“It’s pretty frightening now, at night,” Ferguson said. “But during the day it can be quite beautiful. Most days you can see the islands.”

Turning, Hook played the flashlight along the top of the cliff, thrusting its faint white finger through the eucalyptus trees at the two other houses. The nearest was at least two hundred feet away, so it was understandable that no one in either house had seen or heard a thing. Hook turned off the flashlight. As he handed it back to Ferguson he saw Miss Madera standing on the deck watching them. She had changed her clothes.

Hook asked Ferguson about her. “Does she work for the same people as you and Mrs. Rubin?”

“No. Liz doesn’t work.”

“Who is it you work for?”

“Jack Douglas. He’s running for Congress.”

“What are you—his campaign manager?”

“In a way, yes.”

“And Mrs. Rubin?”

“Well, you see, we both are part of Jack Douglas Associates. It’s a local P.R. firm. Public relations,” Ferguson explained. “And now Jack is—well he’s between campaigns, actually. He came very close to winning it last year. So we’re already pointing for next November.”

“And where does Miss Madera fit in?”

“She doesn’t.”

“Just lives here, huh?”

“She’s a friend of Mrs. Rubin, that’s all.”

Hook contemplated the bland mask of Ferguson’s face. “You resent these questions?”

“Not at all. I know what you must be going through. I’d want answers too, in your place. But—” And suddenly the mask was sweating.

“But what?”

“Nothing. It’s not important. I just don’t know if I’d have the strength to come here like this. I mean, so soon.”

“Maybe my son and I weren’t close.”

“That would explain it.”

“Or maybe people in shock do strange things.”

“But would they know they’re in shock?”

“Some might.”

The young man shivered visibly. “I’d better get back in,” he said. “I should have worn a coat.”

When they got back on the deck, Miss Madera asked Hook if he had a ride back to town and he told her that he had a cab coming.

“I’ll drive you,” she said.

Ferguson laughed uneasily. “He just said he had a cab coming, Liz.”

“That’s all right,” Hook said. “I can leave money for the cab.”

Now Ferguson looked alarmed. “No, I really don’t think she should, Mr. Hook. Not the way she’s been feeling today. If you don’t want to take the cab, I can drive you. I was going to leave soon anyway.”

But Liz Madera was not listening. She had started down the deck stairway. “We can go around the side,” she said. “I already have my keys.”

“Liz, you better not! I’m telling you!”

Hook had already taken out a five-dollar bill and now as he held it out to Ferguson, the little man, his face scarlet, could barely bring himself to look at Hook. It had been a mistake, his outburst, and they both knew it and knew the other knew it.

Taking the bill now, Ferguson tried to smile. “It’s been a rough day,” he said.