The Cinderella Murder

by Mary Higgins Clark

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  For Andrew and Taylor Clark

  The newlyweds—

  With love

  Acknowledgments

  It is so satisfying to tell another tale, to share another journey with characters we have created and come to care deeply about—or not. And this time to have done it step by step with the wonderful writer Alafair Burke.

  Marysue Rucci, editor-in-chief at Simon & Schuster, has been a marvelous friend and mentor. Alafair and I have so enjoyed working with her on this book, which is the first of a series.

  The home team starts with my right hand, Nadine Petry, my daughter Patty, and my son Dave. And of course, John Conheeney, spouse extraordinaire.

  Abiding thanks to Jackie Seow, art director. Her covers make me look so good.

  And many thanks to my faithful readers, whose encouragement and support have made me write yet another tale.

  Dear Reader,

  My publisher had an idea I loved: with a cowriter, we should use the main characters in I’ve Got You Under My Skin in a series of novels. Working with Alafair Burke, a suspense writer I have long admired, we created The Cinderella Murder. In this novel and others to follow, the premise is that witnesses, friends, and family members from unsolved cases will be brought together to appear on a TV show years later in the hope of finding clues that were missed in the earlier investigations. I hope you enjoy the story.

  Mary Higgins Clark

  1

  It was two o’clock in the morning. Right on time, Rosemary Dempsey thought ruefully as she opened her eyes and stirred. Whenever she had a big day ahead she would inevitably wake up in the middle of the night and start worrying that something would go wrong.

  It had always been like this, even when she was a child. And now, fifty-five years old, happily married for thirty-two years, with one child, beautiful and gifted nineteen-year-old Susan, Rosemary could not be anything but a constant worrier, a living Cassandra. Something is going to go wrong.

  Thanks again, Mom, Rosemary thought. Thanks for all the times you held your breath, so sure that the birthday upside-down cake I loved to make for Daddy would flop. The only one that did was the first one when I was eight years old. All the others were perfect. I was so proud of myself. But then, on his birthday when I was eighteen, you told me you always made a backup cake for him. In the single act of defiance that I can remember, I was so shocked and angry I tossed the one I had made in the garbage can.

  You started laughing and then tried to apologize. “It’s just that you’re talented in other ways, Rosie, but let’s face it, in the kitchen you’re klutzy.”

  And of course you found other ways to tell me where I was klutzy, Rosemary thought. “Rosie, when you make the bed, be sure that the spread is even on both sides. It only takes an extra minute to do it right.” “Rosie, be careful. When you read a magazine, don’t just toss it back on the table. Line it up with the others.”

  And now, even though I know I can throw a party or make a cake, I am always sure that something will go wrong, Rosemary thought.

  But there was a reason today to be apprehensive. It was Jack’s sixtieth birthday, and this evening sixty of their friends would be there to celebrate it. Cocktails and a buffet supper, served on the patio by their infallible caterer. The weather forecast was perfect, sunshine and seventy degrees.

  It was May 7 in Silicon Valley and that meant that the flowers were in full bloom. Their dream house, the third since they’d moved to San Mateo thirty-two years ago, was built in the style of a Tuscan villa. Every time she turned into the driveway, she fell in love with it again.

  Everything will be fine, she assured herself impatiently. And as usual I’ll make the birthday chocolate upside-down cake for Jack and it will be perfect and our friends will have a good time and I will be told how I’m a marvel. “Your parties are always so perfect, Rosie . . . The supper was delicious . . . the house exquisite . . . ,” and on and on. And I will be a nervous wreck inside, she thought, an absolute nervous wreck.

  Careful not to awaken him, she wriggled her slender body over in the bed until her shoulder was touching Jack’s. His even breathing told her that he was enjoying his usual untroubled sleep. And he deserved it. He worked so hard. As she often did when she was trying to overcome one of her worry attacks, Rosemary began to remind herself of all the good things in her life, starting with the day she met Jack on the campus of Marquette University. She had been an undergraduate. He had been a law student. It was the proverbial love at first sight. They had been married after she graduated from college. Jack was fascinated by developing technology, and his conversation became filled with talk of robots, telecommunications, microprocessors, and something called internetworking. Within a year they had moved to Northern California.

