And now the woman had announced that her curiosity about Nicole was piqued and that she’d be taking a close look at her background. I’m going to find out the truth about who Nicole Melling really was.
Martin would not be happy.
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.
38
“Wow, Mom. This is almost like that big breakfast they had at the hotel when we went to Aruba.”
The Aruba vacation last winter had celebrated the success of the first episode of Under Suspicion. Laurie felt like she’d been working nonstop ever since.
Laurie placed a hand on Timmy’s shoulder as she took in the breakfast options spread across the gigantic island in the middle of the kitchen. Laurie had been skeptical about the idea of their all camping out under one roof in Los Angeles, but with Brett already complaining about the show’s budget, she’d been in no position to challenge Jerry’s logic about using one house for both lodging and the summit-session filming.
Of course, she hadn’t anticipated the house in Bel Air would look like a Normandy estate. Nor that each of them—Jerry, Grace, Laurie, Timmy, Leo, and Alex—would have a separate room, complete with en suite bathroom and king bed topped with the smoothest sheets Laurie had ever felt. Now she and Timmy had woken up to find a fully catered meal waiting for them in the kitchen, courtesy of Jerry’s careful planning.
“Can I have a bagel?” Timmy said, starting to flip through the assortment on the tray.
“Please don’t touch every single one, okay?” Nine-year-old boys had no concept of germs. “And of course you may have one.”
“And may I have butter and cream cheese and lox and fruit salad?”
“You may. Just make sure you leave enough of everything for everyone else.”
“You mean, no hogging.”
“Exactly.” Where did he learn this stuff?
She was watching Timmy smear cream cheese on a poppy-seed bagel when Jerry walked in. He was dressed as casually as she’d ever seen him, in a yellow polo shirt and navy chinos. His hair was still damp from the shower. “Oh, excellent. Craft services has already been here.”
“You know we’re not filming here today, right?” Laurie clarified. “We’re doing our preinterview with Keith Ratner.”
“I know. But having them provide the food is really not much more expensive than going out to eat, plus it saves time. They’ll be here for all three meals with cleanup at night unless I call them off. And I figured, why not indulge on our first morning? Besides, we saved so much money on this house that we could afford to have the extra catering.”
She gestured for him to look at their surroundings. Next to the open kitchen was an enormous living room, complete with a fireplace and three separate seating areas. The dining room could easily accommodate sixteen people. Outside, a swimming pool fit for a resort sparkled in the sun.
“I find it hard to believe that this house fits within a budget set by Brett Young.”
“It does for us,” Jerry said, beaming with pride, “because we got it for free.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s right. When I called Dwight Cook to set an interview schedule, I told him that the location for the summit session was to-be-announced and that we’d be finding a house near campus. Turns out he bought this place
for his parents when REACH first hit it big. His parents decided a couple of years ago that they needed a smaller place, all on one floor. I guess he won’t sell it because of capital gains taxes or something I’m not rich enough to understand. He has a property manager handle it as a high-end rental for movie shoots and whatnot. But we got it for free. Are you mad?”
“That the house came from Susan’s coworker at the computer lab?”
He nodded. “I probably should have run it by you, but I figured you were busy enough without having to micromanage those kinds of details.”
She had been swamped, but it would have been nice to know that they were receiving a subsidy from Dwight Cook. It certainly was not the first time they had received assistance from someone involved in a case. For “The Graduation Gala,” they filmed the entire show at the home of the victim’s husband. He had even paid participants additional compensation out of his own pocket to guarantee their presence. Still, the journalist in her cringed a little.
Jerry helped Timmy pour a glass of orange juice. “I figured it was okay since Dwight’s not even a suspect. He was a friend of Susan, and let’s face it, he’s so successful that crashing in his empty house isn’t exactly a deep reach into his wallet. Plus in the Graduation Gala case—”
“It’s okay, Jerry. You don’t need to explain. I would have made the same decision. We just need to disclose it during the show.”
Laurie’s own job would be easier if she started trusting Jerry more to make autonomous decisions.
“The house is really pretty,” Timmy said, setting down his orange juice glass. “Thank you for finding this place for us, Jerry.”
“My goodness. If you could bottle up that sweetness and sell it in a can, Dwight Cook wouldn’t be the only one who was rich.”
Laurie turned at the sound of footsteps and saw her father and Alex Buckley walking into the kitchen.
“What’s all this?” Leo boomed.
“Jerry got us breakfast!” Timmy exclaimed.
“Even better,” Jerry said. “Jerry hired someone to get us breakfast.”
Alex gave her a quick good-morning peck on the cheek and headed straight for the coffee. He had an iPad in hand, which she knew he would use to peruse the New York Times. He had arrived so late the previous evening that they’d barely had a chance to say hello to each other.
She watched as Timmy leapt out of his seat to give Alex and his grandfather an overview of the buffet. Looking at the three of them, she realized she was smiling and still felt the warmth of Alex’s kiss on her cheek.
She deliberately glanced away at the empty place setting at the table. “So we’re all here except for Grace,” she said. “She’s probably still working on her hair and makeup.”
“Actually,” Jerry said, “I told her she could sleep in.”
“We’re supposed to see Keith Ratner today.” She looked at her watch. They should be leaving before too long. “We can review strategy on the ride there. Rosemary has always been convinced Keith was involved.”
“I know, the boyfriend’s important. But he’s almost as celebrity-conscious as Madison Meyer. That’s why I thought you should bring Alex instead of me and Grace. Assuming, of course, that’s okay with you, Alex.”
