As Jack Wolf walked away, Kelly looked after him, and hiccupped. “Isn’t he funny?”

“Oh yeah. Maybe he was a stand-up comedian before he got into law enforcement.”

“Look over at old Mark. He’s eyeballing you again, Mary Lisa. You want me to tell him to stop before Monica sees him?”

“Yeah, you tell him that, Kelly, but first let’s get ourselves home.”

“A lovely party,” Kathleen said while George was driving them back to the house. “Beautifully planned and executed. Monica was impressive, as usual.”

George pulled at the neck of his collar. “Executed is about right.”

“Don’t whine, Dad, you look very handsome. Every woman there was envying Mother. You rule.”

“Yeah, Dad, you’re a tux stud,” Kelly said and giggled.

He looked in the rearview mirror at Mary Lisa and winked at her. “You were certainly popular tonight, sweetheart.”

“It’s the power of TV, that’s all. I call it TVness. People kind of lose it around TVness.”

Kelly was frowning. George said quickly, “Talk about popular, Kelly, I don’t think I ever saw you alone.”

“I guess not,” Kelly said, her head drooping now from the champagne. “I only felt that way.”

Early the next morning Mary Lisa took one last run before she had to pack and drive to the airport for her ll:05 fight back to L.A.

She hoped she would see John Goddard one last time. She had to see him, really, this morning or soon. She had set herself straight last night. Now she had to set him straight as well.

I am not a small person, she thought as she took off down the long beach, through the long tongue of gray fog that rolled over the valley nearly to the line of low coastal hills a mile inland. I was bordering on being small last night, but not now. She’d made up her mind before she went to sleep, and she’d slept soundly until near morning, when Jack Wolf had poked his head into her dreams. Suddenly he’d been standing in front of her, towering over her, telling her she was a spoiled brat and a juvenile delinquent-and, at all of twenty-five, a little old to be acting like a half-brained teenager.

She could smile about it now. Sort of. It was something like what Jack had said to her three years ago when he’d hauled her off to jail.

She picked up her pace, but didn’t see John. He didn’t seem to be running this morning. She’d have to write him, which she hated to have to do. Well, it was Sunday and maybe he was at church. She decided to run all out, letting the sweat run down her face and the lipstick she’d applied fend for itself. She had just started to slow again when he suddenly burst out of the fog, looking fine indeed, his sleeveless T-shirt sweated to his chest, his face stubbled with his morning beard.

“I am not a small person,” she said aloud without thinking.

“What? Oh. No, you’re not. What are you, five foot ten? In those stilts you were wearing last night, we were eye to eye.”

She wiped her forehead on the bottom of her sweatshirt, smiled at him. “Nah, I think I was up to your eyebrows. I wanted to speak to you before I left to go back south.”

“That makes two of us. That’s why I’m running on a Sunday morning instead of sleeping in. I wanted to speak to you too. What time are you taking off?”

“Not for a while yet. Oh yes, please thank your sister for the loan of her beautiful dress. My mom will have the cleaners deliver it to her.”

“No problem. Let’s run for a while.” She nodded. They ran side by side for ten minutes, and walked back to her car. Mary Lisa leaned over and waited for her breathing to ease and her heart to slow. Oddly, she didn’t want to come right out with it. What she said was, “You seem to have this unusual relationship with Pat Bigelow. She keeps talking about Jack Wolf harassing the Hildebrands, not looking at other suspects, like in the O.J. case.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, but said easily enough, “Unusual is one way of putting it. The truth is that in the O.J. case, there was so much evidence against him so quickly, there wasn’t any reason to search elsewhere. Besides, can you begin to imagine any shop run by Jack Wolf doing anything but a solid investigation?”

“I don’t know. Chief Wolf doesn’t confide in me.”

“Trust me on this. Jack Wolf knows his job, and he does it well. But enough about Pat Bigelow. I enjoyed watching you center stage at Monica’s last night. You handled yourself very well.”

“Like I told my dad last night, the whole Hollywood thing fascinates people. They think, wow, she’s on TV and conjure up this naturally skinny woman who parties with Russell Crowe every day and drinks espresso at the Ivy.”

He stared at her a moment, raised his towel and wiped the sweat from her left temple. “I don’t understand. It isn’t true?”

“Maybe on Thursdays.” She laughed, and cleared her throat. It was time to get it all out, but he beat her to it. He said, “I watched you and your family last night at Monica’s party. Let me be honest here, Mary Lisa. Your mother and your sisters-I couldn’t see much affection or gentleness between them-hell, it isn’t any of my business if your family doesn’t get along. Well, except for your father. I know he visits you often down in L.A., but you’ve never come up here, not for three years. I couldn’t help but wonder why you came back here now if things are unpleasant for you with your family.”

“I love my father dearly.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

She hadn’t expected to talk about that. She’d elected not to tell anyone here about what had happened in Malibu because she didn’t want to have to deal with her father wanting to come down and move in with her to protect her. They would probably find out soon enough.

“A short vacation, nothing more.”

She looked up at his face. His expression turned from concern to a rueful look that she imagined he’d perfected in the courtroom. She grinned and folded. “All right, I’ll tell you why I came back here after three years. But I want you to keep it quiet, all right?”

When he nodded, she said slowly, “Fact is, my friend Lou Lou suggested it because she was afraid for me.”

She’d caught him by surprise. “Afraid? Of what? What’s going on with you?”

“You remember the incident I mentioned to you Friday morning? Well, it was more like a hit and run. What happened is-well, some guy may have been trying to kill me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. What happened?”

“Well, I’d just bought some T-shirts in an army surplus shop. I’d ducked in there because I was trying to get away from Puker Hodges, a paparazzo who’s decided I’m his ticket to fame, when a car tried to run me down.”

That stopped him cold. “That’s how you got hurt? Did he actually hit you?”

“I got banged up a little bit, but I’m okay now. The bruises are nearly gone. No major injuries to brag about. The cops are looking into it. I suppose it’s possible it was an accident. You know, someone who was high or not paying attention hit me, and was so freaked out he drove off.”

He waved that away. “L.A. is quite a place, isn’t it? What’s the name of the detective looking into this? What does he think?”

“Detective Daniel Vasquez is in charge. He’s with the Lost Hills Station. They take care of Malibu. He seems sharp and thorough. Don’t worry. Whoever did it-well, it seems to me now that I overreacted. I shouldn’t have come up here. And I’m sorry I even mentioned it. I would appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself.”

“No, I promised I would. Maybe you should stay here for a while, Mary Lisa.”

“Can’t. I’m in three scenes on Monday.”

He cupped her shoulders with his hands. “When will you come back?”

She looked out over the ocean. The fog hadn’t lifted. If anything it lay more heavily, the air cold and wet. “I don’t know. I need to speak to you, John.”