The poor man’s Tab Hunter walked outside the exit door for a few seconds and quickly returned. “I see some friendly faces out there. They can help us escort her out.”

“You think I’m going to let you drag me out that door?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, unless you trip and knock yourself unconscious and we have to carry you to safety,” the young man said with a malevolent glare.

“Where are we anyway?” Margaret asked, though she seemed to be talking more to herself. Adjacent to the stage, on the side of the building—she was trying to get her bearings.

The wannabe Tab Hunter went down the hall to gather those friends.

“So Lola told Chris Powell, and he confronted you,” Margaret said to Wolff. “And you killed him.”

Wolff smirked. “No, I would never do anything like that,” he said. “That’s crazy.”

“Well, of course you would never do it,” Margaret said. “You’re too important, too powerful. You probably haven’t even clipped your own nails since Truman.”

Wolff laughed. “That’s probably true.”

“No, you wouldn’t do it,” Margaret continued. “So someone else would do it. For you. Someone who has a lot of zealots at his disposal, people who will do whatever he tells them to do. Someone who heads an organization trying to curry favor with powerful people and recruit new members. Maybe a religious organization. Kind of.”

Wolff continued to smile at her. He was impressed, and Margaret saw she was right.

“So the church is wrapped up in this too,” she said. “They’re your henchmen.”

He was staring at her, almost amused. “I’ll tell you, you can say what you want, but those folks are smart. And efficient.”

“You have”—she chose her words carefully—“a lot of friends. Cops, mobsters, church elders.”

Wolff thought about that. “It’s good to have friends,” he finally said. “And that’s why you and your husband can’t win. Powerful men need a safe place to unwind, away from the prying eyes of the public and the press. Pursuit of happiness is in the Constitution, lady.”

“Actually, it’s in the Declaration of Independence,” Margaret said.

“So you went to the better school,” Wolff said.

“I don’t think the Founders were condoning statutory rape,” she said.

“Those girls are old enough to know what they’re doing,” Wolff said.

“And yet young enough to be blackmailed over.”

Wolff sighed. “Your husband is a congressman. I’m amazed you’re this naive,” he said. “Leverage is the key to any negotiation, whether it’s a three-picture deal or tax breaks. Everyone is always pursuing leverage.”

“So that’s why you stuffed Lola’s corpse in our car—leverage. To get us out of town.”

“I didn’t stuff anyone anywhere,” he said.