Born to Be Wild (9 page)

“Is there ever anything you decide not to say, Kelly?” Monica asked.

Mary Lisa looked thoughtful. “How very odd. It
was
about six months, as I remember. Wasn't it, Mark?”

“Maybe,” Mark said, unperturbed, a small smile playing around his mouth. “Six months, Monica?”

“This is ridiculous,” Kathleen said. “Stop it, all of you. It is not funny.”

George said, nodding, “I agree with your mother. Drop it. Now, sometimes I'm in a meeting or up to my ears in a project, and I can't watch with everyone else. I'll hear cheering or groans or boos from the outer office. Most clients who come in know exactly who you are and want to take a break, watch the show too. Rain or shine, I see you most every day, sweetheart.”

“I just hope it doesn't reflect on us,” Kathleen said with a shrug.

“Why, of course it does. Everyone greatly enjoys watching our daughter perform so splendidly.”

Rarely in her nearly twenty-eight years had Mary Lisa heard that hard a voice out of her father. She'd heard it out of Sunday Cavendish, however, a goodly number of times. She cleared her throat. “The fact is, Mom, whether or not you like or even approve of soap operas, a whole lot of people do. Upwards of twenty actors and five different crews work very hard to produce about thirty-eight minutes of airtime for a one-hour show. They're incredible professionals and I'm still learning from them every day. Did you know we have four different directors?”

“Four directors?” Kelly said, sitting forward. “Why?”

“There's simply too much happening for any fewer than four. You could come down and visit the set—you're all officially invited—and see how everything works.”

Monica nodded. “Thank you, Mary Lisa. I'll definitely come down if I can ever find the time. I really have been wondering about something, though—why do they do your makeup so heavy sometimes? You're a woman who's supposed to be heading up a big corporation, and sometimes they make you look like a high-priced hooker with those dresses you wear.”

“Yep, too much cleavage for the boardroom, that's for sure. Fact is, it's part of Sunday Cavendish's persona. She's sophisticated and worldly, rich and ruthless as a snake. She does what she wants and that includes pushing the envelope with her clothes. I really like her, actually. She's got guts.”

Mrs. Abrams said from the doorway, “I think you're the most beautiful girl on the show, Mary Lisa, nearly as beautiful as your daddy.”

George Beverly choked, spewed wine out of his mouth.

“That's the truth,” Kelly said. “Get over it, Dad.”

Mrs. Abrams never looked away from Mary Lisa. “I love to guess what new trouble Sunday is going to stir up. But you know, I sure hope she doesn't sleep with her sister's husband. No matter what she thinks of her sister and her mother, she still wouldn't sleep with her sister's louse of a husband. Would she?”

That innocently dropped bomb rendered the table markedly silent for a moment until Mary Lisa laughed. “I happen to agree with you. Who knows what the writers will do, Mrs. Abrams? I'll be sure to pass along what you think.”

She looked up to see Mark staring at her, and there was something in his expression that disturbed her to her toes, something like regret, maybe.

Monica said, “Kelly, I hear you broke up with John Goddard and moved back home. What happened?”

Kelly shrugged. “I decided I'd had enough of him. He was going to push marriage soon. No way, not after that fiasco with Jared.”

Monica arched a perfect brow. “Oh?
You
had enough of
him
? That isn't what I heard. A friend of mine was having dinner at the Beijing a couple of nights ago, saw you there with John, heard a bit of a scene before Jack Wolf came in to rescue him.”

Before Kelly leaped over the table to go for her sister's throat, George pinned her in place with a look, then turned to Mary Lisa. “Did your mother tell you about our local murder?”

Mary Lisa shook her head.

“Jason Maynard, Marci Hildebrand's husband, was beaten to death early this week, found by his wife in the garage.”

Kathleen said, “It's awful. Marci's mother, as all of you know—Olivia Hildebrand—is one of my best friends. She's in awful shape, understandably torn up about it, and the police don't yet know who killed poor Jason. I know it was a burglar of some sort, had to be.”

Mary Lisa said, “I'm very sorry, Mother. Mrs. Hildebrand always seemed like a nice person. A murder. It seems impossible, not here in Goddard Bay.”

Her father grunted, but didn't look up from his wineglass, simply continued to roll the crystal in his palms. She saw her mother frown at him.

What was that about?

Her father looked up at his wife. “I'm sorry that Olivia is involved in this, Kathy. It's got to be difficult for you.”

“More so for her. Jack Wolf won't let her alone. She said Marci told him Jason was having an affair, but he hasn't found out who the other woman is. Livie said it was probably some bimbo over in Cloverdale.” Her mother shrugged. “I suppose it must be true.”

