The Cinderella Murder

45

Laurie let Grace do the driving back to Bel Air. She never got the chance to drive in New York City and was enjoying the experience, despite the hideous Los Angeles traffic.

“So what do you think?” Laurie asked once they were on the road. Alex had climbed into the SUV’s backseat before Laurie could protest.

Grace was the first to offer an opinion. “Uh-uh, I’m not buying it. That line about her and Susan being friends? Maybe so, but just as quickly, she was all, I won a Spirit Award, and I earned it. I’m sorry, but that’s cold.” She was waving one finger around in the air for emphasis, and Laurie felt the car swerve within the lane.

“Grace, two hands on the wheel, please.”

“Sorry, I just get a little worked up by that woman. And that timeline? Whoa, did that sound rehearsed. Seven forty-five, eight thirty, nine thirty, midnight, like a little wind-up doll.”

Laurie agreed on both points. Madison had stood by her alibi of Frank Parker, but it was almost too good. Every detail of her recollection of that night was absolutely consistent with the version she had given police twenty years ago. That was not how real memories worked. They evolved over time, some pieces deteriorating while others crystallized. Details got muddled and mutated. But Madison had nailed every line, as if she were acting.

“The one inconsistency I did catch,” Laurie noted, “was at first she said she was home because she was sick. Then when I asked how she could have left so quickly for the audition, she said she was going to a frat party but then thought she was sick, and then Frank happened to call when she was still prettied up. It sounds convoluted to me.”

“And a frat party?” Grace said skeptically. “Please. I may not have known Madison Meyer twenty years ago, but I can’t picture her hanging out with the campus Greeks. Something’s not right.”

Laurie’s thoughts were interrupted by her phone buzzing. Two new voice messages had come in while her cell was turned off during the shoot.

“Hi, this is Tammy from Advocates for God. You left a message last night for Reverend Collins about an old police investigation? The reverend apologizes that his schedule did not permit him to return your call personally, but he asked me to call you. He says police interviewed several of our members at the time, and in his recollection, they verified the whereabouts of the individual you mentioned in your message. He has nothing further to add but suggested that you could contact the police for details.”

Laurie skipped to the next message. “Ms. Moran, this is Keith Ratner. I wanted to apologize for losing it yesterday. It’s frustrating, to say the least, that people still question me after all these years. But I do want to help if the show will still have me. Give me a call when you have a chance.”

She hit the RETURN CALL button, and Keith picked up immediately. “You got my message?” he asked.

“I did, and I feel like I also need to apologize. My tone was sharper than I intended yesterday. And I want to assure you that our show will remain objective. In fact, since we saw you at the bookstore, I looked into your alibi for that night, and we’ve also been exploring every possible theory with the same amount of depth. For what it’s worth, I thought you might want to know that Susan’s mother and both of her roommates all said that Susan was much too devoted to have been involved with anyone but you.”

She saw no point in telling him that Rosemary’s response to the question had been, “Oh, I would have been thrilled if Susan had stepped out on that jerk.”

Keith confirmed the address for the summit session in Bel Air and then said good-bye just as they were pulling into the driveway.

“Pretty boy is back on board?” Grace asked.

“Careful,” Alex said. “I’m starting to think you call everyone pretty. My feelings are hurt.”

“Yes,” Laurie reported, “Keith Ratner-a.k.a. Pretty Boy Number Two-is back. But I’m starting to wonder whether he has a point about Rosemary suspecting him for no reason. His alibi is at least as good as Frank’s. He’s got multiple people vouching for him, not just one person who had a lot to gain in sticking by a critically acclaimed director.”

Alex unstrapped his seat belt as the SUV rolled to a stop. “I don’t think you can ignore the fact that the multiple people belonged to what some have called a brainwashing religion. Advocates for God doesn’t exactly have a squeaky-clean reputation.”

The sun felt good on Laurie’s face as she stepped down from the front seat. Maybe she could get used to California. The neighborhood was absolutely silent except for the distant sound of a lawn mower and Grace’s voice.

“And you heard what Madison said about Susan’s car being fickle,” Grace was saying. “If she was worried about a breakdown on her way to the audition, who would she ask for a ride? Her boyfriend, that’s who. Her agent was on the road, driving down to Arizona. So she called Keith. I still say they got into a fight on the way up there, she hopped out of the car, and it got out of control.”

Once again, Laurie felt like she was swimming through mud. The entire purpose of these early interviews was to crystallize the case so Alex could move in for the kill during the summit session. But they were supposed to start shooting in two days, and she still had no clearer picture of who killed Susan than when she’d first spotted the Cinderella Murder case online. Brett Young would never trust her again with this kind of budget. And more importantly, it was possible that this episode would fail by the only measure that really mattered to her-revealing something new about the investigation.

She was so distracted that she slipped her key into the front door without checking the knob first, accidentally locking them out instead of letting them in. She turned the key in the other direction and pushed the door open. It parted a few inches before she felt something blocking the way.

“Hello?” she called out. Jerry must have moved a piece of furniture into the foyer during his staging. “Jerry? We can’t get in! Hello?”

“Let me try.” Grace jumped in front of Laurie, crouched low, and placed both of her palms against the door, shoving with all her weight like a football player pushing a blocking sled across a field. She grunted from the effort and the door opened enough for her to step sideways through it.

“No!” Grace cried out. Through the crack in the door, Laurie saw her assistant fall to her knees on the hallway floor.

“Grace?”

Alex reached out to grab her arm, but it was too late. Laurie stepped inside and saw Grace crouched next to the obstacle that had been blocking the door. It was Jerry. His face was barely recognizable through the injuries. Streaks of red marked his journey from the den to this spot on the floor, his cell phone extended in his right hand. Laurie felt her breath leave her chest and leaned back against the door for support. She felt something damp and sticky on the wood behind her.

She heard Alex’s fist banging against the door but could not bring herself to move.

Jerry had been here alone. He had tried to call for help and had tried to crawl outside, but despite all of that effort, he was still all alone. And he was covered in blood.