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warm.’
    Susan said, ‘I’m okay now. Really.’
    ‘It must have been shock, you know,
from seeing that body.’
    Susan shook her head. Her hair was
tangled and wet. ‘It was kind of like shock, but there was something else too.
I don’t know how to describe it. I thought I could hear somebody’s voice, very
loud and echoing. Then I was travelling very fast; it was like I was in a
helicopter or something, speeding over the surface of the sea. It went so fast
that I couldn’t keep my balance, and I fell down. The next thing I knew, I was
back here with you.’
    ‘Shock,’ Daffy pronounced. ‘Now,
will you keep warm? The Pink Panther’s going to be bringing you some coffee in
a second.’
    It took Susan a little over a
half-hour to stop shivering. Then she dressed slowly, in a green tee-shirt and
white pedal-pushers, and combed out her hair.
    ‘You’re sure you’re going to be
okay?’ Daffy kept asking her. ‘I mean, you don’t have to come to the barbecue
if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended.’
    ‘Daffy, I want to come. I’m not an invalid.’
    ‘You just take good care of
yourself,’ her grandmother instructed her.
    ‘Yes, you take good care,’ her
grandfather echoed.
    They left the house and walked down
the sloping driveway in the hot mid-morning sunshine. Daffy lived ten minutes’
walk away, in one of the new houses on Jimmy Durante Boulevard. Usually she
borrowed her mother’s Seville to drive around in, but this morning her mother
had gone to her beautician in La Jolla to have her face jacked up another inch,
as Daffy put it.
    They had almost reached the
intersection with the main road when a clear man’s voice behind them said,
‘Pardon me, are you Susan Sczaniecka?’
    Susan and Daffy turned around. It
was the man who had been sitting on the wall outside Susan’s grandparents’
house. He was tall – taller than Daffy had imagined – with dark wavy hair. He
took off his sunglasses and both girls had to admit to themselves that he was
undeniably good looking. Thin faced, brown eyed, with one of those slightly
amused faces that can make you feel both excited and at ease – at least if
you’re a seventeen-year-old girl.
    ‘Didn’t I see you sitting on the
wall?’ said Daffy, in a tone that meant the man ought to establish his
credentials before either she or Susan would start talking to him.
    ‘Sure you did. I was waiting for you
to come out.’
    ‘Why didn’t you call at the door?’
asked Susan. She had to close one eye against the bright sunshine.
    ‘I didn’t want to disturb your
grandparents, that’s all. You know what they’re like.’
    Susan frowned. ‘Sure I know what
they’re like. But how do you know what they’re like?’
    ‘It’s my job. I’m a newspaper
reporter. Here – here’s my card. Paul Springer, San Diego Tribune.’
    ‘You’re really a reporter?’ Daffy
asked him, squinting at the card.
    ‘Sure. Why else do you think I’ve
been staking out your grandparents’ house?’ ‘To rape us?’ Daffy suggested.
    ‘You don’t have to sound so
hopeful,’ grinned Paul.
    Susan handed his card back. ‘Is this
about what happened on the beach this morning?’
    Paul gave a reserved,
down-and-sideways glance. ‘Kind of. That’s part of it.’
    ‘How did you know about that? The
police said they were keeping it out of the media.’
    Paul continued grinning and shook
his head. ‘If the police had their way, everything would be kept out of the media. Except successful drug-busts, of course, and
police baseball-team scores.’
    ‘I don’t really have anything to say
about it,’ Susan told him. ‘I didn’t see any more than anybody else.’
    ‘It was pretty horrifying, wasn’t
it?’ said Paul.
    Daffy butted in: ‘My friend here
doesn’t actually want to talk about it, you know? She was very sick this
morning because of what happened. So, you know, do you mind?
    We’re on our way home, and we’d just
like to get on with it.’
    But Susan