  I always wanted us to live our lives in Milwaukee, Rosemary thought. I still could move back in a heartbeat. Unlike most human beings, I love cold winters. But moving here certainly has worked out for us. Jack is head of the legal department of Valley Tech, one of the top research companies in the country. And Susan was born here. After more than a decade without the family we hoped and prayed for, we were holding her in our arms.

  Rosemary sighed. To her dismay, Susan, their only child, was a Californian to her fingertips. She’d scoff at the idea of relocating anywhere. Rosemary tried to wrest her mind away from the troublesome thought that last year Susan had chosen to go to UCLA, a great college but a full five-hour drive away. She had been accepted closer to home at Stanford University. Instead she had rushed to enroll at UCLA, probably because her no-good boyfriend, Keith Ratner, was already a student there. Dear God, Rosemary thought, don’t let her end up eloping with him.

  The last time she looked at the clock, it was three thirty, and her last impression before falling asleep was once again an overwhelming fear that today something was going to go desperately wrong.

  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?

  3

  Forty-five minutes later, just as Rosemary was expecting Jack to walk in the door, the phone rang. It was Susan.

  “Mom, I had to work up the courage to tell you. I can’t get home tonight.”

  “Oh, Susan, Dad will be so disappointed!”

  Susan’s voice, young and eager, almost breathless, said, “I didn’t call before because I didn’t know for sure. Mom, Frank Parker is going to meet me tonight, about maybe being cast in his new movie.” Her voice calmed a little. “Mom, remember when I was in Home Before Dark, just before Christmas?”

  “How could I forget?” Rosemary and Jack had flown to Los Angeles to watch the campus play from the third row. “You were wonderful.”

  Susan laughed. “But you’re my mother. Why wouldn’t you say that? Anyhow, remember the casting agent, Edwin Lange, who said he’d sign me?”

  “Yes, and you never heard from him again.”

  “But I did. He said Frank Parker saw my audition tape. Edwin taped the performance and showed it to Frank Parker. He said that Parker was blown away and is considering me for the lead in a movie he’s casting. It’s a movie set on a campus and he wants to find college students to be in it. He wants me to meet him. Mom, can you believe it? I don’t want to jinx myself, but I feel so lucky. It’s like it’s too good to be true. Can you believe that I might get a role, maybe even the lead role?”

  “Calm down before you have a heart attack,” Rosemary cautioned, “and then you won’t get any role.” Rosemary smiled and pictured her daughter, energy exuding from every bone in her body, twisting her fingers through her long blond hair, those wonderful blue eyes shining.

  The semester’s almost over, she thought. If she did get a part in this movie, it would be a great experience. “Dad will certainly understand, Susan, but be sure to call him back.”

  “I’ll try, but, Mom, I’m meeting Edwin in five minutes to go over the tape with him and rehearse, because he says Frank Parker will want me to read for him. I don’t know how late it will be. You’ll be having the party, and you’ll never hear the phone. Why don’t I call Dad in the morning?”

  “That might not be a bad idea. The party is from six to ten, but most people linger on.”

  “Give him a birthday kiss for me.”

  “I will. Knock that director off his feet.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Love you, sweetheart.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  Rosemary had never become used to the sudden silence that followed when a cell phone disconnected.

  • • •

  When the phone rang the next morning, Jack popped up from reading the newspaper. “There’s our girl, bright and early by a college student’s standards for a Sunday.”

  But the caller wasn’t Susan. It was the Los Angeles Police Department. They had difficult news. A young woman had been found just before dawn in Laurel Canyon Park. She appeared to have been strangled. They didn’t want to alarm them unnecessarily, but their daughter’s driver’s license had been retrieved from a purse found fifteen yards from the body. A mobile phone was clutched in her hand and the last number dialed was theirs.

  4

  Laurie Moran paused on her way to her office at 15 Rockefeller Center to admire the ocean of gold and red tulips blooming in the Channel Gardens. Named after the English Channel because they separated the French and British Empire Buildings, these gardens were always brimming with something lush and cheerful. Tulips were no match for the plaza’s Christmas tree, but the discovery of new plantings every few weeks in spring always made it easier for Laurie to say good-bye to her favorite season in the city. While other New Yorkers complained about the throngs of holiday tourists, Laurie found cheer in the brisk air and festive decorations.

