The Cinderella Murder

34

Martin Collins rested in a rattan lounger on the back deck of his 8,700-square-foot Sunset Strip home. He looked out beyond his infinity pool to the sun beginning to set on the city below. He had purchased this house four years ago for more money than he had ever dreamed of earning. It was a far cry from the fleabag apartment where he’d grown up in Nebraska. He was born to live here.

He returned his attention to the folder of documents on his lap. They were mock-ups of the latest brochures for Advocates for God, complete with photographs of smiling church members handing out canned goods to the needy, family picnics, and Martin throwing a Frisbee for a yellow Labrador retriever. Market research showed that, more than any breed, people associated Labradors with strength and trust. Martin nodded approvingly. These were the kinds of images that new followers could pass on to friends and family members to expand Advocates for God’s numbers. More members meant more contributions.

The moment of optimism was cut short as he remembered that he needed to call Steve Roman for an update on Nicole. He pulled up the number on his cell and hit ENTER.

“Good timing,” Steve said by way of a greeting. “I just left Nicole’s house. The TV crew was there.”

“Any chance you know what she told them?”

He felt his frustration rise when Steve answered in the negative. For the past week, Steve’s reports had been abnormally terse. It might be time to send another minion to replace him.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Martin asked.

“Of course not,” Steve assured him.

Martin was aware of Steve’s violent past-the robberies, the bar fights, the unpredictable attacks of anger he used to have before finding the church. Still, Steve had never given him cause for worry. More than perhaps any other devotee of Advocates for God, Steve had truly changed. And he was loyal.

“I stayed in the truck while the crew went in the house,” Steve was saying. “It’s a big place. She must have done pretty well for herself-money-wise, I mean.”

“So that’s all you have?”

“For now, but I’m tailing the TV crew. They just dropped off two guys and a bunch of equipment at a warehouse and are weaving through downtown San Francisco now. I figure if I stay on them, I might be able to overhear something. What specifically should I be listening for?”

“You know how we talk about people who don’t understand Advocates for God? Who try to say the worst about our good works? Well, Nicole might be the worst enemy this church has. Given a platform on a national TV show, she may be tempted to attack our beliefs. To make up lies about either AG or me personally. I need to know what, if anything, Nicole reveals about her time at UCLA.”

Though Martin typically gave away no secrets, it had been impossible to rely on Steve as his eyes and ears without trusting him with at least some background information. So Steve knew that Nicole had been an early member of Advocates for God who left on bad terms. He knew that Nicole’s college roommate Susan Dempsey had been murdered, and that her death was the focus of this television show that had Martin concerned about unfavorable news coverage.

Martin had no plans to reveal anything more. After all, that had been his mistake with Nicole-letting her know a side of him that she was not ready to see. At first, when she quit school and left town, he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, questioning whether he had done enough to ensure her silence. But then months became years, and years became close to two decades.

And now this stupid show. He had watched the first special and knew how thorough they were in their reporting. Would Nicole be able to get through this without her association with AG coming to light?

“But the show is about Nicole’s roommate,” Steve said. “What does Susan Dempsey’s murder have to do with AG?”

“You are asking more questions than you should, Steve.”

Martin spoke with his usual chilly confidence.

“My apologies,” Steve said cautiously. “I’ll keep watching. Wait, they’re stopping now at some high-rise hotel. Yeah, they’re getting out. I can tell which one’s in charge by the way she’s giving orders-a woman in the front passenger seat. I’ll park and get a bead on her on foot. See what I can find out.”

“You do that, Steve.”