Alex looked up from his coffee. “I wouldn’t say I’m a celebrity, but I’m happy to do whatever Laurie would like.”
Another point for Jerry. He was right. Alex would likely snow Keith Ratner—she might as well take advantage of his expertise. “Alex, if Keith has been holding on to information about Susan’s murder all these years, I can’t imagine anyone who might have a better chance of getting him to talk.”
“I don’t know, Jerry,” Leo said cheerfully. “It sounds to me like you’re playing Alex and Laurie to get yourself a day off.”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Farley,” he said, waving his punch list. “Grace and I have a long to-do list ahead of the summit session next week.”
Laurie smiled. “Dad, I can assure you that Jerry is always working. Speaking of work, Alex, you and I should be heading out. And, Jerry, you can scratch one phone call off your list. We’ll make sure Keith knows where to come next week for the big shoot.”
39
Three hundred sixty miles north, Dwight Cook was just waking up in his Palo Alto mansion. Though the home had more than nine thousand square feet, he spent most of his time in this enormous master suite with sweeping views of the foothills. But this morning, he was more interested in another one of his real estate holdings. He immediately reached for the laptop on his nightstand and opened the viewer for the surveillance cameras in the Bel Air house.
The first camera to appear overlooked the entryway. Laurie Moran was walking toward the front door. He recognized the man behind her as Alex Buckley, the show’s host.
Dwight used the right-arrow key to flip through the cameras situated around the house.
The assistant, Grace, was coming out of one of the bedrooms on the second floor, singing an old disco song. The others were all finishing breakfast in the kitchen, the child asking whether they’d have time for a trip to Disneyland. The surveillance equipment—built into the walls, completely undetectable—was working flawlessly. Dwight had had the system installed in all his properties for extra security, but now it would be serving another role.
Dwight wouldn’t be going to Los Angeles until this weekend, but for all practical purposes, he was right there with the production team. And once the summit sessions began, he’d be able to see and hear everything.
40
Laurie led the way to the their black SUV. In addition to the Land Cruiser, they had also rented a full-size van for production use, and a separate sedan for Leo and Timmy to tool around in. She dangled the keys as she walked. “Would you care to drive, or should I?”
“Your choice.”
“I’ve never driven in Los Angeles before. I suppose I should at least try it. If I feel like I’m putting our lives in danger, I’ll pull over and we can switch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Alex said, “though I’d be more worried about the life of any driver stupid enough to upset you.”
“I’ll admit, I can be a tough customer,” Laurie laughed. “I’ll try to avoid any road-rage incidents.”
She had already entered their destination into the GPS. Once they were both belted in, she started the engine for the short drive to Westwood.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a driver,” Alex said.
“Says the man with the butler,” she said wryly. “Seriously, have you not met Brett Young? He has been all over me about the budget for this episode. It’s not cheap to shoot in California. I think we can manage our own driving.”
“That house certainly doesn’t look like budget-friendly lodging.”
“Funny you should mention that. Jerry just told me this morning that it belongs to Dwight Cook. We’re using it free of charge.”
“You sound irritated.”
“It’s fine. I just know that Jerry had a hundred opportunities to mention that detail a little earlier.”
“But then you might have said no, and he’d be back to trying to find a space big enough to house us all, and suitable for filming, all on the studio budget. As they say, better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
“You’re right. I think it’s hard for me sometimes to see Jerry as someone other than the skinny intern who used to fetch coffee.”
“It’s not my business, but from what I’ve seen, he’s a far cry from that. He’s very good at his job.”
“I know. Sending you to meet with Keith today is a perfect example. He and Madison are status conscious. They live in a world where their worth is measured daily by how fast the valet at the Ivy fetches their car. He’s not exactly A-list, but he’d run right over Jerry and Grace.”
“No one runs over Grace,” Alex said.
“True.”
“Where are we meeting him?”
“A little bookstore in Westwood. From what I
read online, it seems like an alternative kind of place—counterculture stuff.”
“Why there? I thought he said he was at some church thing the night Susan was murdered.”
She should have known that Alex would have fully reviewed all the case materials. “Yes, at least allegedly. But the church wasn’t exactly a church yet. It was fledgling. A bit fringy, if you ask me. At the time, Keith told police he was at a discussion group at the bookstore. Once the police investigated further, they learned that it was a meeting for some group called Advocates for God.”
Several group members vouched for Keith’s whereabouts at the time of Susan’s murder, but, based on what Laurie knew about the church, she wondered if they might be so insular as to cover for one another.
“They’ve come a long way since holding recruiting meetings at indie bookstores,” Alex said. “Isn’t it a big West Coast megachurch now?”
“And how do you think they got there?” she asked. “Money. They say they ‘advocate for God’s goodness’ ”—she added air quotes for good measure—“but they’re all about raising money. Supposedly it all goes to serving the poor, but you’ve got to wonder. Meanwhile, the church’s members seem to follow along blindly.”
“And that’s why you said Keith allegedly has an alibi for Susan’s murder.”
“Exactly. Admittedly, at the time, Ratner was a starving actor and was only just beginning with AG. If he was involved in Susan’s murder, I don’t see why the church would stick its neck out to cover for him.”
“In the lawyering world, we call what you’re doing arguing with yourself.”
“I know. I can look at every suspect and think they’re completely innocent, then, in the blink of an eye, picture them chasing poor Susan into that park. Even her friend Nicole was acting completely out of sorts when we spoke to her, like she was hiding something. I can see why the police were never able to solve the case.”
The Cinderella Murder Page 14