"I swear. I swear on my mother's grave…"

Syd hung up the phone, hunched over and put his face in his hands. Clammy perspiration broke over his entire body. Once again the golden ring was within his grasp.

Only this time it was Cheryl, not Leila, who could screw it up for him…

When she left Elizabeth, Dora carried the plastic-wrapped anonymous letter in the pocket of her cardigan. They had decided that she would make a copy of the letter on the office machine, and in the morning Elizabeth would take the original to the sheriffs office in Salinas.

Scott Alshorne, the county sheriff, was a regular dinner guest at the Spa. He'd been friendly with Min's first husband and was always discreetly helpful when a problem, like missing jewelry, arose. Leila had adored him.

"Poison-pen letters aren't the same as missing jewelry," Dora warned Elizabeth.

"I know, but Scott can tell us where to send the letter for analysis, or if I should just give it to the district attorney's office in New York. Anyway, I want a copy myself."

"Then let me make it tonight. Tomorrow, when Min is around, we can't risk having her reading it."

As Dora was leaving, Elizabeth wrapped her in her arms. "You don't believe Ted is guilty, do you, Sammy?"

"Of calculated murder? No, I simply can't believe that. And if he was interested in another woman, there was no motive for him to kill Leila."

Dora had to go back to the office anyhow. She'd left mail scattered on the desk and the unsearched plastic bags on the floor of the reception room. Min would have a fit if she saw them.

Her dinner tray was still on a table near her desk, almost untouched. Funny how little appetite she had these days. Seventy-one really wasn't that old. It was just that between the operation and losing

Leila, there was a spark gone, the old zest that Leila had always teased her about;

The copy machine was camouflaged by a walnut cabinet. She opened the top of the cabinet and turned on the machine, took the letter from her pocket and slipped it free of the plastic bag, carefully touching it only by the edges. Her movements were quick. There was always the worry that Min might take it into her head to come down to the office. Helmut was undoubtedly locked in his study. He was an insomniac and read late into the night.

She happened to glance out the half-open window. Just the sound of the Pacific-its truculent roar -and the smell of the salty breeze were invigorating. She did not mind the rush of cool air that caused her to shiver. But what had caught her attention?

All the guests were settled by now. Lights were visible from behind the curtained windows of the bungalows. Just against the horizon she could see the outlines of the umbrella tables around the Olympic pool. To the left, the silhouette of the Roman bathhouse loomed against the sky. The night was starting to turn misty. It was getting harder to see. Then Dora leaned forward. Someone was walking not on the path, but in the shadows of the cypress trees, as though afraid of being seen. She adjusted her glasses and was astonished to realize that whoever was there was wearing a scuba-diving outfit. What ever was he doing on the grounds? He seemed to be heading toward the Olympic pool.

Elizabeth had told her she was going swimming. An unreasoning fear gripped Dora. Shoving the letter into the pocket of her cardigan, she hurried out of the office and as swiftly as she could move her arthritic body rushed down the stairs, across the darkened foyer and out the seldom-used side door. Now the interloper was passing the Roman bathhouse. She hurried to cut him off. It was probably one of the college kids who were staying at Pebble Beach Lodge, she told herself. Every once in a while they'd sneak onto the grounds and go for a swim in the Olympic pool. But she didn't like the idea of this one coming upon Elizabeth if she was alone there.

She turned and realized that he had seen her. The lights of the security guard's golf cart were coming up the hill from near the gates. The figure in the scuba outfit ran toward the Roman bathhouse. Dora could see that the door was ajar. That fool Helmut probably hadn't bothered to close it this afternoon.

Her knees were trembling as she hurried behind him. The guard would drive by in a moment, and she didn't want the intruder to get away. Tentatively she stepped inside the doorway of the bathhouse.

The entrance foyer was a giant open expanse of marbled walls with twin staircases at the far end. There was enough light from the Japanese lanterns in the trees outside for Dora to see that this area was empty. They actually had done quite a bit more work since she'd looked in a few weeks ago.

Through the open doorway to the left, she saw the beam of a flashlight. The archway led to the lockers, and beyond was the first of the saltwater pools.

For an instant, her indignation was replaced by fear. She decided to go out and wait for the guard.

"Dora, in here!"

The familiar voice made her weak with relief. Carefully making her way across the darkened foyer, she went through the locker room and into the area of the indoor pool.

He was waiting for her, flashlight in hand. The blackness of the wet suit, the thick underwater goggles, the bend of the head, the sudden convulsive movement of the flashlight made her step back uncertainly. "For goodness' sake, don't shine that thing at me. I can't see," she said.

One hand, thick and menacing in the heavy black glove, stretched out toward her, reaching for her throat. The other flashed the light directly in her eyes, blinding her.

Horrified, Dora began to back up. She raised her hands to protect herself and was unaware that she had brushed the letter from her pocket. She barely felt the empty space under her feet before her body toppled backward.

Her last thought as her head smashed against the piles of jagged concrete at the bottom of the pool was that at last she knew who had killed Leila.

Elizabeth swam from one end of the pool to the other at a demanding, furious pace. The fog was just beginning to roll in-uneven bits of mist that at one moment blew like a dark vapor over the surrounding area, the next were gone. She preferred it when it was dark. She could work every inch of her body knowing that the punishing physical effort somehow would diffuse the built-up emotional anxiety.

She reached the north end of the pool, touched the wall, inhaled, turned, pivoted and with a furious breaststroke began racing toward the opposite end. Now her heart was pounding with the strain of the pace she had set herself. It was crazy. She wasn't in condition for this kind of swimming. But still she raced, trying with the expenditure of physical energy to outrun her thoughts.

At last she felt herself begin to calm down, and flipping onto her back, she began to tread water, her arms rotating in even, sweeping motions.

The letters. The one they had; the one someone had taken; the others they might find in the unopened mail. The ones Leila had probably seen and destroyed. Why didn't Leila tell me about them? Why did she shut me out? She always used me as a sounding board. She always said I could snap her out of taking criticism too seriously.

Leila hadn't told her because she had believed that Ted was involved with someone else, that there was nothing she could do about it. But Sammy was right: If Ted was involved withsomeone else, he had no motive to kill Leila.

But I wasn't mistaken about the time of the call.

Suppose Leila had fallen-had slipped from his grasp-and he'd blacked out? Suppose those letters had driven her to suicide? I've got to find out who sent them, Elizabeth thought.