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course.”
    Henry’s stare grew hypnotic. “Patti?” He shook his head, breaking the spell. “I know for a fact that Dani has tried tocall Patti at least three times, but either she isn’t in or she hangs up on Dani.” Suddenly he turned sheepish. “My daughter, Heather, should be more discreet. But I’m afraid she’s star-struck.”
    I knew Heather Bardeen, a pretty, self-contained young woman who worked for her father in various capacities, including that of PBX operator. Somehow, his description didn’t sound right. “Aren’t Heather and Dani the same age? They would have gone to school together.”
    Henry grew tight-lipped. “They did. Heather was a year behind Dani. They weren’t really friends, but they knew each other. I suppose that’s why Heather is so curious. In fact, Heather says that by the time Dani left Alpine, she didn’t have any friends. Maybe that’s why she went away.”
    “She’ll show up,” I said hopefully. “Did she take a car?”
    “She may have,” Henry replied, looking pessimistic. “The crew rented a whole fleet of them. They’re all a white Lexus model. They got them from a dealership in Seattle, except for some custom-built job that belongs to Matt Tabor, and Reid Hampton’s Cadillac. He got that here.”
    The Cadillac had served to take me to dinner at the Café de Flore. I gave Henry an absent nod, then glanced up at the ski lodge. Except for the main floor, most of the lights were already out. It was my understanding that the movie crew had taken up at least three of the lodge’s four floors.
    “You’ve got only a little more than a week to go,” I said encouragingly. “Think of this as free promotion. It can’t help but bring in more visitors next year.”
    “Normal
visitors, I trust.” Henry was looking very glum.
    I gave up trying to cheer him, said good night, and headed for my Jaguar. Sundown had brought cooler temperatures, and a faint breeze stirred the trees. I didn’t trouble to turn on the air-conditioning.
    At the bottom of the road that led to the ski lodge, I noticed a white car pull up on the verge. My headlights caught a man getting out on the passenger’s side. He came around to speak to the driver, who had apparently rolled down the window. As I stopped to watch for any oncomingcars from Alpine Way, I recognized Curtis Graff. And, just as I stepped on the accelerator, I realized that the woman behind the wheel was Dani Marsh.
    An odd couple, I thought. Unless Francine Wells hadn’t been talking off the top of her carefully coiffed head.
    My intention was to tell Vida first thing about seeing Curtis Graff with Dani Marsh. Her reaction would prove interesting. But when I arrived at the office Friday morning, Vida was screaming at the top of her ample lungs and browbeating Abe Loomis. Ed Bronsky watched in dismay while Carla twittered in the vicinity of the coffeepot.
    “You’re crazier than a bear on a bee farm, Abe Loomis!” cried Vida, waving a sheet of paper at the shocked owner of Mugs Ahoy. “I wouldn’t enter your ridiculous contest in a million years! I ought to have you horsewhipped!”
    “But Vida,” protested Abe, pointing a bony finger at the piece of paper, “you signed the entry form. See for yourself.”
    Vida glared through her glasses. Her jaw dropped. “Oooooh …” She yanked the glasses off and rubbed furiously at her eyes. “I couldn’t have! It’s a forgery!”
    I took the sheet of paper from Abe. Vida’s unmistakably flamboyant signature was emblazoned in the space marked for
Entrant
. Someone might have signed her name, but I doubted that anyone would go to the trouble—or have the expertise—to render such a perfect facsimile of her handwriting. It seemed to me that there was another more logical explanation. But I didn’t want to mention it in front of Abe Loomis.
    Finally, Vida stopped grinding her eyeballs. She sat up very straight, fists on hips, bust thrust out as if she were auditioning for