"Whoa, hold on. Give me some kind of heads-up. Who do you think Hedda is going to kill next?"

"No thinking about this one. I'm sure Hedda's next victim is Maggie Kline."

I CHANGED AS fast as I could, tearing off my saturated clothes and stuffing them into a plastic bag. I washed my legs and feet off in the tub, grabbed an old, black cocktail dress from my closet and zippered it on, then slipped on patent leather slingbacks and grabbed my evening clutch.

Just as I was about to race out of the apartment, I turned around, ran back to my bedroom, and reached into my leather shoulder bag. I quickly transferred Jack's old buffalo nickel to my black purse.

"Okay, Jack," I whispered. "Come on!"

Good girl. I can't watch your back if you don't take me with you!

Minutes later, I was swerving my Saturn into Chez Finch's crowded parking lot. By now the sun had set and the restaurant was radiant in the deepening twilight. Light streamed through its romantic French doors and arched windows, reflecting off the water and giving the entire scene a golden glow. Laughing couples in 1940s' costumes were already crowding the entrance, with more jovial guests crossing the parking lot.

I'd just climbed out of my Saturn when I spied Maggie Kline rolling across the lot, behind the wheel of Dean Pepper's Lexus. She probably thought I was crazy, the way I waved her down.

"Stop, Maggie! Please stop!"

"Whoa, Mrs. McClure, what's up?" she called through the open window.

"I have to speak with you, it's urgent," I said. "It's about Hedda Geist- Middleton."

Maggie frowned. She jerked her head toward the empty passenger seat beside her. "Get in."

I climbed into the car. Maggie was dressed casually in jeans, a pressed white cotton shirt, and scarlet high-top sneakers. She circled around the lot until she found a spot well away from the other cars, near the path that led to the lighthouse. I saw the parade of solar lights marching up the trail into the darkening woods.

Maggie cut the engine, released her seatbelt, and faced me. "Okay, Mrs. McClure, I'm all ears. What's this about?"

"Hedda is going to try to kill you tonight," I blurted out. Then I slowed down and told Maggie everything I'd discovered so far, ending with a personal revelation.

"I know Maggie Kline is not the name you were born with. I remember you said people in Hollywood change their names all the time. You did, too, didn't you? Only not for a casting call. You changed your name when your father and then your mother died, and you were adopted. Your real name is Margaret Vreen, isn't it?"

In the uncertain light, I could see the pained surprise on her face. People often liked to bury their pasts, and I hated to invade her privacy, but this was life or death.

"You're right," Maggie said nodding slowly. "My father was Irving Vreen. The past was difficult for me, and I've done my best over the years to leave it behind me. It hasn't been easy. Every day of my life, I've lived with what happened-not just to my father, but to my mother, and to me. But listen, Penelope, just because Hedda was involved in my father's death, it doesn't mean she wants to kill me, too."

"No, Maggie, don't you see? Hedda's already killed Pierce Armstrong, the last witness to your father's murder. She killed the woman who wrote about it, too. Dr. Lilly was on the verge of making the Vreen murder big headline news again, maybe even the next big retro Hollywood crime story. With Pierce Armstrong's interviews I'm sure she could have done it, too. Obviously, Hedda didn't want that to happen. She murdered your father in cold blood sixty years ago. She let Pierce take the fall for her while she blackmailed a district attorney and exploited his statutory rape of an underage girl. Then she got off scott free!"

I took a breath. Maggie was still staring at me. She looked a little shocked that I knew so much, that I knew the whole story.

"Hedda Geist may have been a blonde beauty in her day," I added, "but the truth of her life is bitterly ugly, and if the details hit today's news cycles, it would ruin any standing she'd worked to gain for herself and her children. You're the only one left, Maggie. Don't you see that? Once you're gone, there's no one left to threaten Hedda Geist anymore."

Maggie's eyes glazed over; she seemed to be processing my flood of words. I couldn't blame her. It was a lot to take in.

"Okay," she finally said, "but even if everything you say is true, I think I should make an appearance at the dinner. Hedda can't murder me in plain sight, Penelope. Can she?"

"I suppose you're right," I said. "If we act naturally, we may be able to trap Hedda."

"I'm glad you told me all this," Maggie said as she reached for a huge tote bag in the backseat. She pulled it up front and set it down between us. Then she glanced up and appeared to see something out the window on my side of the car.

"Is that her now?" Maggie asked. "Is that Hedda over there on that path?"

I turned, giving Maggie my back so I could peer through my passenger-door window. I could see the dimly lit trail to the Charity Point Lighthouse. But I couldn't make out anyone on it.

Next to me, I heard Maggie open the zipper on the tote bag. Almost immediately, I smelled something familiar-orange blossoms? The cloying, familiar scent was so strong it quickly filled the car's interior.

I frowned, still squinting into the dark for any sign of Hedda. But my mind was quickly wondering-"What's Maggie Vreen Kline doing with Vouloir, the signature perfume worn by Hedda Geist-Middleton? The same scent I detected near Barry Yello's corpse?"

Look out, doll! Jack bellowed in my head.

I whirled around to see Maggie with a heavy metal flashlight in her hand. She'd pulled it out of her tote and was raising it to brain me!

Move, baby! Now!

Freezing cold air blew in my face. The shock of Jack's icy blast made me rear back away from Maggie at the last possible moment. I slammed against the car's passenger window, and the heavy swinging flashlight missed my head by inches, connecting hard with my thigh instead.

"Ahhh!"

Pain shot through my leg. Maggie quickly swung again, but this time I was ready. I put my left arm up to deflect the blow from my head, and she clipped my elbow this time. Stinging tears sprang to my eyes. But I was still conscious. And alive.

"Thanks, Jack."

Don't thank me yet, baby. Fight! Maggie raised her arm again, ready to strike. Grab her wrist, doll. Keep her from swinging. Then clock her yourself!

I lunged for her wrist, gripped it with my left hand, then swung at her jaw with my balled-up right fist, just like Jack advised. It was a clumsy attack. My hand missed Maggie, flailed backward, and bounced off the steering wheel. I yelled in pain-

Swing again, babe! Don't stop till she does!

I did. I swung again. This time I struck flesh-hard. Maggie grunted and her head snapped back. She slumped forward, her torso hanging over the steering wheel. I shook her, but her movements were like a rag doll's. The woman was out cold.

My thigh was bruised, my hand was throbbing, and my elbow was stinging something awful. I cradled my wounded joint until the agony faded to a dull but persistent ache.

In the struggle, Maggie's tote bag had spilled across the front seat. I saw an airline ticket among the debris. I picked it up and read the itinerary; then I glanced in the backseat and saw a small suitcase on the floor.

"Maggie never intended to go to the dinner tonight," I realized. "She booked a flight out of Providence, departing in two hours."

Back to Arizona? Jack asked.

"No. This ticket's for an international flight to Costa Rica!"

With Maggie's flashlight, I searched through the stuff that had spilled out of the tote. I spied a small glass vial. It looked medicinal but I couldn't read the prescription l abel-it was written in Spanish. And the vial was empty.