. He had assured the press that AG was doing everything in its power “to apprehend this criminal.”

Steve knew he’d messed up—bad. He hit that man who interrupted his break-in at the Under Suspicion house harder, and more times, that he should have. And that neighbor lady back in Oakland—that had gone really wrong.

But if Steve was such a disturbed, ill criminal, shouldn’t Martin Collins have to take some responsibility for his conduct? Martin, after all, had known Steve’s struggles with his temper. And yet who had Martin turned to when he needed someone to get to the bottom of what Nicole Melling was saying about him to Under Suspicion ? That’s right: Steve. As far as Steve was concerned, his actions—right or wrong—belonged to Martin just as much as to him.

He felt the comfort of the nine-millimeter in the back of his waistband as he spotted Martin exiting the homeless shelter. Because Martin was a firm believer in what he called “the strengthening power of routine,” Steve knew that Martin’s next stop would be home. Steve also knew that Martin would spend several minutes shaking hands and posing for photographs before getting in his car.

That would give Steve plenty of time.