  Outside the Lego store, a father was photographing his son next to the giant Lego dinosaur. Her own son, Timmy, always had to loop through the store to inspect the latest creations when he visited her at work.

  “How long do you think it took them to make this, Dad? How many pieces do you think there are?” The boy looked up at his father with a certainty that he had all the answers in the world. Laurie felt a pang of sadness, remembering the way Timmy used to gaze at Greg with the same anticipatory awe. The father noticed her watching, and she turned away.

  “Excuse me, miss, but would you mind taking our picture?”

  Thirty-seven years old, Laurie had learned long ago that she came across as friendly and approachable. Slender, with honey-colored hair and clear hazel eyes, she was typically described as “good–looking” and “classy.” She wore her hair in a simple shoulder-length bob and rarely bothered with makeup. She was attractive but unthreatening. She was the type of woman people stopped for directions or, as in this case, amateur photography.

  “Of course I don’t mind,” she said.

  The man handed her his phone. “These gadgets are great, but all our family pictures are from an arm’s length away. It would nice to have something to show besides a bunch of selfies.” He pulled his son in front of him as she stepped back to get the entire dinosaur in view.

  “Say cheese,” she urged.

  They complied, flashing big, toothy smiles. Father and son, Laurie thought wistfully.

  The father thanked Laurie as she returned his phone. “We didn’t expect New Yorkers to be so nice.”

  “I promise, most of us are pretty nice,” Laurie assured him. “Ask New Yorkers for directions and nine out of ten will take the time.”

  Laurie smiled, thinking of the day when she was crossing Rockefeller Center with Donna Hanover, the former first lady of New York City. A tourist had touched Donna’s arm and asked if she knew her way around New York. Donna had turned and pointed and explained. “You’re just a couple of blocks from . . .” Smiling at the memory, Laurie crossed the street and entered the Fisher Blake Studios offices. She got off the elevator on the twenty-fifth floor and hurried to her office.

  Grace Garcia and Jerry Klein were already busy at their cubicles. When Grace saw Laurie, she sprang up from her seat first.

  “Hi, Laurie.” Grace was Laurie’s twenty-six-year-old assistant. As usual, her heart-shaped face was heavily but perfectly made up. Today, her ever-changing mane of long, jet-black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. She wore a bright blue minidress with black tights and stiletto boots that would have sent Laurie toppling over face first.

&
nbsp; Jerry, wearing one of his trademark cardigan sweaters, ambled from his seat to follow Laurie into her private office. Despite Grace’s sky-high heels, long, lanky Jerry loomed over her. He was only one year older than Grace but had been with the company since he was in college, working his way up from intern to valued production assistant, and had just been promoted to assistant producer. If it hadn’t been for Grace and Jerry’s dedication, Laurie never could have gotten her show Under Suspicion off the ground.

  “What’s going on?” Laurie asked. “You two act like there’s a surprise party waiting in my office.”

  “You could put it that way,” Jerry said. “But the surprise isn’t in your office.”

  “It’s in here,” Grace said, handing Laurie a legal-sized mailing envelope. The return address read ROSEMARY DEMPSEY, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA. The seal had been opened. “Sorry, but we peeked.”

  “And?”

  “She agreed,” Jerry blurted excitedly. “Rosemary Dempsey’s on board, signed on the dotted line. Congratulations, Laurie. Under Suspicion’s next case will be the Cinderella Murder.”

  Grace and Jerry took their usual places on the white leather sofa beneath the windows overlooking the skating rink. No place would ever feel as safe to Laurie as her own home, but her office—spacious, sleek, modern—symbolized all her hard work over the years. In this room, she did her best work. In this room, she was the boss.

  She paused at her desk to say a silent good morning to a single photograph on it. Snapped at a friend’s beach home in East Hampton, it was the last picture she, Greg, and Timmy had taken as a family. Until last year, she had refused to keep any pictures of Greg in her office, certain that they would be a constant reminder to anyone who entered that her husband was dead and his murder still unsolved. Now she made it a point to look at the photograph at least once a day.