Kelly said, “Of course it's true. Jason was a man, he was good looking, he dressed nice. He and Marci were married for nearly three years, and fact was, he was quite a bit more attractive than Marci. How long have you and Mark been married now, Monica?”

“Just because John Goddard kissed you off is no reason to be nasty,” Monica said. “Mark, would you please pass the green beans? Mrs. Abrams does them so nicely, don't you agree, Mother?”

“Yes, she does,” Kathleen said, ignoring Kelly. “Mary Lisa said she's staying until Sunday.”

“Well, that'll be nice,” Monica said. She looked thoughtful. “So maybe we can do something Saturday night.” She didn't pursue it.

Mary Lisa sat back in her chair. Monica was running for office, Kelly had been dumped by John Goddard—not vice versa—and there had been a murder in Goddard Bay. Her mother was still a champ at slice and dice, and Mark was still—she didn't know what he was, only that she was now appalled that she'd ever believed herself in love with the man. And here she'd thought she'd be bored.

As Mary Lisa finally climbed into bed that night, Kelly opened the door and poked her head in. “Mark was giving you the eyeball. It's like you're no longer interested in him and he can't stand it. And you're a celebrity. Every man wants a girl who's a celebrity, it's like they think you put on your panty hose differently or something. I thought Monica was going to leap over the table and stick a knife in your heart.”

“There was no eyeball, Kelly. And I'm such a minor celebrity that nobody thinks about my panty hose.”

Kelly shrugged and looked down at her pretty pink toenails. “What Monica said, it really wasn't like that. John Goddard really is a bastard.”

“I'll take your word for it. What you need to think about is what you want to do now. How long are you going to stay here?”

“Oh, I'll probably move back to my apartment next week sometime. Good night, Mary Lisa. By the way, Mark was definitely giving you the eyeball.” She left, her laughter floating behind her.

The ocean breeze was fresh and sharp on Mary Lisa's face as she ran along the dirt path above the beach beside Cape Peeley Highway. The smell of surf and seaweed was strong in the air, and a light blanket of fog stretched over the water like a gray veil.

What she should do, Mary Lisa had thought grimly before she fell asleep last night, was fly back to L.A. this very afternoon and move in with Detective Vasquez until he found the loon who had clipped her with his LeSabre.

But that was last night, when everything seemed dark and more unpleasant than a dentist visit. But now she was smiling. It was a beautiful day, full of fresh possibilities.

She kept her breathing steady and deep. A light sheen of sweat covered her. She felt good. Running always made her feel good, and she knew she didn't have to worry about a big car coming out of the mist to run her down.

She'd fixed her father's Porsche. The plugs, it was always the plugs with her father, not the temperamental electrical system, as if he didn't know that.

Time to punch it up. She engaged her rockets and very nearly ran right into the man. It was the sudden pounding of his running shoes that made her swerve sharply at the last instant; she stopped and swung around to look at him.

The man had swerved as well. She bent over, her hands on her thighs, breathing hard.

“Hi,” he said, not much out of breath.

She raised her head, smiled. “Hi, yourself. Sorry I nearly ran you down. My endorphins were screaming to be free. The thing is, though, you give them a mile and they want two.”

“No problem. I wasn't paying any attention either. I was off in never-never land. Thing about endorphins, sometimes they don't kick in and you collapse in your tracks.”

She cocked her head at him. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. She said, “That was pretty good. Odd that neither of us saw the other. My endorphins and I have been known to flatten people who get in our way.”

He laughed. “Not this morning. Hey, we're the only two people up and virtuous. I'm usually running with a friend, but he had too much on his plate this morning. It's nice to have company.” He stuck out his hand. “I'm John Goddard.”

She stared at him, nonplussed. The controlling jerk? The founder's great-great whatever? She shook his hand, studied his face. “I remember you now. I was thirteen years old when you went back east to school.”

He looked at the bright red hair pulled back in a ponytail, the face clean of makeup, and recognized the smile that lit up the daytime TV screen as much as it did a foggy beach. “You're Mary Lisa Beverly, George and Kathleen's daughter. You hadn't left for L.A. yet when I came back here, but we never ran into each other.”

“No, a pity. Where'd you go to college?”

“Princeton.” He grinned. “You?”

“I went down to UCLA. Even when I was eighteen, I wanted to act. What'd you do then?”

“You have seventeen questions left.”

“Sorry, but I do have my reasons for being so nosy.”

