Mary Clark - Weep No More, My Lady

"The rumor is Syd's broke. He was riding high with Leila as a client. He'd sign her up for a picture and part of the deal was they'd use a couple of his other clients somewhere else. That's how he kept Cheryl working. Without Leila and with all the money he lost in that play, he's got problems. He'd love to put the arm on Ted right now. I won't let him."

"He and Cheryl are the most important defense witnesses we have," Henry snapped. "Maybe you'd better be more generous. In fact, I'm going to make that suggestion to Ted."

They had passed the Pebble Beach Lodge and were on the way back to the Spa. "We'll get to work after breakfast," Bartlett announced. "I've got to decide the strategy of this case and whether to put Ted on the stand. My guess is that he'll make a lousy witness for himself; but no matter how much the judge instructs the jury, it makes a big psychological difference when a defendant won't subject himself to questioning."

Syd walked back to Cheryl's bungalow with her. "Let's make this short," she said when the door closed behind them. "I want to shower, and I invited Ted for breakfast." She pulled the sweat shirt over her head, stepped out of the sweat pants and reached for her robe. "What is it?"

"Always practicing, aren't you?" Syd snapped. "Save it for the dopes, honey. I'd rather wrestle with a tiger." For a long minute he studied her. She had darkened her hair for the Amanda audition, and the effect was startling. The softer color had obliterated the brassy, cheap-at-the-core look she'd never quite conquered and had accentuated those marvelous eyes. Even in a terry-cloth robe she looked like someone with class. Inside, Syd knew, she was the same scheming little hooker he'd been dealing with for nearly two decades.

Now she smiled dazzlingly at him. "Oh, Syd, let's not fight. What do you want?"

"I'll be happy to make it brief. Why did you suggest that Leila might have committed suicide? Why would she have believed that Ted was involved with another woman?"

"Proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"A letter." Quickly she explained. "I went up to see Min yesterday. They had the nerve to leave a bill here, when they know perfectly well I'm a draw for this place. They were inside, and I just happened to notice all that fan mail on Sammy's desk, and when I looked around I saw this crazy letter. And I took it."

"You took it!"

"Of course. Let me show it to you." She hurried into her bedroom, brought it back, and leaning over his shoulder, read it with him.

Leila,

How many Times Do I Have to write? Can't YOU get it straight ThAt Ted is sick of you? His new girl is beautiful and much younger THaN you . I told you THAT the emerald necklace HE gave H er m atcHes the bracelet he gave you. It cost Twice as much And looks Ten Times better. I hear your play is lousy. You really should Learn your lines. I'll write again soon.

Your friend.

"Don't you see? Ted must have been having a fling with someone else. But wouldn't that make him glad to break up with Leila? And if he wants to say it was with me, that's fine. I'll back him up."

"You stupid bitch."

Cheryl straightened up and walked over to the other couch. She sat down, leaned forward and spoke precisely, as though she were addressing a not-very-bright child. "You don't seem to realize that this letter is my chance to make Ted understand that I have his best interests at heart."

Syd walked over, grabbed the letter from Cheryl's hand and shredded it. "Last night Bob Koenig phoned me to make sure there was nothing unfavorable that might come out about you. You know why, as of this minute, you have the inside track for Amanda? Because Margo Dresher's had more than her share of lousy publicity. What kind of publicity do you think you'd get if Leila's fans find out you drove her to suicide with poison-pen letters?"

"I didn't write that letter."

"The hell you didn't! How many people knew about that bracelet? I saw your eyes when Ted gave it to Leila. You were ready to stab her right then. Those rehearsals were closed. How many people knew Leila was having trouble with her lines? You knew. Why? Because I told you myself. You wrote that letter and others like it. How much time did it take you to cut and paste? I'm surprised you had the patience. How many more are there, and are they likely to show up?"

Cheryl looked alarmed. "Syd, I swear to you I did not write that letter or any others. Syd, tell me about Bob Koenig."

Now it was Syd who, enunciating slowly, repeated the conversation. When he finished, Cheryl reached out her hand. "Got a match? You know I gave up smoking."

Syd watched as the shredded letter with its bizarre, uneven scraps of print curled and disappeared in the ashtray.

Cheryl came over to him and put her arms around his neck. "I knew you were going to get that part for me, Syd. You're right about getting rid of the letter. I think I should still testify at the trial. The publicity will be wonderful. But don't you think my attitude should be shock that my very dearest friend was so distraught and depressed? Then I could explain how even those of us at the top have terrible periods of anxiety."

Her eyes opened wide; two tears ran down her cheeks. "I think Bob Koenig would like that approach, don't you?"

" Elizabeth!" Min's startled voice made her jump. "Is something wrong? Where is Sammy?"

Min and Helmut were in matching jogging outfits; Min's black hair was pulled regally into a chignon, but her makeup only partially masked the unfamiliar wrinkles around her eyes, the puffiness of her lids. The Baron seemed, as always, to be striking a pose, his legs slightly parted, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent forward, his eyes puzzled and guileless.

Briefly, Elizabeth told them what had happened. Sammy was missing; her bed had not been slept in.

Min looked alarmed. "I came down at about six o'clock. The lights were on; the window was open; the copy machine was on. I was annoyed. I thought Sammy was getting careless."

" The copy machine was on ! Then she did come back to the office last night." Elizabeth darted across the room. "Did you look to see if the letter she wanted to copy is in the machine?"

It was not there. But next to the copier Elizabeth found the plastic bag the letter had been wrapped in.

Within fifteen minutes a search party had been quietly organized. Reluctantly, Elizabeth acceded to Min's pleadings not to call the police immediately. "Sammy was very ill last year," Min reminded her. "She had a slight stroke and was disoriented. It may have happened again. You know how she hates fuss. Let us try to find her first."

"I'll give it until lunchtime," Elizabeth said flatly, "and then I'm going to report her missing. For all we know, if she did have some kind of attack, she's wandering on the beach somewhere."

"Minna gave Sammy a job out of pity," Helmut snapped. "The essence of this place is privacy, seclusion. We have deputies swarming about and half the guests will pack up and go home."

Elizabeth felt red-hot anger, but it was Min who answered. "Too much has been concealed around here," she said quietly. "We will delay calling the sheriffs office for Sammy's sake, not for ours."

Together they scooped the piled-up letters back into the bags. "This is Leila's mail," Elizabeth told them. She twisted the tops of the bags into intricate knots. "I'll take these to my bungalow later." She studied the knots and was satisfied no one could undo them without tearing the bags.

"Then you're planning to stay?" Helmut's attempt to sound pleased did not come off.