The Cinderella Murder by Mary Higgins Clark, Alafair Burke Page A

“literary” fare. She felt a pang as she remembered Susan’s calling her from UCLA two days after the big move: “You’d love my roommate. She has amazing taste in books.” The novels had to be Nicole’s.
    Once they were seated, Nicole looked at her expectantly.
    “So you haven’t heard yet?” Rosemary asked.
    “No,” Nicole said. “At least, I don’t think so. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and the anticipation is going to give me a premature heart attack.”
    “It’s really happening. Laurie Moran called me. The head of the studio approved Susan’s case as Under Suspicion ’s next feature. And everyone has signed on: me, you, Madison, Frank Parker, and—color me shocked—Keith Ratner. She even got people who knew Susan from the computer lab.”
    “That is wonderful news,” Nicole said, reaching over and briefly clasping Rosemary’s hands in hers.
    “Yes, I think so, too. I feel like I pressured you into it, so I wanted to thank you personally.”
    “No, no pressure at all. I couldn’t be happier.”
    Rosemary had been on an emotional roller coaster ever since she opened Laurie Moran’s letter, but she still felt like Nicole was responding strangely.
    “Laurie said they’ll do pre-production interviews with all of us. Nocameras, for the most part. Just hearing our side of things so they know what to ask us once they yell ‘action.’ ”
    “Sure, no problem.”
    Did Rosemary imagine it, or had Nicole’s eyes just moved toward the staircase of her empty house? “You’re happy about this, aren’t you, Nicole? I mean, you and Madison were the only people my daughter ever lived with besides her parents. And, well, Madison was always sort of the add-on. Whether you wanted to be or not, you were the closest thing to a sister that Susan ever knew.”
    Whatever distance Rosemary sensed in Nicole immediately vanished as her eyes began to water. “And for me, too. She was my friend, and she was . . . amazing. I promise you, Rosemary. I will help. Me, you, this show. If there’s any way to find out what happened to Susan, we’re going to do it.”
    Now Rosemary was crying, too, but she smiled through the tears. “We’ll show Frank Parker and Keith Ratner what a couple of determined women can do. It has to be one of them, right?”
    When Rosemary was ready to leave, Nicole led the way to the front door, and then wrapped her arm around Rosemary’s shoulder as she escorted her down the steep walkway from her front porch to the street.
    Rosemary paused to take in the breathtaking view of the valley, all green trees backed by blue hills. “I don’t know whether I’ve ever told you this, Nicole, but I was so worried about you when you decided to leave school. I wondered whether you were, in some way, another victim of what happened to Susan. I’m so happy that things have worked out well for you.”
    Nicole gave her a big hug and then patted her on the back. “You drive safe, okay? We have big things to look forward to.”
    As Rosemary climbed into the driver’s seat, strapped on her seat belt, and pulled away from the curb, neither woman noticed the person watching them from the cream-colored pickup truck, two houses down.
    The truck pulled away from the curb and followed Rosemary south.

23

    M artin Collins worked his way down the aisles of his megachurch, conveniently located right off I-110 in the heart of South Los Angeles, shaking hands and offering quick hellos and blessings. He had delivered a rousing sermon to a packed house of four thousand, on their feet, their hands raised to God—and to him. Most could barely make rent or put food on the table, but he saw bills flying when the baskets were passed.
    The early days of recruiting new members in tattoo parlors, bike shops, and sketchy bars and painstakingly converting them, reinventing them, were long over.
    To see thousands of worshippers enthralled by his every word was exhilarating, but he enjoyed this