At the sound of their voices, Timmy’s eyes opened. He jumped up to give her a big bear hug. His enormous brown eyes, all expression and lashes, blinked up at her. She bent down to get closer to him. His head was still warm and smelled like sleep. She didn’t need a glass of wine to feel like she was home.
Three hours later, Timmy’s homework was done, the leftover takeout had been stored away, and Timmy-after enjoying his traditional “nighttime snack”-was tucked into bed.
Laurie returned to the table, where Leo was finishing a second cup of coffee. “Thank you, Dad,” she said simply.
“Because I called for takeout?”
“No, I mean, for everything. For every day.”
“Come on, Laurie. You know it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Now, is it just my imagination, or were Timmy and I not the only people in this apartment who were a little tired this evening? I swear, sometimes I think you’re right about that psychic connection you talk about.”
When Timmy was born, Laurie was convinced that she and her son shared some inexplicable link that required neither words nor even physical contact. She would wake up in the middle of the night, certain that something was wrong, only to find dark silence. Invariably, within seconds, the baby monitor would crackle with the sounds of crying. Even tonight, hadn’t she had a hankering for chicken tikka masala during the subway ride home?
“Of course I’m right,” she said with a smile. “I’m always right, about everything. And so are you about my being a little tired. Only it’s more than a little. I had a long day.”
She told him about Brett Young’s conditional approval of featuring the Cinderella Murder in the next installment of Under Suspicion, followed by her phone call to Frank Parker.
“Did he sound like a murderer?” Leo asked.
“You’re the one who taught me that the coldest, cruelest creatures can also be the most charming.”
He fell silent.
“I know you still worry about me, Dad.”
“Of course I do, just like you worried about me and Timmy when you came home today. Blue Eyes may be gone, but the very nature of your show means you’ve got a good chance, every single time, of being in the room with a killer.”
“You don’t need to remind me. But I always have Grace and Jerry with me. I have a camera crew. Someone is with me at all times. I’m probably safer at work than I am walking down the street.”
“Oh, that’s really comforting.”
“I’m perfectly safe, Dad. Frank Parker has a huge career now. He’s not stupid. Even if he was the one who killed Susan Dempsey, the last thing he’s going to do is expose himself by trying to hurt me.”
“Well, I’d feel better if Alex were one of those people who was always around you at work. Is he available for this project?”
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed, but Alex has a law practice to run, Dad. He doesn’t need a second full-time job as a television personality.”
“That’s all a story, and you know it. The more he’s on TV, the more business he gets for his practice.”
“Well, hopefully he’ll be on board.” Quickly she added, “And not because of your reason, but because no one could be better than he was on the show.”
“And because you both like being together.”
“I can’t get past those detective skills, can I?” She smiled and patted his knee, temporarily putting the issue to rest. “Frank Parker said something interesting today. He suggested that the best way to get Madison Meyer to commit to the show would be to appear at her house with a television crew.”
“It makes sense, like waving a needle in front of a junkie. You said her career is all but dead. When she actually sees how quickly she could be back in the spotlight, she might have a hard time saying no.”
“And it’s Los Angeles,” she said, thinking aloud. “I can probably get a skeleton camera crew on a budget. With Madison, Parker, and Susan’s mother on board, I can’t imagine Brett not giving me the all-clear.”
She picked up her phone from the coffee table and sent texts to Jerry and Grace: “Pack a bag for warm weather. We’re heading to L.A. first thing in the morning.”
The following afternoon in Los Angeles, Laurie pulled their rental van to the curb and double-checked the address against the one she had entered into the GPS. Jerry and the small production team they’d hired for the day-just a sound guy and two cameramen shooting handhelds-were already jumping out of the back, but Grace asked, “Everything okay? You look hesitant.”
Sometimes it gave her the willies how well Grace could read her. Now that they were here, unannounced, at Madison Meyer’s last known address, she was wondering if this was an insane idea.
Oh well, she told herself. This is reality television. She had to take risks. “No problem,” she said, turning off the engine. “Just making sure we’re in the right place.”
“Not exactly Beverly Hills, is it?” Grace observed.
The ranch house was tiny, its blue paint starting to peel. The grass looked like it hadn’t been mowed for a month. The weathered planter boxes beneath the front windows contained nothing but dirt.
Laurie led the way to the front door, Grace and Jerry at her heels, the camera crew close behind. She rang the bell, once, then twice more, before she saw a set of red fingernails pull back curtains from the adjacent window. Two minutes later, a woman she recognized as Madison Meyer finally opened the door. Based on the fresh lipstick that matched the fingernails, Laurie guessed that Madison had done a quick touch-up before meeting her newly arrived guests.
“Madison, my name is Laurie Moran. I’m a producer with Fisher Blake Studios, and I want to give you airtime on a show with more than ten million viewers.”
The house was cramped and messy. Magazines were strewn randomly around the living room, on the sofa, on the coffee table, in a pile on the floor next to the television. Most of them seemed to be celebrity magazines with important features like “Who Wore It Better?” and “Guess Which Couple Is About to Split?” Two narrow bookshelves that lined the wall by the entryway were packed with memorabilia from Madison’s short-lived success as an actress. At the center was the statuette she had received for her first role, the one Frank Parker had gifted her after Susan supposedly never showed up for her audition: a Spirit Award, not an Oscar, but still a sign of a budding career. But from Laurie’s research, she gathered that Madison had gone nowhere but down after that one recognition.
“Did you get the letter I sent you, Miss Meyer?”
“I don’t think so. Or maybe I did and I just wanted to see whether you’d be following up.” She smiled coyly.
Laurie returned the smile. “Well, consider this the follow-up.” She introduced Jerry and Grace, who both shook Madison’s hand. “Have you heard of the special series Under Suspicion?”
“Oh yes,” Madison said. “I watched the one last year. I even joked it was only a matter of time before someone came calling about my college roommate. I assume that’s why you’re here?”
“As you know,” Laurie said, “there has been speculation over the years about whether you covered for Frank Parker. You said you were with him at his house at the time of Susan’s death.”
Madison opened her mouth to speak but then pressed her lips together and nodded slowly. Close up and in person, Laurie could see that Madison had retained her beauty. She had long, shiny blond hair; a heart-shaped face; and piercing green eyes. Her skin was still pale and clear. But Laurie could also see the changes that time had brought to Madison’s face, as well as Madison’s attempts to forestall them. A telltale stripe of mousy brown revealed she was due for another dye job. Her forehead was unnaturally smooth, her cheeks and lips plumped by fillers. She was still a gorgeous woman, but Laurie wondered whether she’d have been even more beautiful without all the intervention.