The Cinderella Murder (4 page)

“Knowing Madison,” Nicole was saying, “she’ll show up with hair and makeup done.”

Nicole was trying to defuse the tension with humor, but Rosemary was determined to stay on message. “You’ll be important to the producers’ decision.”

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy.

“They’ll be deciding soon,” Rosemary nudged.

“Okay. I just need to check on a couple of things.”

“Please hurry. The timing is important.
You’re
important.”

As Rosemary clicked off the phone, she prayed that Nicole would come through. The more people Laurie Moran could enlist, the greater the hope that one of them would inadvertently give himself or herself away. The thought of reliving the terrible circumstances of Susan’s death was daunting, but she felt as though she were hearing lovable, wonderful Jack’s voice saying,
Go for it, Rosie
.

Lovable, wonderful Jack.

7

T
wenty-eight miles north, on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge, Nicole Melling heard the click on the other end of the telephone line but couldn’t bring herself to hit the disconnect button on the handset. She was staring at the phone in her hand when it started to make a loud beeping sound.

Her husband, Gavin, appeared in the kitchen. He must have heard the sound all the way from his home office upstairs.

He came to a halt when he spotted the phone, which she finally returned to its base. “I thought it was the smoke alarm.”

“Is that a critique of my cooking?” she asked.

“Please, I know better.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You are absolutely the best cook—make that
chef
—I have ever known. I’d rather eat three meals a day here than go out to the finest gourmet restaurant in the world. And besides that, you’re beautiful and have the disposition of an angel.” He paused. “Is there anything I forgot?”

Nicole laughed. “That will do.” Nicole knew that she was no beauty. She wasn’t unattractive, either. She was just ordinary, her features unremarkable. But Gavin always made her feel like, in his eyes, she was gorgeous. And he was gorgeous in her eyes. Forty-eight years old, always trying to lose a few pounds, average height, starting to bald. He was a dynamo of brains and energy whose stock picks for his hedge fund made him a formidable figure on Wall Street.

“Seriously, is everything okay? It’s a bit troubling to find my wife standing in the kitchen staring at a phone off the hook. Honest to God, you look as though you just received a threat.”

Nicole shook her head and laughed. Her husband had no idea how close this joke came to the truth in her case.

“Everything’s fine. That was Rosemary Dempsey.”

“She’s doing okay? I know you were disappointed when she didn’t accept your invitation to join us for Thanksgiving.”

She had told him about the possibility of this program. But she certainly hadn’t told him the full story about where she was in her life when she had shared a dorm room with Susan.

She hadn’t meant to conceal anything from him. She really had managed to convince herself that she was a different person now than she was before she met him.

If this program happened and someone dug deeply enough, would it be better to have told him the truth now?

“Do you know that show called
Under Suspicion
?” she began.

His expression was blank, then changed. “Oh sure, we saw it together. Sort of a true-crime reality show; the Graduation Gala Murder. Got lots of attention. It even ended up solving the crime.”

She nodded. “They’re thinking of featuring Susan’s case for the next one. Rosemary really wants me to be a part of it.”

He plucked a few grapes from the crystal bowl on the kitchen island. “You should do it,” he said emphatically. “A show like that could break the entire case open.” He paused, then added, “I can only imagine what it’s like for Rosemary—not knowing. Look, honey, I know you don’t like the limelight, but if it could bring some kind of closure for Rosemary, I’d say you owe it to her. You always tell me that Susan was your best friend.” He grabbed several more grapes. “Do me a favor, hang up the phone at the end of the next call, okay? I was afraid you’d fainted.”

Gavin took the stairs back to his home office. He had the luxury
(and curse) of being able to run a hedge fund wherever he happened to be as long as he had a phone and Internet connection.

Now that she had spoken the possibility aloud, Nicole knew that, of course, she had to be part of the show. How would it look if Rosemary asked Susan’s college roommate to help solve Susan’s murder, and she refused? How could she sleep at night?

Twenty years was so long ago, but it felt like a minute. Nicole had left Southern California for a reason. She would have moved to the North Pole if necessary. In the Bay Area, with Gavin, she had a wonderful husband. With the marriage, she had also changed her last name. Nicole Hunter had become Nicole Melling. She had started over again. She had found peace. She had even forgiven herself.

This show could ruin everything.

8

“G
ood afternoon, Jennifer. Is he in?”

Brett Young’s secretary looked up from her desk. “Yes, just back in from lunch.”

Laurie had worked with Brett long enough to know his routine: telephone calls, e-mails, and other correspondence in the morning; a business-related lunch (preferably from noon to two); then back to his desk for creative work in the afternoon. Until a few months ago, Laurie would have needed to schedule an appointment to see her boss. Now that she was back on top with
Under Suspicion
, she was one of the lucky few who could pop in unannounced. If she was really lucky, he may have indulged in a glass of wine or two at lunch. It always helped his mood.

Cleared by his guard, Laurie tapped on Brett’s office door before opening it.

“Got a sec?” she asked.

“Sure, especially if you’re here to tell me you’ve decided to take on the little beauty queen case.”

He looked up. Sixty-one years old and handsome by any standards, his expression was sealed in a permanent façade of extreme displeasure.

