The Cinderella Murder

2

She woke up at eight o’clock, an hour later than usual. Dismayed, she rushed out of bed, tossed on a robe, and hurried downstairs.

Jack was still in the kitchen, a toasted bagel in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. He wore a sport shirt and khakis.

“Happy sixtieth birthday, love,” she greeted him. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

He smiled, swallowed the last bit of the bagel, and put down the cup. “Don’t I get a kiss for my birthday?”

“Sixty of them,” Rosemary promised as she felt his arms go around her.

Jack was almost a foot taller than Rosemary. When she wore heels, it didn’t seem so much, but when she was in her bedroom slippers, he towered over her.

He always made her smile. Jack was a handsome man. His full head of hair, now more gray than blond; his body, lean and muscular; his face, sunburned enough to emphasize the deep blue of his eyes.

Susan was much more like him in both looks and temperament. She was tall and willowy, with long blond hair, deep blue eyes, and classic features. Her brain was like his. Technically gifted, she was the best student in the lab at school and equally gifted in her drama classes.

Next to them, Rosemary always felt as though she faded into the background. That too had been her mother’s appraisal. “Rosie, you really should have highlights in your hair. It’s such a muddy brown.”

Now, even though she did use streaks, Rosemary always thought of her hair as “muddy brown.”

Jack collected his long kiss and then released her. “Don’t kill me,” he said, “but I was hoping to sneak in eighteen holes at the club before the party.”

“I guessed that. Good for you!” Rosemary said.

“You don’t mind if I abandon you? I know there’s no chance of you joining.”

They both laughed. He knew all too well that she would be fussing around over details all day.

Rosemary reached for the coffeepot. “Join me for another cup.”

“Sure.” He glanced out the window. “I’m glad the weather is so good. I hate it when Susan drives through rainstorms to get here, but the weather prediction is good for the weekend.”

“And I don’t like that she’s going to be going back early tomorrow morning,” Rosemary said.

“I know. But she’s a good driver and young enough that the round trip won’t be a problem. Though remind me to talk to her about trading in that car of hers. It’s two years old, and already we’ve had too many visits to the garage.” Jack took a final few sips of the coffee. “Okay, I’m on my way. I should be home around four.” With a quick kiss on Rosemary’s forehead, he was out the door.

At three o’clock, beaming with self-satisfaction, Rosemary stepped back from the kitchen table. Jack’s birthday cake was perfect, not a crumb astray when she flipped it over and lifted the pan. The chocolate icing, her own recipe, was relatively smooth, with the words HAPPY 60TH BIRTHDAY, JACK, written carefully, word for word.

Everything is ready, she thought. Now, why can’t I relax?