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reflection in every one?”
    “Yeah, that’s what made them so
popular.”
    “Well.” Price whirled around to face him.
“It really is two girls. Jessica painted herself as the girl and
her sister, Jill, as the reflection.”
    “That’s an interesting touch. I’d never
heard that before. That will give us some previously unpublished
data. That’s great, babe. This is more like it. Anything else?”
    “They went to college at Radcliffe.”
    “Somebody had some bucks.”
    “Their father once owned most of downtown
Tacoma. Anyway, they were going to school in the East, and one
June, on their way home from college, they were in a car wreck in
Council Bluffs, Iowa.”
    “Hey, that wouldn’t happen to have been on
June 2,1942?”
    “How did you know that?”
    “Melody mentioned her grandmother could
always remember what happened on that date.”
    “Jill was thrown from the car and killed.
Jessica was driving, and I guess she still blames herself for her
sister’s death.”
    “And she’s been reclusive ever since?”
    “Yes. She even refused to paint
anymore.”
    “Because there was no more reflection? This
is good stuff, darlin’.”
    Price glanced up toward the clubhouse.
“Looks like someone else has spotted you.” A man in a navy blazer
waved a nautical hat at them from the patio, thick hair blowing
slightly, left hand cupped to his mouth.
    “Shall we return to the party, Dr.
Shadowbrook?”
    “Do you need me to help you... Father,
dear?”
    “Mr. Shadowbrook?” the man on the patio
called again.
    “He seems quite insistent.” She waved to the
man and gently tugged Tony along the dock.
    At last they stepped up to the
awning-covered deck adjoining the clubhouse. The man hurried up to
them; his blazer boasted anchor brass buttons.
    “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Shadowbrook, but
there’s a tele-phone call for you. Said you should call back
immediately.”
    “Who was it?”
    “A Mr. Davidian. Terrance Davidian of
Hollywood.”
    “Honey, did I tell you he called from
Portland this morning?”
    “He’s quite tenacious.”
    “How in the world did he know where I
was?”
    The man with the brass buttons pointed to a
burgundy phone sitting on a metal table next to a purple and blue
Japanese iris arrangement. “You can take the call out there.”
    “I can call him some other time,” Tony told
him.
    Price nudged him. “Maybe you’d better check
it out. He must have thought it was important to track you down at
the Yacht Club.”
    Tony sighed and plopped down in the metal
deck chair, almost tipping over the bouquet. He pulled off his
sunglasses and strained to read the slip of paper. Price rearranged
the flowers.
    “Verne’s Garage and Espresso, where getting
an oil change never tasted so good. This is Verne, Jr. What can I
do for ya?”
    “Eh, maybe I dialed the wrong number. Is
there a Terrance Davidian there?”
    “Who?”
    “I must have misdialed. I’m calling Terry
Davidian.”
    “Oh, yeah, that Hollywood guy. Just a
minute. He’s eating lunch out of the candy machine.”
    Tony signaled for Price to join the other
guests.
    “Hey, Tony, big guy... Terry, here. Sorry to
pull you away from the social scene, but your research assistant
said I could find you here.”
    “Research assistant?”
    “Yeah, a Miss Mason, I believe. Here’s the
deal. I wouldn’t think of putting a bind on you like this, but
wouldn’t you know it, my car busted just as I was coming across the
bridge. Now old Verne, here, said he could have the thing fixed by
dark, but I said, ‘Hey, why waste time waiting in a garage, even
though the espresso is every bit as excellent as that on Rodeo
Boulevard. So, if I could talk you into coming over here and giving
me a lift to your beach cabana, we could spend the afternoon going
over the details of that movie deal.”
    “I have the afternoon scheduled. Maybe you
should talk to my publisher first.”
    “Tony, baby... whew! Don’t get me wrong. I’m on your