She took a seat on a recliner next to the sofa where Brett had been reading a script. Laurie thought her office was nice, but Brett’s made it look like a cubbyhole in comparison.

“Brett, we went through that case. There’s nothing new to say about that investigation. The whole point of our show is to get first-person accounts of people who were real players in the case. People who could possibly have been involved.”

“And you’ll do exactly that. Sic Alex Buckley on them and watch the witnesses squirm.”

Alex Buckley was the renowned criminal defense attorney who had presented the first volume of the show about the so-called Graduation Gala Murder. His questioning of the witnesses had been perfect, ranging from gentle empathy to grueling cross-examination.

Since then, Laurie had seen him regularly. In the fall he’d invited her, Timmy, and her father to Giants football games and in the summer to Yankees baseball games. All four of them were ardent fans of both teams. He almost never invited her out alone, perhaps sensing she was not ready for a definitive progression of their relationship. She needed to complete the mourning process, to close the chapter on her life with Greg.

And she was too keenly aware that he was mentioned frequently in gossip columns for escorting a celebrity to a red-carpet affair. He was a very, very desirable man about town.

“Not even Alex Buckley could solve that case,” Laurie insisted, “because we have no idea whom to question. DNA evidence has cleared the girl’s entire family, and police never identified any other suspects. End of story.”

“Who cares? Dig out those old pageant videos and glamour shots, and watch that Nielsen needle jump.” It wasn’t the first time Brett had lectured Laurie about the importance of ratings, and it wouldn’t be the last. “You need something new? Get a scientist to conduct facial progression. Show the viewers what the victim would look like now.”

“It simply wouldn’t work. A technologically enhanced photograph could never tell the story of a life lost. Who knows what the future could have held for that girl?”

“Listen to me, Laurie. I happen to be a
successful
man. I know what I’m talking about. And I’m trying to help you keep your show on a roll. Some would say you got lucky the first time around and have just been riding it out since then.” It had been nearly a year since the first
Under Suspicion
“news special” had aired. Since then, Laurie had been an executive producer on several of the studio’s run-of-the-mill series, but Brett was eager to build on the
Under Suspicion
brand. “You gotta try to re-create the magic of the first time.”

“Trust me. I went back to the drawing board and found a great case. It’s perfect for
Under Suspicion
. The Cinderella Murder.”

She handed him a photograph of Susan Dempsey, a professional headshot she had used for auditions. When Laurie had first seen it, she felt like Susan was looking straight through the camera, directly at her personally. Susan had been blessed with near-perfect features—high cheekbones, full lips, bright blue eyes—but the real beauty was in the energy of that stare.

Brett barely glanced at the photograph. “Never heard of it. Next! Seriously, Laurie, do I need to remind you of the flops you had before this thing came along? You of all people should know: success is fleeting.”

“I know, I know. But you’ve heard of the case, Brett. The victim was a UCLA college student, found dead in the Hollywood Hills. Supposedly she no-showed for an audition that night.”

Now he bothered to look at the headshot. “Wow, she was a knockout. Is this the Frank Parker thing?”

Had Frank Parker not gone on to become famous, people might have forgotten entirely about the Cinderella Murder by now. But every once in a while, usually after Parker released a new film or got nominated for another award, someone would mention the onetime scandal in the director’s younger life.

“The victim’s name was Susan Dempsey,” Laurie began. “By
every account, she was a remarkable girl: smart, attractive, talented, hardworking.”

He waved his hand for her to get on with it. “We’re not handing out medals. Why is this good TV?” Brett asked.

Laurie knew Brett Young would never understand her determination to help Susan’s mother. Instead, she enthusiastically recited all of the features that made the case so appealing to Grace and Jerry. “First of all, it’s a terrific setting. You’ve got the UCLA campus. The glitz of Hollywood. The noir of Mulholland Drive.”

It was clear that Brett was now listening carefully. “You said the right word: ‘Hollywood.’ Celebrities. Fame. That’s why people would care about that case. Wasn’t she found near Parker’s house?”

Laurie nodded. “Within walking distance, in Laurel Canyon Park. He says she never showed up for the audition. Her car was found parked on campus. Police never determined how she got from UCLA to the hills.”

“Parker knew she was a student. If her car was at Parker’s house, and he had anything to do with it, he could have arranged to move it back on campus,” Brett observed slowly.

Laurie raised her eyes. “Brett, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re beginning to sound interested.”

“Will Parker participate?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve got Susan’s mother on board, though, and that will make a difference. She’s motivated. She’ll convince Susan’s friends to talk on air.”

“Friends, schmends. Family and friends won’t get people to set their DVRs. An Academy Award–nominated director will. And get that actress, the one who landed the role.”

“Madison Meyer,” Laurie reminded him. “People forget that in addition to getting the role Susan was auditioning for, she was also one of Susan’s roommates.”

According to Frank Parker, when Susan failed to appear for
the audition, he called Madison Meyer, another student from the UCLA theater department, and invited her to audition at the last minute. When questioned by police, Madison vouched for Parker’s timeline, saying she was with him in his living room at the time of Susan’s death.