“Except it’s not true,” she said. “There was another car.”

“But-”

“I know what the report says,” she said, smiling to remind him, he guessed, that they were still friends. “But there was another policeman at the scene first, before Officer Hatley. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.”

Interesting that she would bring up Joe Molloy, he thought, but he decided to play along and see where she was going.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“His name is Joseph Molloy,” she said. “He’s a big shot down there now, I think a deputy chief or something.”

“And?”

“Dad told him about the other car before Officer Hatley got there. Molloy called him a liar, with my mother lying there either dead or dying.”

“Why would Molloy do that?” Stevie asked. “And why didn’t Hatley mention the other car in the report?”

She was nodding as if to say he was asking the right questions. “Molloy hated my father,” she said. “He and my dad pitched on the same team in Sumter, South Carolina, four years before the accident. Sumter is where my parents met.”

This didn’t jibe at all with what Molloy had said about not being a baseball fan. Stevie was tempted to take out a notebook to write all this down but resisted. He wanted her to keep talking. If she was lying about Molloy, it would be easy enough to check out.

“Go on,” he said.

“Joe Molloy was dating my mom when she and my dad met. She dropped Molloy to go out with my dad. No big deal, she just liked him better.”

Stevie sat back in the booth. He was beginning to wonder if anyone involved in this story was telling the truth.

“My father did not cause the accident,” she continued. “A pickup truck going way too fast swerved into his lane, and he yanked the wheel to avoid hitting him.

“When Hatley showed up, Molloy was screaming that Dad had killed Mom and that he was sure he was drunk. When Dad told Hatley there was another car involved, Molloy kept insisting he was lying. So then Hatley pulled rank and told Molloy he was going to take over the investigation.”

“But if Molloy was convinced your dad was drunk, why didn’t he accuse Hatley of a cover-up after he wrote the report?”

“I don’t know, and neither does Dad. All he knows is Hatley told him not to worry about it, that he’d taken care of it.”

“You realize,” he said, “if it comes out that Hatley covered up for your dad, the movie and the book are probably out the window.”

“He didn’t cover up!” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “My dad’s not a liar. If he said there were two cars, there were two cars. Molloy is the liar.”

“Then why didn’t Hatley mention the second car in his report?” Stevie said. “Is he a liar too?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know exactly.” Stevie thought her eyes were glistening just a bit. “I didn’t even know what was in the report until yesterday, remember?”

Stevie nodded and decided to let the silence be his next question.

She leaned toward him and smiled again, eyes still glistening.

“Can I tell you something completely off the record?” This was happening just as Kelleher and Susan Carol had predicted it would.

“Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t,” Stevie said. “I can’t take a chance that you’ll tell me something I already know, or might find out later, and then won’t be able to use because I agreed to let you tell me off the record.”

For the first time since they had sat down, the look on her face betrayed a hint of anger. “You mean after all I’ve told you, you might still write a story?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Stevie said. “But I can’t put myself in a position where I can’t write the story.”

“But I told you what happened,” she said. “You can easily check what I told you about Molloy and Dad playing in Sumter. I’m not lying about any of that.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying about anything,” he said. “But you don’t have all the answers either: your dad says two cars were involved; the police report only mentions one car. Was your dad drinking? One cop-who you say hated your father-insists yes. The other cop-your dad’s friend-says nothing about it in the report. And the fact remains that the version of the story your dad has told you may not be the way it happened at all.

“But what really bothers me is that David Felkoff, apparently with your dad’s approval, sent Walsh to Lynchburg to check the report and then sent him to tell-and I assume pay-Sergeant Hatley to keep quiet about it all. That doesn’t exactly make your dad out to be innocent.”

“But I told you why Felkoff wanted to do it. He wanted to be sure no questions would come up later about Mom’s death.” Her tone had changed from flirtatious to angry. “He didn’t know what was in the report either. Walsh was sent there to make sure the report jibed with what had happened.”

“Well, if your dad’s buddy Hatley wrote it, why wouldn’t it jibe? But it doesn’t jibe, does it?”

He realized he was cross-examining her and that wasn’t the best way to get someone to talk to you. But there were so many holes in her story.

“Don’t you understand?” she said, her voice rising. “Dad didn’t do anything wrong that night, but the truth is not what publishers and Hollywood producers want to hear. The truth ruins the story.”

He leaned across the table. The tears in her eyes were, Stevie guessed, real.

“Morra,” he said softly, hoping to convince her he was still her friend, even though it was probably way too late for that. “Did your dad and Felkoff send you here today to try to get me off the story?”

“No!” she said. “They don’t even know I’m here!”

For some reason he was instantly convinced she was telling the truth-at least about this. Still not raising his voice, he said, “Morra, I know you don’t want to hear this, but the truth is the story. It’s the only story. And if your dad is lying on any level, it’s going to come out.”

WHACK!

Stevie felt his face sting and burn all at once and realized, since he hadn’t seen it coming, that she had just slapped him. He wondered if they taught that at pretty-girl school too.

“Turns out David was right,” she said, standing up. “He said I’d be wasting my time trying to convince you there was no story to write, that you were so insanely jealous of him you’d want to get Dad no matter what.”

“But this wasn’t a setup, right?” he said, gritting his teeth a little because he was in pain. She was stronger than she looked.

And she looked as if she might hit him again-but she didn’t. Instead she just said, “I thought journalists were supposed to be the good guys-not people who ruin people’s lives.”

She turned on her heel and stormed away from the table and out of the restaurant. Stevie looked around and saw people staring at him. The waiter hustled over to the table.

“Is everything okay, sir?” he asked. “Do you need some ice or something?”

Stevie figured his cheek was probably bright red, judging by the burning he was feeling. “No ice,” he said. “Just the check would be good.”

He sat back in the booth again. Covering the World Series was becoming less and less fun by the minute.