I flashed her my driver’s license, careful to cover the words California Driver’s License with my thumb. You’d be amazed at how often people fall for that trick. Especially people with dimples and blonde hair down to their waists.

Her blue eyes grew wide with fear.

“What do you want?” she gulped.

“Dr. Meyers confessed everything.”

“He did?”

She put her fingers to her lips and began biting her nails. I was happy to see that her fingers were short and stubby, her nails jagged and bitten to the quick. At last. A flaw. There was justice in the world, after all.

“I’ve come to take a new statement from you,” I said.

Her face went pale under her beach bunny tan.

“Oh, geez. Am I going to be arrested for perjury?”

“Not if you tell the truth now.”

I rummaged through my purse and took out a pad that I kept there to jot down spur-of-the-minute Toiletmasters ideas.

“First things first,” I said, pretending to take notes. “You two were having an affair, right?”

She nodded, blushing.

“I met Dr. Meyers about a month ago when he and his wife were vacationing in Laguna. He bought a really expensive painting and told me I had beautiful teeth. Anyhow, we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

“He wasn’t really here with you the day of the murder, was he?”

“No.” She shook her head, gnawing at her nails. “Marty was up in Los Angeles. But he was afraid the police might connect him with the murder if they knew he was in town. So we agreed to pretend he was down here with me all afternoon.”

“Did he tell you that he stopped by his house that afternoon?”

“No.” She looked shocked. “Did he tell you that?”

“Let’s just stick to what he told you, Ms. McDonald.”

“He told me he was with Marybeth that afternoon. He’d been trying to break things off with her, but she wouldn’t let him go. She said if he didn’t divorce Rochelle and marry her, she’d ruin his life. She’d started sending him threatening letters at his office. She said she was going tell everyone that he sexually assaulted his female patients while they were under anesthesia. What a horrible, vile lie!”

I wasn’t so sure about that. After what I’d discovered about Marty, I had no trouble picturing him copping a feel from an unconscious patient.

“So he told you he was with Marybeth that day?” I asked.

“Yes. He said he finally managed to get her to accept the fact that he wasn’t in love with her any more, and that he was going to marry me.”

“Dr. Meyers told you he was going to marry you?”

“As soon as he got a divorce from his wife.”

And you were stupid enough to believe him?

Just then the phone rang. Cissy shot me an apologetic look.