“Okay. I went to law school. And yes, you're right. I'm the John Goddard who was seeing your sister Kelly until very recently. Kelly told me about your other sister Monica's husband leaving you at the altar and you moving permanently to L.A. You were really quite lucky, you know? You want to run with me?”

“Whoa, that's quite a lot you said there, Mr. Goddard.”

“John.”

“Regardless, Mark didn't exactly leave me at the altar.”

“Does it still sting? Kelly said it was close enough to altar-time that they could have penciled through your name on the wedding invitations and written in Monica's.” He grinned down at her, but not all that far. He was maybe six-two, but with heels she'd be nearly nose to nose with him. To go with that nice height, he had a good strong body, muscular torso and legs.

She burst into laughter. “Now that makes for a visual.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Why do you think I'm lucky?”

“Run with me and I'll tell you.”

She gave him a whimsical look and turned with him to run south, back along the highway toward the hamlet of Stoddart. Mary Lisa was soon running smoothly beside him.

“Kelly said you worked out and ran to de-stress.”

“That, and I enjoy being outside, especially here by the ocean. You?”

“Actually, this is my first run in a week, since I—”

“Since you what?”

“Well, there was an incident of sorts where I live and I was out of exercise commission until today.”

A dark eyebrow shot up as he glanced at her. “What kind of incident?”

“Just a minor injury. Why do you think I'm lucky Mark dumped me?”

He ran silently for a moment, his eyes fastened on the out-jutting promontory a quarter of a mile ahead. He said finally, “I don't think Mark Bridges is the type of guy to stick.”

“Ah,” she said.

“Ah, what?”

“And you think you're the type of guy who sticks?”

He kept running, and she saw he was thinking about that, seriously. “I guess your sister wouldn't think so, but—”

“But what?”

“If I found the right person, I'd stick.”

“Hmm. Maybe the same is true with Mark. I have to say you're not particularly acting like a controlling jerk so far.”

“What was that? Oh—I guess I should have known Kelly wouldn't sing my praises to her sister. I'm trying to think of a single person I control—you can't count people who work for you, that's a job. I wish I could think of one, but I can't.”

“Earth to Mr. Goddard. Listen up. Kelly told me she kind of left you at the altar because you're a controlling jerk. It gives us something in common. Both of us kissed off, I mean.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, and kicked up his stride. It took her a moment to catch up to him.

“I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. Since this just happened you might still be hurting.”

“I might,” he said, not turning.

“Okay, it's none of my business. Why did you come back to Goddard Bay?”

“I told you, I'm a lawyer.”

“Accept my condolences.”

“Actually, I came back to run for district attorney.”

“Yes, I know about that. You got it on your first try?”

He nodded. “I've got a good name around here, the right name.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “At least right enough to be elected the Goddard Bay County district attorney. I like putting bad guys away and I like living here.”

“Aren't you awfully young to be a D.A.? Do you have any experience?”

“Sure. I was an assistant D.A. in Manhattan for four years, and before that I clerked with an appellate court judge, Judge David Reed, in the Ninth Circuit.”

“Well, then, it sounds like you're qualified for the job to me.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Fun? I never thought of it that way—well, okay, yeah, I really enjoy it, particularly most of the time I spend in the courtroom.”

“Sounds like you're as much an actor as I am.”

“Could be,” he said after a moment.” He stopped. “You want to take a rest before we turn around and run back?”

“Where?”

“Over here. See that twisted pine? I like that the sea's nearly bowled it over onto itself.”

As she followed him to the bent pine, he said over his shoulder, “I'm not a controlling jerk.”

“Maybe not.” Mary Lisa leaned her back against the tree and he hunched down beside her. “I thought it was either that or maybe a dud in bed. That would be a sure deal breaker for Kelly.”

He looked appalled. “Hmm,” was all he said.

Mary Lisa thought of Mark Bridges, her ex-fiancé, and a couple of wannabe movie stars she'd dated pretty seriously over the past three years. “I've come to the conclusion that most good-looking men are so self-absorbed no one really exists for them outside themselves. Their pleasure's what's important, no one else's.”

“I'd say the same about some good-looking women. Take you, for instance, Ms. Beverly. Are you a dud in bed because you're beautiful and self-absorbed?”

She laughed. “Yep, that's me, so beautiful, I'm self-absorbed. I'm going back now. Good-bye, Mr. Goddard.”

She was off and running before he got to his feet. He didn't try to catch her, just stood for a while by that gnarly old tree and watched her until she disappeared in the distance.

Just his damned luck. The beauty queen was Kelly's sister.