Secret Cinderella

Mel inclined her head toward the lighted window of the apartment three stories up. Even from inside the cab the sounds of a party in full swing were unmistakable.

“I’ve already got plenty of company,” she said as she handed him the money.

The man nodded acceptance, but he waited, watching her climb the stone steps to the entrance before he roared off to disappear into the swirling snowflakes. As soon as the cab was out of sight, Mel went back down and hurried along the sidewalk as fast as her borrowed too-high heels would allow.

Snow peppered her skin. In minutes she was liberally coated from her hair to the pinching points of her shoes where her frozen toes begged for mercy. She was so cold she wasn’t sure how she made it to the Metro parking lot where she’d left her car earlier.

The police would trace the cab, of course, but the building would bring them to a dead end. Now, if only she could get her reluctant engine to start! Her twelve-year-old car did not like the cold any more than she did, and the transmission was going.

Curbing her frantic need to get away from the area, Mel finally coaxed the engine to life while shivers wracked her. Nothing resembling heat came from the vents even after she pulled out of the subway parking lot. The streets were growing more treacherous by the minute. Mel didn’t have to turn on the radio to know a snow emergency ban would be in effect. That meant she’d have to find a parking place near her apartment building on one of the side streets that wasn’t deemed an emergency route. Too bad she couldn’t afford the monthly fee to park in the parking garage a block over.

By the time she reached the foyer of her apartment building, two horrifically long blocks from where she’d had to park, the new year was several minutes old and she could no longer feel the finger that pressed Claire Bradshaw’s apartment buzzer.

“Yes?” the tinny voice questioned over the speaker.

“Claire, it’s Mel. Let me in.”

The buzzer answered her plea. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, she grasped the door handle and pushed eagerly into the warmth of the foyer. Her skin burned with returning circulation as she climbed the three flights and tried to ignore the icy rivulets of water melting against her skin.

“Good Lord’a’mighty have mercy,” Claire exclaimed as Mel reached her floor, huffing between fierce shivers. “What on earth were you doing running around outside dressed like that?”

“Tempting frostbite,” she managed.

Claire tsk-tsked as she ushered Mel inside. “Where’s your coat? Never mind. Get inside before you drop.”

Her elderly neighbor ushered her into a cozy warm room. Mel heard her suck in another gasp as she got a good view of Mel’s backside.

“Good Lord,” Claire whispered. “Didn’t I tell you that dress was overkill?”

Another time, Mel might have laughed. Claire had told her as much, even though she’d only seen the dress on the hanger until now.

“I didn’t have a lot of choice. Sue has flamboyant taste.” A serious understatement. Sue had been Mel’s next-door neighbor when she first moved to D.C. Outgoing and courageous, the pretty redhead had made it impossible for Mel not to be friends with her despite how little they had in common. But her friend was exactly her size right down to the shoe size. There hadn’t been time to go shopping for something more suitable after Gary called so she’d stopped at her friend’s apartment to borrow an outfit for the party.

Fortunately, Claire hadn’t lived some seventy-odd years without learning when to give in to shock and when to get on with what needed doing.

“Into the shower,” she ordered. “You’ll have pneumonia if we don’t get you warmed up.”

“No time.”

Claire Bradshaw scowled. Without bothering to argue she went to the closet and plucked out a heavy cardigan sweater and helped Mel into the thick wool. Forcing her down into the nearest chair, her friend quickly wrapped the afghan from the couch around her legs.

Lethargy pulled at her. Mel shut her eyes and allowed herself a minute to huddle in the chair, absorbing warmth into her chilled, damp body. When Claire set a steaming cup of hot chocolate on the end table at her elbow, Mel forced her eyes open again.

“Drink every drop,” Claire ordered. “Hot chocolate warms a body faster than anything else.”

Mel tried to pick up the mug, but her hands shook too much to hold the heavy stoneware. Claire’s wrinkled face added new creases as she lifted the mug so Mel could take a sip. The liquid was hot but not scalding, and Mel drank greedily. The next time she told her hands to reach for the cup, they closed around the blessed warmth and she shuddered gratefully.

A moment later Claire produced a fluffy warm towel. She must have taken it from the small clothes dryer in her kitchen because the terry cloth was soothingly warm and smelled of fabric softener.

“Use this on your hair.”

Mel sank her hands into the thick towel with a sigh of pleasure.

“I don’t have much time,” she told her friend as she toweled her sodden hair.

“The police?” Claire asked quietly.

Mel grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“Did you get the disk?” Claire asked with a nod at the wallet and key case Mel had dropped on the end table.

Mel shook her head, feeling the bitter weight of defeat. “It’s a DVD, not a disk, and no. Someone beat me to it.”

“Oh, dear. What can I do?”

“I need the spare key to get inside my apartment. My key is in my coat pocket and I had to leave it behind. I have to disappear for a few days.”

“The wallet?”

Used to her friend’s verbal shorthand, Mel had no trouble understanding that question. “That isn’t the reason. The wallet didn’t come from that party.”

“You went to another party?”

“Not by choice.”

She picked up the supple leather, allowing her fingertips to stroke the soft, expensive-looking material. Claire raised questioning eyebrows and Mel lifted her shoulders trying not to think about the handsome stranger who had helped her escape.

“Carl Boswell was murdered before I got there.”

“Oh, my.”

“It gets worse. The program was gone and someone Gary works with was at the party. Harold DiAngelis. I’m pretty sure he recognized me. I caught him staring at me.”

Claire snorted and looked meaningfully down at her dress.

Mel managed a weak smile. “I wish it had been the dress, but I’m not even sure he noticed what I was wearing.”

Claire raised expressive eyebrows.

“Really. It’s no coincidence he was there, Claire. I’m betting he killed Boswell and took the program.”

“Large assumption.”

“Maybe, but you know how Gary feels about DiAngelis.”

“How would he know about Gary’s program?”

“How did he know who I am?” Reluctantly, she pushed aside the blanket and unwound the towel from her head. “I’d better go. DiAngelis is sure to put the police on to me.”