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out.”
    Michael was shaking his head before she’d finished the sentence. “Oh, no.”
    Molly was already on her feet. “Oh, yes. I’m goingafter Veronica. I have to warn her that the police are looking for her to question her.”
    “If she’s the killer, don’t you think she’ll have guessed that?”
    “She is not the killer. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
    “Until you can suggest a viable alternative,” Michael retorted. “Until then everyone connected with this production is a suspect. Including, I might add, you.”
    “Oh, please.”
    “Just stating the facts as Sergeant Jenkins is likely to view them. Despite whatever he said about presuming Veronica to be guilty, I’m sure he’ll do a thorough investigation to rule out all the other candidates. In the meantime, don’t you think you ought to get home to your worried son and distraught friend?”
    Molly glowered at him. “Brian will want all the gory details. As for Liza, the only thing she’s distraught over this week is the decimation of the rain forest. If I get home too soon, she’ll have me licking envelopes. You, too.”
    “I’d rather lick a few envelopes than watch you get entangled in another murder investigation. Didn’t you learn anything last time?”
    Molly had to admit that Michael looked genuinely troubled by the prospect of her involvement. “I didn’t ask to be involved with this one. It happened. I’m here. I can’t very well pretend everything’s hunky-dory, can I?”
    “You could,” he said—a little wistfully, it seemed to Molly.
    “But I won’t.” She could be every bit as bull-headed as Michael O’Hara. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have a little chat with Sergeant Jenkins before we leave?”
    “We?” he repeated, ignoring the rest. He, at least, knew better than to interfere in someone else’s case.
    “I can’t imagine that you actually intend to let me go in search of Veronica on my own. I mean, I could sneak away when you’re not looking, but being the outstanding detective that you are, you’d figure out in no time where I’d gone. Then you’d feel morally compelled to chase after me. Ergo, we might as well go together and save on mileage for the county.”
    A familiar, irksome expression of tolerant amusement spread across his face. “Since you’re the only one on the clock, we’ll take your car.”
    Once they were in her snappy white LeBaron convertible with the top down, Molly regarded him slyly. “What exactly would it take to get you officially involved in this case?”
    “An act of God,” he said. “Don’t even think about it.”
    “Just curious,” she said blithely. If she couldn’t get him on the case officially, she’d just have to see that his curiosity was aroused. Veronica ought to be able to accomplish that without batting so much as an eyelash at him. At heart Michael was a man who just loved rescuing damsels in distress.

CHAPTER
FOUR
    The hotel housing the cast and crew from the Endless Tomorrows production was one of the larger Art Deco structures facing the ocean. Its exterior was a brilliant white, trimmed in shades of turquoise and yellow. Elaborate bas-relief designs edged the doorway. A stucco railing, trimmed in the same pastel shades, curved around the porch that embraced two sides of the building.
    At the moment that porch was crammed with enough reporters, photographers, and television cameras to intimidate anyone less determined than Molly was to enter the building. A harried hotel night manager, his balding head bathed in perspiration, was attempting to placate the hungry news-hounds.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I cannot allow you inside. I must protect the privacy of our guests. You understand.”
    They obviously didn’t understand anything except their own need for information. They pushed forward, backing him into the glass door. Another few minutes and he was likely to be as squashed as some bug on a windshield.
    “Is Veronica Weston