A stunning work of art, Beth Sorenson is Rembrandt's masterpiece "The Night Watch" painted on the pale white canvas of life. Her Rodin-sculpted elegance and grace make her a prize any man would be proud to have hanging on his arm. The arm she hung on belonged to Sheriff Brock Daniels.

The celebration at the VFW would provide her another opportunity to shine like the welcome beacon of a far away lighthouse to a ship tossed in hazardous seas. The white-hot spotlight always seemed to descend directly onto Beth. However, her egregious mannerisms never gave way to self-importance.

Making her way into the crowded parking lot off Hyle Street, where the VFW was located, Beth found an available slip. She stopped her Porsche Boxster Spyder, shut the engine off and extracted the key from the ignition.

Sheriff Daniels awaited her arrival. With the murders at the Kwok Fui Lau Chinese Laundry it had been a very long day. But, he had a little surprise for Beth Sorenson safely tucked away inside the pocket of his uniform shirt.

Beth no sooner climbed out from behind the wheel of her vehicle, one long slender leg at a time, than Donna Anderson, a petit brunette some times friend of hers, grabbed her arm wanting to talk.

"You look ravishingly elogant this evening my Dear," she complimented Beth. A broad grin on her rotund face.

Dressed in a Chiffon Evening Gown, with white trim around the sleeves and neckline, Beth was indeed be the envy and the lifeof the party. A position she always filled.

Desiring to remain polite Beth told Donna Anderson, "So do you."

Trying to pry for information the Feature Writer for the Astatula Ledger asked Beth, "Did you hear about that crash over in Palo Pinto a few weeks ago?"

With the towns being 46 miles apart everybody in the area had heard about the spectacular wipe out. Wise to Donna Anderson's little scheme, Beth attempted to brush her off as gently as possible. Although she and the Sheriff were the talk of the town, Beth never mixed business with pleasure.

In her most charming way Beth told Donna Anderson, "Some whack job, at almost a hundred miles an hour, completely missed a curve and jettisoned head first into an embankment. His Corolla looked like a squashed can of sardines! Always so much construction in that area."

Donna Anderson removed a newspaper clipping and an accompanying color photograph from out of her turquoise Gucci purse.

She handed the items to Beth and told her, "My associate, Jill Bernstein over at the Palo Pinto Press, sent me these. I thought you might want them. The picture is the dead guy's kid."

Beth took the items from Donna Anderson. She stuffed them in her black Longchamp handbag then snapped its clasps closed. Donna Anderson strutted off like a proud peacock displaying its brilliantly multi-colored train. A smirk crossed her face.

Beth watched her walk away. She realized not everybody in Astatula approved of certain strings she pulled after hearing about this horrific crash that left the boy an unwanted orphan. She slowly strolled to where Sheriff Daniels, who had witnessed the whole episode between the two ladies, awaited his guest.

When Beth arrived by his side he passionately kissed her full, rosy red lips. They tasted sweet. Like sugar always does. It was a start.

Casually he asked her, "What was that little tiff about?"

"Cody Schroder," was all Beth said in reply.

As they made their way inside the VFW Hall she added, "I need a drink. Wine will do."

The Sheriff allowed her comment about Cody to pass. Not too much rattled him.