Mary Clark: Weep No More, My Lady

Elizabeth turned the page, read a few lines; then, as her throat closed, pushed aside the salad.

As you know, I've continued to answer the letters from Leila's fans. There are still three large bags to finish. The reason I am writing is I have just found a very troubling anonymous letter. It is vicious and apparently was one in a series. Leila had not opened this one, but she must have seen its predecessors. Perhaps they would explain why she was so distraught those last weeks.

What is so terrible is that the letter I found was clearly written by someone who knew her well.

I had thought to enclose it in this envelope, but am not sure who is collecting your mail while you are away and would not want this seen by a stranger's eyes. Will you call me as soon as you return to New York?

My love to you.

Sammy

With a growing sense of horror, Elizabeth read and reread Sammy's letter. Leila had been receiving unsigned very troubling,vicious letters from someone who knew her well. Sammy, who never exaggerated, thought they might explain Leila's emotional collapse. For all these months, Elizabeth had lain awake trying to understand what had driven Leila into hysteria. Poison-pen letters from someone who knew her well. Who?Why ? Did Sammy have any inkling?

She grabbed the phone and dialed the office at the Spa. Let Sammy answer, she prayed. But it was Min who picked up the receiver. Sammy was away, she told Elizabeth. She was visiting her cousin somewhere near San Francisco and would be back Monday night. "You'll see her then." Min's tone became curious. "You sound upset, Elizabeth. Is it something about Sammy that can't wait?"

It was the moment to tell Min that she was not coming. Elizabeth started to say, "Min, the district attorney…" Then she glanced down at Sammy's letter. The overwhelming need to see Sammy swept over her. It was the same kind of compulsion that had sent her rushing to Leila that last fateful night. She changed the sentence. "No hurry at all, Min. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before she went to bed, she wrote a note to William Murphy with the address and phone number of the Spa. Then she tore it up. To hell with his warning. She wasn't a Mafia witness; she was going to visit old friends-people she loved and trusted, people who loved and cared about her. Let him think she was in East Hampton.

He had known for months that it would be necessary to kill Elizabeth. He had lived with the ever-present knowledge of the danger that she represented, and had planned to eliminate her in New York.

With the trial coming, her mind must be constantly reliving every moment of those last days. Inevitably, she, would realize what she alreadyknew - the fact that would seal his fate .

There were ways to get rid of her at the Spa and make it seem to be an accident. Her death would cause less official suspicion in California than in New York. He thought about her and her habits, looking for a way.

He consulted his watch. It was midnight in New York. Sweet dreams, Elizabeth, he thought.

Your time is running out.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY:

Good morning, dear guest!

Welcome to another day of luxury at Cypress Point Spa.

Besides your personalized program, we are happy to tell you that there will be special makeup classes in the women's spa between 10 A.M. and 4 P.M. Why not fill in one of your free hours learning the enchanting secrets of the world's most beautiful women, as taught by Madame Renford of Beverly Hills?

Today's guest expert in the men's spa is famous bodybuilder Jack Richard, who will share his personal workout schedule at 4 P.M.

The musical program after dinner is a very special one. Cellist Fione Navaralla, one of the most acclaimed new artists in England, will play selections by Ludwig van Beethoven.

We hope all our guests will have a pleasant and pampered day. Remember, to be really beautiful we must keep our minds tranquil and free of distressing or troubling thoughts.

Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber

Min's longtime chauffeur, Jason, was waiting at the passenger gate, his silver-gray uniform gleaming in the sunny terminal. He was a small man with a trim, neat build, who had been a jockey in his youth. An accident had ended his racing career, and he had been working as a stable hand when Min hired him. Elizabeth knew that, like all of Min's people, he was intensely loyal to her. Now his leathery face broke into welcoming furrows as he saw her approach. "Miss Lange, it's good to have you back," he said. She wondered if, like her, he was remembering that the last time she came to the Spa she had been with Leila.

She bent over to kiss him on the cheek. "Jason, will you cut that 'Miss Lange' number? You'd think I was a paying guest or something." She noticed the discreet card in his hand with the name Alvirah Meehan on it. "You're picking up someone else?"

"Just one. I thought she'd be out by now. First-class passengers usually are."

Elizabeth reflected that few people economized on air fare when they could afford to pay a minimum of three thousand dollars a week at Cypress Point Spa. With Jason she studied the disembarking passengers. Jason held the card up prominently as several elegantly dressed women passed, but they ignored it. "Hope she didn't miss the flight," he was murmuring as one final straggler came from the passageway. She was a bulky woman of about fifty-five with a large, sharp-featured face and thinning reddish-brown hair. The purple-and-pink print she was wearing was obviously expensive, but absolutely wrong for her. It bulged at the waist and thighs and hiked unevenly over her knees. Intuitively Elizabeth sensed that this lady was Mrs. Alvirah Meehan.

She spotted her name on the card and approached them eagerly, her smile delighted and relieved. Reaching out, she pumped Jason's hand vigorously. "Well, here I am," she announced. "And boy, am I glad to see you! I was so afraid there'd be a foul-up and no one would meet me."

"Oh, we never fail a guest."

Elizabeth felt her lips twitch at Jason's bewildered expression. Clearly Mrs. Meehan was not the usual Cypress Point guest. "Ma'am, may I have your claim checks?"

"Oh, that's nice. I hate to wait for luggage. Sort of a pain in the neck at the end of a trip. Course, Willy and I usually go Greyhound, and the bags are right there, but even so… I don't have too much stuff. I was going to buy a lot, but my friend, May, said, 'Alvirah, wait and see what other people are wearing. All these fancy places have shops… You'll pay through the nose,' she said, 'but at least you'll get the right thing, you know what I mean.' " She thrust her ticket envelope with the baggage stubs at Jason and turned to Elizabeth. "I'm Alvirah Meehan. Are you going to the Spa too? You sure don't look like you need to, honey!"

Fifteen minutes later, they were settled in the sleek silver limousine. Alvirah settled back against the brocaded upholstery with a gusty sigh. "Now, that feels good," she announced.

Elizabeth studied the other woman's hands. They were the hands of a working person, thick-knuckled and callused. The brightly colored fingernails were short and stubby, even though the manicure looked expensive. Her curiosity about Alvirah Meehan was a welcome respite from thinking about Leila. Instinctively she liked the woman-there was something remarkably candid and appealing about her- but who was she? What was bringing her to the Spa?