The Cinderella Murder

37

Alex Buckley looked down at the suitcase and garment bag, packed up and still open on his bed. He had traveled long distances before for cases, and he was accustomed to appearing on television, but this was the first time he had combined the two. He had managed to accommodate six suits and a variety of more casual options in his luggage.

When Brett Young had called him this afternoon to ask him to move up his plans to fly to Los Angeles, Alex had wanted to check with Laurie. He had seen the way Young had surprised Laurie by calling without telling her. So he bought himself time by telling Brett he needed to check his trial schedule. In reality, he had used the borrowed moments to call Laurie, but she hadn’t answered. He had phoned Leo instead, who assured Alex that Laurie would value his early input. But now that his bags were packed, he had to wonder whether Leo might have his own reasons for wanting to bring Alex to California. When he got there, would he cramp Laurie’s rhythm with her production team? This would be the first time they’d worked together since developing a friendship outside of the show.

When he was invited to host Under Suspicion’s inaugural episode about the Graduation Gala Murder, he couldn’t resist. He had followed the case closely when he was a sophomore at Fordham and had always been convinced that one of the guests celebrating at the gala was the killer. As it turned out, his suspicions were incorrect. The lasting mark of his participation in the show wasn’t the discovery of the true killer’s identity but his devotion to Laurie Moran.

“Do you need a car service for tomorrow, Mr. Alex?”

“How many times do I need to tell you to drop the ‘Mr.,’ Ramon? Alex is fine. Heck, you can even call me Al, as the song says.”

“That is not how Ramon rolls, sir.”

Alex shook his head and laughed. Occasionally he looked at his own life and could not believe it. Ramon was sixty years old, born in the Philippines. Divorced, with one adult daughter in Syracuse, he was Alex’s “assistant.” Alex preferred that term to “butler,” which had been Ramon’s title in his previous employment for a family that had relocated to the West Coast. The decorator who had ensured that Alex’s apartment was finished tastefully had recommended hiring Ramon when she saw that Alex was so busy at work that he frequently bought new undershirts because the laundry was backed up.

Alex’s apartment on Beekman Place, with views of the East River, had six rooms, plus servant’s quarters, much too large for a bachelor. But it had enough space for a dining room to entertain friends, a home office, Ramon, and Alex’s younger brother, Andrew, a corporate lawyer who visited frequently from Washington, D.C. In Alex’s mind, his home reflected his commitment to friends, family, and loyalty. And yet, he understood how it all probably looked to someone who didn’t truly know him.

What he really meant was how it probably looked to Laurie.

Last December, he thought it was all going to be easy. The man Timmy called Blue Eyes had tried to kill the boy and his mother. On instinct, Alex ran in and swept both Laurie and Timmy into his arms. For that brief moment, they almost felt like a family.

But, just as quickly, Leo had appeared, and Laurie and Timmy had pulled away from Alex’s embrace. Leo, Laurie, and Timmy were the family. Alex was a friend. A coworker. A buddy. Not family. Not, most important, Greg.

At first, Alex reasoned that Laurie simply wasn’t ready for another relationship. Certainly he could understand the possible reasons. She had a demanding career and a child to juggle. She had lost her husband. She wasn’t over Greg yet. Maybe she never would be.

But now, the night before he was supposed to fly to Los Angeles to work with Laurie again, he wondered if her reluctance was specific to him personally. In addition to an apartment that might have seemed too large and a butlerlike assistant who called him “Mr. Alex,” he had somehow been saddled with a public persona fit for the tabloids.

How many times had he seen his own photograph in the society pages with a woman on his arm, the caption hinting at a growing romance? But because his part-time job as a trial commentator had made him something of a pseudocelebrity, these pairings always seemed to be blown out of proportion. Andrew had even told him about a website that purported to list every single person Alex had ever supposedly dated. Most were names Alex didn’t recognize.

Why would a woman as smart and confident as Laurie trust someone like him? She had a career and child to worry about. There was no room for some six-foot-four, airbrushed, blow-dried lothario. Could she allow Timmy to become attached to another man who, as she perceived it, might fall out of his life?

Alex looked down once again at his bags and then replaced a flashy purple paisley tie with conservative navy stripes, knowing the swap wouldn’t make one bit of difference.