Catherine Coulter - Born To Be Wild

Mary Lisa kept it short, very careful of what she said since she knew some people here would dine out on her every word, her every expression, as if they were niblets of gossip gleaned from People magazine. She was relieved that Beth Goddard Sumter’s little black dress was glamorous enough so that people who expected her to look like a movie star weren’t disappointed. On occasions like this, she willingly gave them the actress they wanted to see-the big smile, the full makeup, the glittering personality. Several men eyed her like she was a sex goddess, nearly salivating in their canapés. She was used to that too.

How very odd it all was, like dredging up an ersatz memory. She knew that most Hollywood celebrities felt this crazy disconnect, unless they actually bought into the glowing lie, and got lost in it.

She smiled, accepted compliments, and listened patiently when a wealthy older woman told her she’d always wanted to act, that she thought she might have had it in her to get her own star on Hollywood Boulevard if only she’d made it to L.A. to be seen. Mary Lisa’s smile never slipped. She had a writer friend who’d told her that more than one person she’d met had told her matter-of-factly that they could write a bestseller if only they had a free weekend or two.

And there were the inevitable slights about soap operas, from “Of course, I’d never watch tripe like that,” to “I’ve got a life, I don’t have time to waste on that stuff,” to “It’s all so silly and so melodramatic. No one looks like real people, they’re all too beautiful.” Yeah, and your point would be? Her romance writer friend said that everyone, when asked what they read, stated categorically that they read only nonfiction and biographies, which made her wonder where all those lovely royalty checks came from.

It seemed to Mary Lisa that most people never had a single clue they’d been rude. But their obliviousness still astounded her, even though it was no longer a surprise.

“I’ve never seen your show, Ms. Beverly, too busy during the day, I’m afraid, but I’ve certainly heard of you since your family lives here. A small town, isn’t it? Nothing much exciting to talk about.”

Mary Lisa turned slowly to face a striking woman, with dark bobbed hair, blue eyes, and lovely skin. She was showing a mile of leg attached to feet balanced on four-inch heels. On those stilts, she was nearly Mary Lisa’s height. Now, who was this?

“Hello.” She shook the woman’s hand, a strong hand.

“I’m Patricia Bigelow, attorney at large here in Goddard Bay.”

“I’m Mary Lisa Beverly. You’ve moved here since I left because I surely would have remembered you.”

“That’s right. It’s been nearly two years since I set up shop here. You don’t see many redheads without freckles.”

“I’ve got my grandmother’s coloring. She didn’t have any freckles either.”

“Anywhere?”

“Not even on the bottoms of my feet.”

“I’m being pushy because my cousin is a redhead and she’s loaded with freckles. She’s always looking for ways to make them disappear. I thought maybe you’d found the answer.”

“I heard about cucumbers once but I don’t know if it’s only an old husband’s tale.”

“I’ll pass it along. Oh, look who’s coming this way. Mr. Well-Dressed Stud of Goddard Bay himself.”

Mary Lisa saw John Goddard weaving his way toward them, through groups of people he stopped to greet along the way.

Patricia continued her observations in an expressionless voice. “John is very popular. It’ll take him another five minutes to get here. I’m sure everyone wants to ask him about Jason Maynard’s murder. I doubt he’ll tell them anything, it would be unprofessional and he knows I’d burn his feet to the ankles with it if he did. I’m sure it’s not me he’s coming to see, so it’s got to be you, the guest of honor. I’ll introduce you.”

Mary Lisa saw Patricia Bigelow lightly run her tongue over her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving John Goddard’s face. Now this was interesting. Was he dating her on the rebound from Kelly? No, it was too soon, that couldn’t be right. She said easily, “You and Mr. Goddard are on opposite sides in this murder case, I understand.”

“Not as yet. However, if he and Jack Wolf have their way, I might be facing John in court.” She continued to smile as she spoke, and she never looked away from John Goddard. “It’s my job to kick his fine butt every day to keep him and the chief above any temptation to overstep with my clients.”

“I suppose he does have a nice butt,” Mary Lisa agreed, nodding.

“One of the best I’ve seen, east or west coast.” A dark eyebrow went up. “Have you already met Mr. Goddard?”

“Yes, John and I have met two mornings in a row, running on the beach.”

“How nice. I used to run with him,” Patricia said. “But his little macho ego couldn’t take it. You see, I always had more endurance-the tortoise and the hare sort of thing-drove him nuts.”

John knew he was meant to overhear and laughed. “If Mary Lisa believes that, I’ve got a nearly bankrupt regional airport to sell her. Come on, Pat, I got you into running shoes a total of three times, and you whined about how the shoes hurt your arches. Look at those ice picks you’re wearing tonight and tell me how running shoes could possibly hurt any more than those things.”

Mary Lisa said, “I nearly mowed John down the day we met. I haven’t raced him yet. Hmm, we’ll see. I’ll report back to you, Ms. Bigelow.”

That dark eyebrow shot up again. “You work fast, but I guess that’s what the L.A. crowd does.”

A lovely punch to the gut. “Actually,” Mary Lisa said, “I’m not working at all, only trying to relax. John, Ms. Bigelow tells me she’s enjoying kicking your very fine butt to protect her client. Or is it clients?”

His real feelings about Patricia Bigelow flashed across his face-he wanted to drop-kick her through the front window-but he said nothing.

“Actually, I’m representing both Mr. and Mrs. Hildebrand. Perhaps their daughter Marci as well.”

John ignored that, and turned to Mary Lisa. “I like Bethy’s dress-it fits well on you. I always thought Beth was a bean-pole, so it’s a surprise.”

Mary Lisa said to Patricia, “I borrowed this beautiful dress from John’s sister.”

Pat said, “I hope Beth is doing all right, John?”

“She’s healthier than any other member of the family and impatient to have the babies in her arms instead of her belly. That’s what she says.”

“Ah, Chief Wolf,” Patricia said. “How lovely to see you.”

Chief Jack Wolf ’s face seemed hard and remote as he eyed the three of them with what seemed like clinical detachment. He managed a nod, and said, “Ms. Bigelow.” He turned to Mary Lisa, and if anything, his hard face turned even harder. You didn’t need much of an IQ to guess that he didn’t like her. “Ms. Beverly,” was all he said. To John, he said in a low voice, “I need to speak to you, when you have a moment.”

“Certainly.”

Jack Wolf nodded to the women again, and turned away, John at his side. Patricia and Mary Lisa watched the two men walk to a quiet corner of the room-two big men, friends of about the same age, but Mary Lisa had never seen even a twinkle of amusement in the chief’s dark eyes.

Mary Lisa said, “Whenever he looks at me it’s like he wants to strangle me until my eyes bug out.”

Pat said, her eyes still following them, “He doesn’t like me either, particularly when I try to represent my clients properly. He thinks I’m interfering with his investigation. I do have to say, though, that there walk two of the very finest butts I’ve ever had the privilege of appreciating. So I assume you’re going back to L.A. soon?”