She slipped into Big Glow market. There, right at eye level in the checkout line, for all to see, were a dozen copies of the National Enquirer with a big color photo of her, front and center. She stared at the photo and wanted to pull a produce bag over her head. What had possessed her to jump on Bernie, wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and throw her head back, with that thick fan of hair sticking out the back of her head like a Mohawk? She looked wildly happy, her mouth so wide with laughter you could nearly see her tonsils. They’d cut out all the other people standing around. It was only she and Bernie with his face nearly in her cleavage, her dress rucked up to mid thigh. Since he was so much taller, it looked like they could be having sex, her billowing skirt covering the act.

And the tagline beneath the lovely big color photo: Emmy winner Mary Lisa Beverly and new beau-naughty naughty, Mary Lisa, this Emmy winner is married.

She bought a copy along with, for camouflage, three oranges and a pocket Kleenex, and slunk back outside. She leaned against the glass window and read the article.

They identified Bernie as the head writer for Born to Be Wild, wondered if he was the new man in her life, speculated about what went on in her dressing room if-snicker-this was a sample of what she did in public.

Mary Lisa pulled out her cell and dialed Bernie’s house, heard three rings and a throaty “Hello.”

“Gloria, it’s Mary Lisa. I just bought the National Enquirer. It’s awful, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say. If the boys were still young I’d offer to babysit for a year free.”

To her astonishment, Gloria Barlow howled with laughter. “It’s okay, pet. I’m sure Bernie is preening as we speak. His sons are calling him Mr. Stud, high-fiving him with ‘Way to go, Dad!’ He announced a half hour ago he wanted to go to the club to play golf, but what he really wanted was to be sure none of his buddies missed all this. I had Thad drive him, and got no argument since he wanted his dad to tell him everything. It sounded to me like all of Bernie’s golf buddies will buy him so many free drinks to dish up the dirt, he’ll need Thad to drive him home. Do you know, I think he bought about a dozen copies to hand out? One for his dad too.”

Mary Lisa burst out laughing. “But what about your mom?”

“She just called, told me all her friends want to meet you, said you had to be a mensch to jump Bernie’s bones like that. Everything’s fine, Mary Lisa, stop your worrying. It’s a hoot. Thanks for the offer of babysitting, even if it’s a decade too late.”

When Mary Lisa walked through her front door ten minutes later, her home phone was ringing. She ran to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Shame on you, sleeping with a married man. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky.” And the whispery voice hung up.

Mary Lisa stood in the center of her living room, staring down at the phone in her hand, listening to the dial tone.

She hadn’t quite closed the door and it burst open and Lou Lou dashed in, panting. “I was talking to Danny when Morrie Bernstein, who owns Big Glow market, called to tell him you’d waltzed into his store alone, and how could the cops let that happen? I came as quickly as I could. Danny said he’d break free soon to come over and smack you upside the head.” She waved the Enquirer around. “These bastards. I say we drop-kick all of them right into a snow-filled crevasse in Patagonia. Mary Lisa? What’s wrong? Look, the photo and article aren’t all that bad, they do lots worse, you know? And it’s really kind of cute and funny-you look happy and Bernie’s grinning like a fool. I don’t think people will believe this crazy caption about you and Bernie. Everyone knows he’s the head writer, and there you are in full makeup. You’ll see, this will blow right over. Mary Lisa?”

Mary Lisa raised frightened eyes. “It’s not the photo or the caption, Lou Lou. I just got a phone call. He said I shouldn’t be sleeping with a married guy and next time I wouldn’t be so lucky.”

For a moment Lou Lou couldn’t seem to take it in, then, “Oh shit. There aren’t many people who have this number.” She grabbed Mary Lisa’s phone, called the sheriff’s department, and asked for Detective Daniel Vasquez.

Thirty minutes later, Daniel Vasquez walked into Mary Lisa’s living room to see a dozen people-old, young, three teenagers-all hovering over her, one offering her tea or coffee, another holding out a glass that looked like it held either water or straight vodka, all of them talking at once. He recognized a couple of TV actors. Mary Lisa wasn’t saying anything, only looking at the cup she was holding between her hands. He saw Carlo, who’d had his birthday blast on the beach recently. And he recognized MacKenzie Corman, the wannabe actress, mainly because he recognized Honey Boy, her white toy poodle, who was sitting in Mary Lisa’s lap, one of his small paws on her forearm. She didn’t live in the Colony. How had she managed to get past Chad at the kiosk? Then he looked at the bright pink tube top she was wearing, the wonderful cleavage on display, and shook his head at himself. The house was nearly full. Did the woman collect people?

Mary Lisa looked up at him, gave him a ghastly smile. “You made really good time. Thank you for coming.”

Detective Vasquez cleared his throat. Everyone looked up, including Lou Lou, who said, “Dan-Detective Vasquez! Glad you’re here. Come in. Okay, everybody, you’ve all got to go. Everything’ll be okay now. He’s the police. Thank you for coming over.”

Once she’d herded everyone out of the house, she turned and said quickly, “Danny, this isn’t good. Now some weirdo’s calling her, maybe the same guy-we’ve got to get him.”

The place cleared out amazingly fast, Detective Vasquez thought. He waited until it was blessedly quiet. He looked at Mary Lisa. She was pale and looked pinched, but he saw anger beneath the surface, bubbling hot. That was good. He sat beside her and said, “You draw quite a crowd.”

“News travels fast in the Colony.”

There was a knock on the door. Detective Vasquez raised his hand. “Let me get it, okay?”

They watched him walk to the front door and open it about six inches. They heard men’s voices but couldn’t make out their words.

Mary Lisa’s jaw nearly hit the carpet when the chief of police of Goddard Bay, Jack Wolf, walked through the door.

Before Superman, Christopher Reeve played Ben on Love of Life.

Mary Lisa jumped to her feet. “Whatever are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is my dad okay?”

“Your dad is fine. He sends his love and told me he was going to pin your ears back for not telling him about this mess.”

“I didn’t want to worry him, didn’t want to worry anybody.”

“Yeah? Well, you told John and he told me. I called down here and spoke to Detective Vasquez.”

He walked to her and stopped about six inches from her nose. “You look pale enough to fade out. Something else has happened, hasn’t it?”

Lou Lou said, “The jerk called her a little while ago. Who are you, again?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Mary Lisa. “This is Chief of Police Jack Wolf from Goddard Bay.”

“You’re the rottweiler?”

He grinned, a big one that changed his face entirely. “Yes, it sounds like that would be me.” He shook hands with Lou Lou.

“Sit down, Chief Wolf.” Mary Lisa waved to one of the love seats. “Would you care for something to drink?”

Jack looked about her bright living room for a moment before he selected a green-and-white-striped love seat. “You don’t have to be a hostess, Mary Lisa. Tell me what happened here.”

“But how did you get past Chad?”

“I showed him my badge, gave him your name and a look that clearly translated as official business, and he let me through without a single question.”