Yeah, and Murphy's mother was in one of the wheelchairs. He knew the drill. "I've been hearing a lot about your work."

"My partner actually does most of the real research. Peter Davies. He can tell you more about the effects of Alzheimer's on the brain than anybody in the U.S. If you'd like I can get you a tour through his lab up at Price University Hospital. He'd be here now, but he's preparing a paper on a discovery he's made about the progression of plaque development in midstage Alzheimer's." Getting a blank reaction, the doctor grinned. "Quite riveting stuff, actually."

Murphy forced a smile. "I'm sure. What about you?"

"I'm on the people end. Intervention, therapy, family support. I doubt you can appreciate what an opportunity we've been given by Price University. Within the next five years, we'll become the primary Alzheimer's research unit in the country."

Considering the fact that Alzheimer's was going to be the top medical moneymaker of the twenty-first century, Murphy figured it wasn't such a stunning leap for the university to make.

"Dr. Raymond trained at Harvard and Case Western," Ms. Arlington cut in, obviously unhappy with the lack of adulation. "And he came home to Puckett to practice. That says something."

That said Dr. Raymond liked small ponds.

"You make it sound like I took up the cloth, Mary Jane," the doctor protested. "I'm just taking advantage of a perfect opportunity."

"Must work," Murphy said, patting his pockets for his cigarettes. "You have a waiting list and planning approval to double your size."

"People want their loved ones to have the best care. And they want to stop a terrible disease."

Perfect answer for sound bite or print. The doctor had been practicing in front of a mirror.

"There's somebody else here I think you might like to meet," Raymond said, taking hold of the elbow Mary Jane had been so loath to touch. "Paul Landry, the new CEO of Memorial? He's been a heck of a help in redesigning and supporting Restcrest. You know we share a parking lot..."

Raymond turned to get Landry's attention. Landry looked like he'd been waiting to give it. Both men, polar light and dark, neared like twin stars set to circle, and Murphy, one hand still in a pocket pulling out cigarettes, was forced to follow. A good thing, it turned out. If he hadn't turned just then, he would have been too late.

It was no more than a twitch in the well-behaved crowd. An odd blur on its perfect features. Murphy saw the movement beyond Raymond, saw the glitter of something powerful in the eyes of a man as he moved. Bad, he thought as old instincts kicked in. This is bad. He was hurtling at Raymond even before he saw the first glint of the gun.

"Get down!" he yelled.

"Look out!" a woman echoed. "Gun!"

Murphy pushed with both hands, hard enough to send Raymond reeling into Landry. The three of them slammed to the ground just as the pistol cracked overhead.

Murphy managed to keep watching as he hit the ground. Raymond's boot dug into his ribs, and Landry was yelling in outrage. Murphy saw the gun swing up toward the sky, recognized it as a midsize automatic. He saw a puff of smoke as it snapped again. He couldn't hear it, because the announcer was praising a second perfect round, and people were clapping. People closer were turning, crying out, stumbling. One person got hold of the man, had hands on the wrists that tried to lower the gun again.

The woman who had yelled. A small brunette, too small to control the guy, who should have been able to outreach her. Her feet barely touched the ground as she hung on to those thick wrists. She also had big eyes that flashed steel as she kneed the shooter right in the balls.

She got the gun. The shooter broke free and ran. Scrambling to help, Murphy damn near got his hands on the guy, but Raymond tried to get up and tripped him. People surged forward, away. The small woman with the big eyes lifted the gun above her head, where it wouldn't hurt anyone, and looked around for help. By the time Murphy could get over to her, the shooter had disappeared.

"Are you all right?" a dozen people asked.

"What happened?"

"Get that gun from her."

One towering woman, who looked as if she'd taken a wrong turn from Gulliver's Travels, laughed. "What is it with you and guns?" she was demanding, lifting the gun from the brunette's hands.

The brunette grinned as if she'd just skied a hard run. "I do always seem to be at the center of the party, don't I?"

Then she just walked away.

"You pushed me," Landry accused from beneath Murphy.

Still only as far as his knees, Murphy looked down to see Landry sprawled on the grass, already trying to smooth perfect hair. Sherilee would never leave him alone, now. "You're welcome," he said anyway, and gave the CEO a hand up.

* * *

It all eventually sorted itself out. A couple of police showed up, took the gun, got descriptions. Murphy remembered a white male, about six feet, with sparse, light hair and middle-aged lines diminishing once-handsome features. Nice clothes, but nothing that stood out. Murphy remembered the man's rage and wondered just who the lucky recipient was supposed to have been.

The brunette with the big eyes, who had eventually returned holding tightly to a miniaturized version of herself, remembered much the same, had responded to the same instincts as Murphy.

Murphy wasn't surprised. She didn't remind him of any of the other locals. She was twitchy in a big-streets kind of way, like she was always hearing a warning shot whistle over her head. Hell, her nostrils were even wide, as if she smelled smoke and it turned her on. Murphy had spent too much energy drowning out, shooting up, and snorting away that very reaction to mistake it.

"You did that kind of thing much in Los Angeles, did you?" Dr. Raymond asked her as he settled a glass of champagne in her hand. Fifteen feet away, a new horse was making the rounds, the audience just a little more restive as it watched, the sphere of violence neatly closed over with polite behavior, like restitching a rent in a good coat.

"Nah," she said, not bothering to taste her drink as she wrapped her arms around the little girl. "That's what we had med students for."

Bingo, Murphy thought, shaking his head as a second glass was offered to him. Los Angeles.

Everybody laughed. Mary Jane Arlington, who probably wouldn't have laughed, had decamped with the police to make sure their continued presence didn't disturb the crowd. Paul Landry had gone with her, probably seeking unmussed clothes.

The woman with the quick reflexes had evidently been at the show with her daughter and two friends, the laughing behemoth and one other woman, a forgettable Appalachian blonde who dressed like the child of Loretta Lynn and Michael Jackson and sucked down complimentary champagne like Gatorade.

"I heard the shots," the Appalachian blond was saying for about the fourth time, her polished, multiringed fingers fluttering, her eyes wet and wide. "And I thought... I thought..."

Several people patted her on the shoulder. She nodded as if accepting it as her right.

"I just couldn't have gone through it again," she said, sotto voce.

"Well, thanks to Daniel and Timmie here, everything turned out all right," Raymond assured them all.

Murphy wondered if it had occurred to anybody but him that so far not one of them had said anything about why Timmie and Daniel had had to save them all from gunshots. It had occurred to Timmie, he thought. He could see it in the lift of one dark eyebrow as she watched the people around her sip their champagne.