It was time to go in. She was dead tired, and at last somewhat calmer. In the morning, she'd go through the rest of the mail with Sammy. She'd take the letter they'd found to Scott Alshorne. He might want her to take it directly to the district attorney in New York. Was she handing Ted an alibi? And whom had he been involved with?

As she climbed the ladder from the pool, she shivered. The night air was chilly now, and she'd stayed longer than she'd realized. She slipped on her robe and reached into the pocket for her wristwatch. The luminous dial showed that it was half-past ten.

She thought she heard a rustling sound from behind the cypress trees that bordered the patio. "Who's there?" She knew her voice sounded nervous. There was no answer, and she walked to the edge of the patio and strained her eyes to see past the hedges and between the scattered trees. The silhouettes of the cypress trees seemed grotesque and ominous in the dark, but there was no movement other than the faint rustling of the leaves. The cool sea breeze was becoming more forceful. That was it, of course.

With a gesture of dismissal, she wrapped the robe around her and pulled the hood over her hair.

But somehow the feeling of uneasiness persisted, and her footsteps quickened along the path to her bungalow.

He hadn't touched Sammy. But there would be questions. What was she doing in the bathhouse? He cursed the fact that the door had been open, that he had run in there. If he had simply gone around it, she'd never have caught him.

Something so simple could betray him.

But the fact that she had the letter with her, that it had fallen from her pocket-that had been simple good luck. Should he destroy it? He wasn't sure. It was a double-edged sword.

Now the letter was buried against his skin inside the wet suit. The door of the bathhouse was snap-locked. The guard had made his desultory rounds and wouldn't be back tonight. Slowly, with infinite caution, he made his way toward the pool. Would she be there? Probably. Should he take the chance tonight? Two accidents. Was that more risky than letting her live? Elizabeth would demand answers when Sammy's body was found. Had Elizabeth seen thatletter?

He heard the lapping of the water in the pool. Cautiously he stepped from behind the tree and watched the swiftly moving body. He would have to wait until she slowed down. By then she would be tired. It might be the time to go ahead. Two unrelated accidents in one night. Would the ensuing confusion keep people off the track? He took a step forward toward the pool.

And saw him. Standing behind the shrubbery. Watching Elizabeth. What was he doing there? Did he suspect she was in danger? Or had he too decided she was an unacceptable risk?

The wet suit glistened with mist as its wearer slipped behind the sheltering branches of cypress and vanished into the night.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY:

Good morning. Bonjour, to our dear guests.

It is to be a bit brisker this morning, so brace yourselves for the exciting tingle of the fresh sunlit air.

For the nature lovers, we offer a 30-minute after-luncheon walk along our beautiful Pacific coast, to explore the native flowers of our beloved Monterey Peninsula. So if you are of a mind, do join our expert guide at the main gate at 12:30.

A fleeting thought. Our menu tonight is especially exquisite. Wear your prettiest or handsomest outfit, and feast on our gourmet offerings knowing that the delicate taste treats are balanced by the delicate amount of calories you are consuming.

A fascinating thought: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but when you look in the mirror, you are the beholder.

– Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber

The first hint of dawn found Min lying wide awake in the canopied king-size bed she shared with Helmut. Moving carefully to keep from disturbing him, she turned her head and pulled herself up on one elbow. Even in sleep he was a handsome man. He was lying on his side, facing her, his one hand outstretched as though reaching for her, his breath now quiet and soft.

He had not slept like that all night. She didn't know what time he'd come to bed, but at two she'd awakened to the awareness of agitated movement, his head shaking, his voice angry and muffled. There had been no more sleep for her when she heard what he was saying: "Damn you, Leila, damn you."

Instinctively, she had laid her hand on his shoulder, murmured a soft shushing sound, and he had settled back. Would he remember the dream, remember that he had cried out? She had given no indication of having heard him. It would be useless to expect him to tell her the truth. Incredible as it seemed, had something been going on between him and Leila after all? Or had it been a one-sided attraction on Helmut's part toward Leila?

That didn't make it any easier.

The light, more golden than rosy now, began to brighten the room. Carefully Min eased out of bed. Even in her heartsick distress, she felt a moment of appreciation for the beauty of this room. Helmut had chosen the furnishings and color scheme. Who else would have visualized the exquisite balance of the peach satin draperies and bedding against the deep blue-violet tone of the carpet?

How much longer would she be living here? This could be their last season. The million dollars in the Swiss account, she reminded herself. Just the interest on that will be enough…

Enough for whom? Herself? Maybe. Helmut? Never! She'd always known that a large part of her attraction for him was this place, the ability to strut around with this background, to mingle with celebrities. Did she really think he'd be content to follow a relatively simple lifestyle with an aging wife?

Noiselessly, Min glided across the room, slipped on a robe and went down the stairs. Helmut would sleep for another half-hour. She always had to awaken him at six thirty. In this half-hour it would be safe to go through some of the records, particularly the American Express bills. In those weeks before Leila died, Helmut had been away from the Spa frequently. He'd been asked to speak at several medical seminars and conventions; he'd lent his name to some charity balls and flown in to attend them. That was good for business. But what else had he been doing when he was on the East Coast? That was the time Ted had been traveling a great deal. She understood Helmut. Leila's obvious scorn for him would be a challenge. Had he been seeing her?

The night before Leila died, they'd attended the last preview of her show; they'd been at Elaine's. They'd stayed at the Plaza and in the morning flown to Boston to attend a charity luncheon. He'd put her on a plane to San Francisco at six thirty in the evening. Had he gone to the dinner he was supposed to attend in Boston, or had he taken the seven-o'clock shuttle to New York?

The possibility haunted her.

At midnight California time, three A.M. Eastern time, Helmut had phoned to make sure she was home safely. She had assumed he was calling from the hotel in Boston.

That was something she could check.

At the bottom of the staircase, Min turned left and, key in hand, went to the office. The door was unlocked. Her senses were assaulted by the condition of the room. The lights were still on; a dinner tray was on a table at one side of Dora's desk; the desk itself was piled with letters. Plastic bags, their contents spilling on the floor, bordered the desk. The window was partly open, and a cold breeze was rustling the letters. Even the copy machine was on.