“Hey, something’s wrong,” she said. “I can tell. What is it?”

And I told her everything. Up to and including my little tête-à-tête with Marty at his office and how I thought he might be stalking me.

“Oh, my God,” Pam said when I was through. She poured me a glass of champagne. “Have some. You need it.”

She was right. I took a healthy slug of the bubbly.

“You really think Marty killed Marybeth?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“I’m certain of it. If only I could break his alibi and prove he wasn’t in Laguna.”

“Jaine, this is crazy. You’ve got to stop your investigation. If you’re right about Marty, you could get hurt. I want you to go to the police. Right now. And tell them what you’ve told me.”

“I’ve already tried. But Lieutenant Clemmons hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

“Then you’ve got to go over his head. See someone else. You could be in serious danger.”

“Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I scared Marty off. I made up some story about having a document in my safe deposit box saying that he was responsible if anything happened to me. That seemed to intimidate him.”

“Then why was he following you at Nordstrom?”

She had a point there.

“Maybe it wasn’t him,” I said feebly. “Maybe it was some other big guy.”

Pam shot me a dubious look.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Why don’t I really do it? Why don’t I write down a statement and give it to you? And if anything happens to me, you show it to the cops.”

“Okay,” she said, as I took a pen from my purse and began writing on a paper cocktail napkin, “but you have to promise me you’ll go to the cops soon, before anything happens to you.”

“I promise,” I said, handing her my hastily written document. I only hoped they admitted cocktail napkins as legal evidence in a murder trial.

“You’d better,” she said. “Because if you don’t, I will. I’ll call the cops. I’ll call the mayor. I’ll call the governor if I have to. I’m very good at that stuff,” she said, dipping a hunk of olive bread into a dish of pesto sauce. “I once played a victim’s rights advocate in a deodorant commercial.”

“Thanks, Pam. I really appreciate it.”

“You’ve got to try this pesto. It’s marvelous.”

I did. And it was.

It’s amazing what a little pesto washed down with a lot of champagne can do for the spirits. I was feeling calmer already.

“Just know that whatever happens, I’m here for you,” Pam said. “One hundred percent. You can count on me. Oops,” she said, putting down her olive bread and springing up. “Gotta go.”

“Where are you going?”