Party Crashers

give her a cookie and send her home.
    Salyers frowned. "Looks can be deceiving. Case in point," she said, withdrawing a sheet of paper from the stack she held. "Ms. Goodman, you've just been served with a harassment restraining order, filed by Mr. Roger LeMon."
    Jolie pushed to her feet. "What?"
    "This is the man you told me about who was at the party?" Vanderpool asked her.
    Jolie nodded, fury burning in her empty stomach.
    "What's this all about?" her attorney asked, taking the form.
    "Mr. LeMon said he came to the party, but was forced to leave because he was afraid Ms. Goodman would accost him."
    "Accost him?" Jolie said. "That's ridiculous!"
    Salyers shrugged. "Ridiculous or not, if you knowingly come within fifty yards of the man, you will be arrested."
    "Don't you see?" Jolie asked, flailing her good arm. "He's giving himself an alibi! Roger LeMon killed Gary and is trying to pin it on me!"
    "Another conspiracy theory?" Salyers asked, her eyebrow arched.
    Jolie inhaled sharply and hiccupped.
    Salyers considered her, then jerked her head toward the door. "You're free to go, Ms. Goodman. But I'll be keeping tabs on you—and your friends. Don't even think about leaving the city."
    "Where are Carlotta and Hannah?"
    "Ms. Wren and Ms. Kizer were released...with similar warnings." The detective hesitated, then said, "I think you should know that both of your friends have had run-ins with the law before."
    Jolie blinked.
    "Until this investigation is over, Ms. Goodman, you might want to steer clear of questionable company. And trust me, this investigation is only beginning."
    On that ominous note, Jolie skedaddled before the woman could change her mind. She walked out of the room one step ahead of her attorney. They stopped at a counter to retrieve Jolie's personal effects which, since everything she'd been wearing and her purse had been confiscated as evidence, consisted of her keys and waterlogged wallet. As they rode down one floor on the elevator, she asked, "Now what?"
    "Now you sit tight," Vanderpool said. "Remember, the police and the district attorney have to build a case—let them do all the work." She handed Jolie a carbon copy of the restraining order. "And steer clear of this Roger LeMon—I know the man, and he's formidable. Plus he's a friend of the police department, even lobbied the city council for raises for the force."
    "Salyers told me as much," Jolie said.
    "Don't fret. LeMon might be able to pull in a few favors, but that doesn't mean he can get away with murder."
    "You think he might have killed Gary?" Jolie asked.
    "I have no idea," the woman said, her expression stern. "But something has Mr. LeMon spooked enough for him to take out a restraining order on a girl half his size and half his means."
    " Less than half his means," Jolie assured her.
    As they walked off the elevator, Pam Vanderpool stopped. "Ms. Goodman, do you live alone?"
    "Yes."
    The older woman pressed her lips together. "Do you have a way to protect yourself?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "I mean there are already two people dead, and no one seems to know why. Maybe you should stay with a friend until this blows over."
    Jolie nodded solemnly, embarrassed to admit she didn't have a friend with whom she was close enough to ask to hole her up. "I will."
    "And here's my card. I sleep with my cell phone, so call if you need me, no matter what time it is."
    Jolie gripped the business card in her hand as if it were a lifeline. "I don't know how to thank you for your help."
    "Don't thank me," Vanderpool said as she resumed walking. "Thank Beck."
    Beck . At the sound of his name, her nerve endings stirred. "How do you know Beck?"
    "I've known Beck for years," she said, smiling fondly. "We've worked on many charitable causes together."
    Jolie balked. She was a cause ? She'd had similar thoughts herself concerning Beck's motivation, but to hear someone else say it was like a punch to the spleen.
    "I will thank him," Jolie murmured, her cheeks flaming. "When I see him."
    "Speak of the devil," the woman said as they entered the narrow lobby, which was deserted except for a security guard and Beck Underwood. Beck tossed aside a newspaper and stood. Jolie's heart beat wildly, and she had the crazy urge to run so she wouldn't have to face him. Since she'd last seen him, he had found jeans and a sweatshirt. His dark blond hair had dried at funny angles. Jolie suspected that she looked less cute after her own dip in the pool and subsequent