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is?"
    "No," I answered, "but I'm sure Alex does."
    "Oh," Kelly said. "Well, I guess I'll go in to dinner."
    She started away from me, moving slowly and ponderously up the stairs toward the back door. "What time is the wedding?" I asked. "Am I invited?"
    Kelly stopped and stared down at her feet, although over that lump of belly I doubt she could see them. "Two-thirty," she answered quietly. "It has to be Monday. That's the only day the theaters are dark. Otherwise, our friends couldn't come. And yes, you're invited."
    She had given me the smallest of openings. Naturally, I charged in with all cannons blazing.
    "What about your mother?" I demanded hotly. "Don't you think she'd like to come, too? And what about Dave? What about your brother? Doesn't your family deserve the same kind of consideration as your friends from the theaters?"
    Kelly's sorrowful gaze met mine while her eyes filled with tears. Without another word, she turned and fled up the steps, darting into the house. The screen door slammed shut behind her.
    End of conversation. Just because she's always led me around by the nose doesn't mean we communicate. She bolted into the house in tears, while I marched back to my car. Marjorie Connors was lying in wait for me on the front porch.
    "I said no bullying," Marjorie declared sternly.
    "There wasn't any," I said, all the while wondering, What's with this broad? Who gave her the right to tell me how to treat my own daughter? "In case you didn't notice, Kelly was delighted to see me."
    "That was before she came inside crying," Marjorie countered.
    "Look, Mrs. Connors, I merely suggested that Kelly might want to consider inviting her own mother to this shotgun wedding of hers the day after tomorrow. That doesn't exactly constitute child abuse."
    "It upset her."
    "What are you, her self-appointed protector?"
    The woman was annoying me, and I expect the feeling was mutual. Once more her violet eyes turned stormy gray.
    "Don't come around here again, Mr. Beaumont. See Kelly in town if you have to. If I find you lurking on my property, I'll have you arrested for trespass."
    I left without further comment. There wasn't any point. Marjorie Connors obviously had a huge attitude as far as men were concerned, although, oddly enough, Jeremy Cartwright seemed to get along with her just fine.
    As I turned the Porsche around and headed into town, I realized some things in this world don't make any sense. The situation at Live Oak Farm definitely counted as one of life's imponderables.
    Despite my previous misgivings, I had no trouble finding the Mark Anthony Hotel. It really was the tallest building in town. And it wasn't diffi-cult finding Alex and her friend Denver, either. They were seated at a window table. Alex waved and smiled as I walked up. What I did have trouble with was turning left and going into the dining room when I really wanted to turn right and disappear into the bar.
    For the first time in months, I wanted a drink. I wanted ten drinks.
    "How are things?" Alex asked brightly.
    "Fine," I returned with as much phony sincerity as I could muster. I must have pulled it off because Alex breezed ahead with introductions.
    "Denver Holloway," she said, "this is the man I was telling you about, J.P. Beaumont. Everybody calls him Beau."
    Denver put down her cigarette and held out a plump hand. She was a wide woman in her mid-to-late-forties. Her dark, wavy hair was worn in a short, neatly trimmed bob with a thick fringe of bangs. Enormous brown eyes peered out from behind huge tortoiseshell glasses.
    "Dinky," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not, but that's what all my friends call me just the same."
    I sat down.
    "Dinky's directing the play we're seeing tonight," Alex continued enthusiastically. "Romeo and Juliet set in the Deep South in the sixties."
    "In the South?" I asked. "As in southern United States?"
    Dinky grinned and nodded. "Why not?"
    "How can you do that?" I objected. "Doesn't it take place somewhere