the Members' Lounge prior to the donors' party. There had been no mistaking Tanya Dunseth's intense reaction. My only problem was figuring out which of the two she'd been reacting to-Gordon or Daphne.
And then something clicked in my mind and gave me my first little glimmer of hope. Guy Lewis. Here was a man who'd already discarded one wife and was having trouble hanging on to number two. Was it possible he was in the market for yet another trophy wife, or maybe just a trophy plaything? I had thought his wave was intended for me, but I wondered now if perhaps it had been intended for Tanya. Maybe he knew more about Tanya Dunseth than just her roles on stage.
Filled with purpose now, I shoved my coffee cup aside, stuffed the napkin into my pocket, and headed for the Mark Anthony. Alex had told me the Lewises were staying there. This time I had no trouble ignoring the smoke, laughter, and pulsing music from the bar. I hurried to the nearest house phone.
'Guy Lewis, please.'
'Is he a registered guest?'
'Yes.'
There was a long pause. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Lewis checked out this morning.'
I put down the phone. Disappointed, I was conscious of the smoke and the sounds in a different way now, but I hurried back out into the street before they had a chance to ensnare me. Outside, I was momentarily undecided.
The first few playgoers were just now trickling down the hill from the theaters. Soon it would be a river of people. Seeing them, I decided to go back to Oak Hill. Alex and I had only one house key between us, and Alex had taken that one with her. If I went home now, maybe one of the other guests would take pity and let me inside the house as they returned from the plays. Maybe I could ask Florence for a duplicate. Otherwise, I'd have to go looking for someplace else to stay.
I found the Porsche where we'd left it parked. Seeing it, I was awash with guilt at the idea of Alex walking all the way home in the dark by herself. That night I was a living, breathing guilt magnet.
I drove back to the B amp; B. Except for a night-light burning in the living room, the place was dark, including the windows in the Iris Room up under the eaves. Either Alex was asleep or she hadn't come home. No other cars were parked beside the house. That meant I was the first one home.
Discouraged, I got out of the car. The weight of the world bore down on my shoulders as I walked up the steps.
'Beau? Are you all right?'
Alex spoke to me out of a gloom of shadows. I walked toward the sound of her voice. She was seated on a swing at the far end of the porch, wrapped snugly in one of the blankets from our bed.
'I waited up to let you in,' she said. 'I knew you didn't have a key.'
'Thanks.' I sat down gingerly on the far end of the swing. 'I'm sorry about tonight. I never should have…'
'Don't apologize,' she said. 'I was shocked by what you said, but maybe you're right. Maybe Amber is what Martin Shore wanted.'
That sounded very much like forgiveness. I gave myself permission to hope.
Alex continued, 'So I thought to myself, if that's the case, she probably did kill him, and she's going to need a good lawyer, so I went ahead and called Ralph.'
'You called Ralph Ames?'
'Who else? I hope you're not mad at me. He was the first lawyer I thought of, and I know he's good. And I happened to know where to reach him after hours.'
'Oh, he's good all right,' I agreed. 'What did he say?'
'He said he'd be here tomorrow for the wedding, and we could talk about it then. If he can't handle it himself, I'm sure he'll recommend someone. He says he'll fly into Medford first thing. He'll be here around nine.'
It was a done deal. Further comment seemed unnecessary.
'And he said for you not to worry about Karen and Dave. That's all handled. They're meeting Scott and should be getting into Medford shortly after Ralph does. They'll rent their own car. They should be here by noon.'
The first of the other playgoers' cars turned into the driveway. In the sudden wash of headlights, Alex leaned over and kissed me on the side of my neck.
'What do you think?' she asked. 'Is that okay? I worried I was overstepping the bounds.'
'You didn't overstep anything,' I answered. 'And I think it's more than okay. I think it's great.'
And right that minute, so was I.
CHAPTER 8
I 'm not one to spend time worrying about the future. When some people learn they're about to become parents, they peer down a long time tunnel and see everything from front teeth falling out to learner's permits, from Tee-ball games to high school graduations.
My mother always told me that living in the future was borrowing trouble, and I believed her. Consequently, I never gave much thought to my daughter's wedding day; never imagined how it might be with Kelly garbed all in white, in a church festooned with flowers, and all that. Karen had, so the way it turned out was a whole lot harder on her than it was on me.
It didn't start out all that badly. Ralph breezed into town and stopped at the Oak Hill Bed-and-Breakfast at five after ten the next morning. He dragged a loaded suitcase into the living room and set it down.
'What's that?' I asked.
'I wasn't sure you packed any suitable father-of-the-bride attire,' he said. 'I brought some along just in case.'
As a matter of fact, once I knew Dave Livingston and Karen would be in attendance, I had been concerned about clothes. For one thing, Dave Livingston is a natty dresser-he had turned up in Wickenburg, Arizona, wearing a three-piece suit, for God's sake. I was sure he would show me up. Alex had taken me to task, telling me it was Kelly's day, and it wasn't a competition, but it had bugged me all the same.
By the time I woke up that morning and thought about calling Ralph to have him bring along some other clothes, it was too late. He was already on his way. But that's the kind of guy Ralph is-the kind of friend. He had figured it out and acted on his own without needing any coaching from me.
After I carted the suitcase up to Alex's and my room, we took Ralph, some mugs, and an extra pot of coffee and adjourned to the lawn chairs on Oak Hill's secluded backyard deck.
'So tell me about this friend of Kelly's who's in so much hot water,' Ralph said. 'You all must have had an exceptionally busy time of it down here.'
And so we told him. Ralph Ames listened patiently while Alex and I took turns recounting the various pieces of Tanya's story-telling him about Martin Shore's death and about the pornographic-film connection between Shore and the Festival's rising young actress. We told him about the Henckels slicer that had disappeared from a Festival prop table only to show up later as a murder weapon. We did a joint rendition of what we could remember of Tanya Dunseth's background, repeating as close to verbatim as possible what Kelly and Jeremy had told us. We were just in the process of recounting her economic rescue by Marjorie Connors when Florence, the retired schoolteacher/owner of Oak Hill B amp; B, came rushing out onto the deck.
By then Florence had been informed of the father/daughter connection between her part-time maid, Kelly Beaumont, and me. Florence seemed somewhat flustered.
'Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Beaumont,' she said, 'but someone named Karen is at the front door. She wants to speak to you. She looks a lot like your daughter. Could it be Kelly's mother?'
It certainly could. Nodding and prepared for some unpleasantness, I got up and headed inside. As I walked past, Alex reached out and gave my leg an encouraging pat. 'Want me to go along?' she asked.
'No, I'm a big boy. I think I can manage.' All the same, I wasn't looking forward to the coming encounter.
I found Dave Livingston and Karen seated on the now-sunny porch swing where I'd discovered Alex concealed in shadows the night before. Karen is an attractive woman-always has been. She seemed to have lost
