Mary Clark - Weep No More, My Lady

It was possible. But, of course, he told himself sadly, Sammy wouldn't have come down except for someone she knew. And trusted.

The others were halfway through the main course when he joined them. The empty seat was between Craig and a woman who was introduced as Alvirah Meehan. Scott took the initiative in greeting Ted. Presumption of innocence . Ted had always had outstanding looks. It was no wonder that a woman would go to any extreme to separate him from another woman. Scott did not miss the way Cheryl constantly managed to touch Ted's hand, to brush her shoulder against his.

He helped himself to lamb chops from the silver tray the waiter was offering him.

"They're delicious," Alvirah Meehan confided, her voice barely a whisper. "They'll never go broke in this place from the size of the portions, but I'm telling you when you're finished you feel as though you've had a big meal."

Alvirah Meehan. Of course. He'd read in the Monterey Review about the forry-miftion-dollar lottery winner who was going to realize her fondest dream by coming to Cypress Point Spa. "Are you enjoying yourself, Mrs. Meehan?"

Alvirah beamed. "I sure am. Everyone has been just wonderful, and so friendly." Her smile encompassed the entire table. Min and Helmut attempted to return it. "The treatments make you feel like a princess. The nutritionist said that in two weeks I should be able to lose five pounds and a couple of inches. Tomorrow I'm having collagen to get rid of the lines around my mouth. I'm scared of injections, but Baron von Schreiber will give me something for my nerves. I'll leave here a new woman feeling… like… like a butterfly floating on a cloud." She pointed to Helmut. "The Baron wrote that. Isn't he a real author?"

Alvirah realized she was talking too much. It was just that she felt kind of guilty being an undercover reporter and wanted to say nice things about these people. But now she'd better be quiet and listen to see if the sheriff had anything to say about Dora Samuels' death. But, disappointingly, no one brought it up at all. It was only when they had just about finished the vanilla mousse that the sheriff asked, not quite casually, "You people will all be around here for the next few days? No one has plans to leave?"

"Our plans are undetermined," Syd told him. "Cheryl may have to go back to Beverly Hills on short notice."

"I think it would be better if she checks with me before she goes to Beverly Hills, or anywhere else," Scott said pleasantly. "And by the way, Baron- those bags of Leila's fan mail. I'll be taking them with me."

He put down the spoon he was holding and began to push back his chair. "It's funny," he said, "but it's my guess that one of the people at this table, with the exception of Mrs. Meehan, may have been writing some pretty rotten letters to Leila LaSalle. I'm real anxious to find out who that might be."

To Syd's dismay, Scott's now steely glance rested squarely on Cheryl.

It was nearly ten o'clock before they were alone in their apartment. Min had agonized all day about whether or not to confront Helmut with the proof that he had been in New York the night Leila died. To confront him was to force the admission that he had been involved with Leila. Not to confront him was to allow him to remain vulnerable. How stupid he had been not to destroy the record of the telephone call!

He went directly into his dressing room, and a few minutes later she heard the whirling of the

Jacuzzi in his bathroom. When he came back, she was waiting in one of the deep armchairs near the bedroom fireplace. Impersonally, she studied him. His hair was combed as precisely as though he were leaving for a formal ball; his silk dressing gown was knotted by a silk cord; his military posture made him seem taller than his true height. Five feet ten inches was barely above the average for men these days.

He prepared a Scotch and soda for himself and, without asking, poured a sherry for her. "It's been a difficult day, Minna. You handled it well," he said. Still she did not speak, and at last he seemed to sense that her silence was unusual. "This room is so restful," he said. "Aren't you glad you let me have my head with this color scheme? And it suits you. Strong, beautiful colors for a strong and beautiful woman."

"I would not consider peach a strong color."

"It becomes strong when it is wedded with deep blue. Like me, Minna. I become strong because I am with you."

"Then why this?" From the pocket of her robe she pulled out the telephone-credit-card bill and watched as his expression changed from bewilderment to fear. "Why did you lie to me? You were in New York that night. Were you with Leila? Had you gone to her?"

He sighed. "Minna, I'm glad you have found this. I wanted so much to tell you."

"Tell me now. You were in love with Leila. You were having an affair with her."

"No. I swear not."

"You're lying."

"Minna, I am telling the truth. I did go to her-as a friend-as a doctor. I got there at nine thirty. The door to her apartment was just barely open. I could hear Leila crying hysterically. Ted was shouting at her to put the phone down. She screamed back at him. The elevator was coming. I didn't want to be seen. You know the right angle the foyer takes. I went around that corner…"

Helmut sank to the floor at Min's feet. "Minna, it has been killing me not to tell you. Minna, Ted did push her. I heard her scream, ' Don't. Don't' And then her shriek as she fell."

Min paled. "Who got off the elevator? Did anyone see you?"

"I don't know. I ran down the fire stairs."

Then, as if his composure, his sense of order, had abandoned him, he leaned forward, his head in his hands, and began to cry.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY:

Good morning, treasured guests.

Are you feeling a bit lazy this morning? Never mind. After a few days we all begin to unwind into delicious and refreshing slumber and think that maybe, just maybe this morning we shall lie abed.

No. No. We beckon to you. Join us in that wonderful and invigorating morning walk through our beautiful grounds and along the coast. You will be glad. Perhaps by now you have already learned the pleasure of meeting new friends, of revisiting old ones on our sun-bright journey.

A gentle reminder. All guests who swim in any of the pools alone must wear the regulation Spa whistle. It has never been needed, but it is a safety factor that we deem essential.

Look in the mirror. Isn't all the exercise and pampering starting to show? Aren't your eyes brighter? Isn't your skin firmer? Won't it be fun showing off the new you to your family and friends?

And a final thought. Whatever troubles you brought with you to the Spa should by now be completely forgotten. Think happy.

Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber

Elizabeth 's phone rang at six o'clock. Sleepily she groped for it. Her eyelids were heavy and drooping. The aftereffects of the sedative made it impossible to think clearly.

It was William Murphy, the New York assistant district attorney. His opening words snapped her awake. "Miss Lange, I thought you wanted your sister's killer convicted." Without waiting for her to answer, he rushed on: "Can you please explain to me why you are in the same spa with Ted Winters?"

Elizabeth pulled herself up and swung her feet onto the floor. "I didn't know he was going to be here. I haven't been near him."

"That may be true, but the minute you saw him you should have been on the next plane home. Take a look at this morning's Globe . They've got a picture of you two in a clinch."