Mary Clark - Weep No More, My Lady

Min and the Baron came out onto the veranda. Syd was immediately aware of how drawn Min looked. Her expression was frozen on her face, the way people get when they've witnessed an accident and cannot believe what they've seen. How much had she guessed ? He did not glance at Helmut but instead turned his head to watch Cheryl and Ted coming up the path. Syd could read Ted's mind. He'd always felt guilty about dumping Cheryl for Leila, but it was obvious he didn't want to pick up with her again. Obvious to everyone except Cheryl.

What in hell had she meant with that dumb remark about "proof" that Ted was innocent? What was she up to now?

"Good morning, Mr. Melnick." He turned to see Alvirah Meehan beaming up at him. "Why don't we just walk together?" she asked. "I know how disappointed you must be that Margo Dresher is probably going to be Amanda in the series. I'm telling you, they're making a terrible mistake."

Syd did not realize how hard he had grasped her arm until he saw her flinch. "Sorry, Mrs. Meehan, but you don't know what you're talking about."

Too late, Alvirah realized that only the insiders had that tip-the reporter from the Globe who was her contact for her article had told her to study Cheryl Manning's reaction when she got the news. She'd made a bad slip. "Oh, am I wrong?" she asked. "Maybe it's just that my husband was saying that he read it's neck and neck between Cheryl and Margo Dresher."

Syd made his voice confidential. "Mrs. Meehan, do me a favor, won't you? Don't talk about that to anyone. It isn't true, and you can imagine how it would upset Miss Manning."

Cheryl had her hand on Ted's arm. Whatever she had been saying, she had him laughing. She was a hell of a good actress-but not good enough to keep her cool if she lost the Amanda role. And she'd turn on him like an alley cat. Then, as Syd watched, Ted raised his hand in a careless salute and started jogging toward the front gate.

"Good morning, everyone," Min boomed in a hollow attempt at her usual vigor. "Let us be on our way. Remember, a brisk pace and deep breathing, please."

Alvirah stepped back as Cheryl caught up with them. They fell into line on the walkway that led to the woods. Scanning the clusters of people ahead, Syd picked out Craig walking with the lawyer, Henry Bartlett. The Countess and her entourage were directly behind them. The tennis pro and his girlfriend were holding hands. The talk-show host was with his date for the week, a twenty-year-old model. The various other guests in twos and threes were unfamiliar.

When Leila made this place her hangout, she put it on the map, Syd thought. You never knew when you'd find her here. Min needs a new superstar. He had noticed the way all eyes drank in Ted as he jogged away. Ted was a superstar.

Cheryl was clearly in a buoyant mood. Her dark hair exploded around her face. Her coal-black brows arced above the huge amber eyes. Her petulant mouth was carved into a seductive smile. She began to hum "That Old Feeling." Her breasts were high and pointed under her jogging suit. No one else could make a jogging suit look like a second coat of skin.

"We've got to talk," Syd told her quietly.

"Go ahead."

"Not here."

Cheryl shrugged. "Then later. Don't look so sour,

Syd. Breathe deeply. Get rid of poisonous thoughts."

"Don't bother being cute with me. When we get back, I'll come to your place."

"What is this about?" Cheryl clearly did not want to have the euphoric mood spoiled.

Syd glanced over his shoulder. Alvirah was directly behind them. Syd could almost feel her breath on his neck.

He gave Cheryl's arm a warning pinch.

When they reached the road, Min continued to lead in the direction of the lone cypress tree, and Helmut began dropping back to chat with the hikers. "Good morning… Wonderful day… Try to pick up the pace… You're doing marvelously." His artificial cheerfulness grated on Syd. Leila had been right. The Baron was a toy soldier. Wind him up and he marches forward.

Helmut stopped abreast of Cheryl. "I hope you two enjoyed your dinner last night." His smile was dazzling and mechanical. Syd could not remember what he had eaten. "It was okay."

"Good." Helmut dropped back to ask Alvirah Meehan how she was feeling.

"Absolutely fine." Her voice was hard and stri dent. "You might say I'm as bright as a butterfly floating on a cloud." Her noisy laugh sent a chill through Syd.

Had even Alvirah Meehan caught on?

Henry Bartlett was not feeling good about the world or his particular situation. When he was asked to take on the case of Ted Winters, he'd rearranged his calendar immediately. Few criminal lawyers would be too busy to represent a prominent multimillionaire. But there was an ongoing problem between him and Ted Winters. The definitive word was "chemistry," and it was bad between them.

As he grudgingly plodded on the forced march behind Min and the Baron, Henry admitted to himself that this place was luxurious, that the setting was beautiful, that under different circumstances he could come to appreciate the charms of the Monterey Peninsula and Cypress Point Spa. But now he was on a countdown. The trial of The People of the State of New York v. Andrew Edward Winters III would begin in exactly one week. Publicity was eminently desirable when you won a headline case; but unless Ted Winters started cooperating, this case would not be won.

Min was picking up the pace. Henry quickened his footsteps. He hadn't missed the appreciative glances of the fiftyish ash-blonde who was with the Countess. Under different circumstances he'd check that out. But not now.

Craig was marching at a solid, steady pace behind him. Henry still couldn't put his finger on what made Craig Babcock tick. On the one hand he'd talked about Pop's deli on the Lower East Side. On the other, he was clearly the hatchet man for Ted

Winters. It was a pity that it was too late for him to testify that he and Ted had been on the phone when that so-called eyewitness claimed she saw Ted. That thought reminded Henry of what he wanted to ask Craig.

"What's with the investigator on Sally Ross?"

"I put three investigators on her-two for background, one to shadow her."

"It should have been done months ago."

"I agree. Ted's first lawyer didn't think it was necessary."

They were leaving the path that exited the Spa grounds and proceeding onto the road that led to the Lone Cypress.

"How did you arrange to get reports?"

"The head guy will call me every morning, nine thirty New York time, six thirty here. I just spoke to him. Nothing too important to report yet. Pretty much what we know already. She's been divorced a couple of times; she fights with her neighbors; she's always accusing people of staring at her. She treats 911 like it's her own personal hot line, always calling to report suspicious-looking characters."

"I could chew her up and spit her out on the stand," Bartlett said. "Without Elizabeth Lange's testimony, the prosecution would be flying on one wing. Incidentally, I want to know how good her eyesight is, if she needs glasses, what strength glasses, when they were changed last, and so on… everything about her vision."

"Good. I'll phone it in."

For a few minutes they walked in silence. The morning was silvery bright; the sun was absorbing the dew from the leaves and bushes; the road was quiet, with only an occasional car passing; the narrow bridge that led to the Lone Cypress was empty.

Bartlett glanced over his shoulder. "I'd hoped to see Ted holding hands with Cheryl."

"He always jogs in the morning. Maybe he was holding hands with her all night."

"I hope so. Your friend Syd doesn't look happy."