Min stalked over to the desk and flipped through the mail. Angrily she realized that everything was fan mail to Leila. Her lips tightened ominously. She was sick to death of that mournful look Dora got whenever she answered those letters. At least till now she'd had the brains not to mess up the office with that silly drivel. From now on, if she wants to do that mail, she'll do it in her apartment. Period. Or maybe it was time to get rid of anyone who insisted on canonizing Leila. What a field day Cheryl would have had if she'd come in here and started going through the personal files. Dora had probably gotten tired and decided to wait to clear up the office this morning. But to leave the copy machine and the lights on was unforgivable. In the morning she'd tell Dora to start making plans for her retirement.

But now she had to get about the reason she had come here. In the storage room, Min went to the file marked "Travel Expenses, Baron von Schreiber."

It took less than two minutes to find what she wanted. The phone call from the East Coast to the Spa the night Leila died was listed on his telephone credit-card bill.

It had been made from New York.

Sheer fatigue made Elizabeth fall into sleep; but it was a restless sleep, filled with dreams. Leila was standing in front of stacks of fan mail; Leila was reading the letters to her; Leila was crying. "I can't trust anyone… I can't trust anyone."

In the morning, there was no question in her mind of going on the walk. She showered, pulled her hair into a topknot, slipped on her jogging suit and after waiting just long enough for the hikers to be on their way, headed for the main house. She knew Sammy was always at her desk by a few minutes after seven.

It was a shock to find the usually impeccable receptionist's office cluttered with stacks of mail on and around Dora's desk. A large sheet of paper with the ominous words See me and signed by Min clearly revealed that Min had seen the mess.

How unlike Sammy! Never once in all the years she'd known her had Sammy left her desk cluttered. It was unthinkable she'd have chanced leaving it this way in the reception area. It was a surefire way of bringing on one of Min's famous rages.

But suppose she was ill? Quickly Elizabeth hurried down the stairs to the foyer of the main house and rushed to the stairway leading to the staff wing. Dora had an apartment on the second floor. She knocked briskly at the door, but there was no answer. The sound of a vacuum came from around the corner. The maid, Nelly, was a longtime employee who had been here when Elizabeth was working as an instructor. It was easy to get her to open Sammy's door. With a growing sense of panic, Elizabeth walked through the pleasant rooms: the sitting room in shades of lime green and white, with Sam-my's carefully tended plants on the windowsills and tabletops; the single bed primly neat, with Sammy's Bible on the night table.

Nelly pointed to the bed. "She didn't sleep here last night, Miss Lange. And look!" Nelly walked to the window. "Her car's in the parking lot. Do you suppose she felt sick and sent for a cab or something to go to the hospital? That would be just like Miss Samuels. You know how independent she is."

But there was no record of a Dora Samuels' having signed herself into the community hospital. With growing apprehension, Elizabeth waited for Min to come back from the morning walk. In an effort to keep her mind from the fearful worry that something had happened to Sammy, she began to scan the fan mail. Where was the unsigned letter Dora had planned to copy?

Was she still carrying it?

At five of seven, Syd walked up the path to join the others for the morning hike. Cheryl could read him like a book. He'd have to be careful. Bob wasn't making his final decision until this afternoon. If it weren't for that damn play, it would be in the bag now.

"You hear that, everybody?I quit!"

And you wiped me out, you bitch, he thought. He managed to twist his face into the contortion of a smile. The Greenwich, Connecticut, set were there, all turned out for the morning hike, every hair in place, flawless skin, manicured hands. Pretty clear none of them had ever hung by their fingernails waiting for a call, ever clawed their way up in a cutthroat business, ever had someone throw them into the financial gutter with the toss of a head.

It would be a perfect Pebble Beach day. The sun was already warming the cool morning air; the faint smell of salt from the Pacific mingled with the fragrance of the flowering trees that surrounded the main house. Syd remembered the tenement in Brooklyn where he'd been raised. The Dodgers had been in Brooklyn then. Maybe they should have stayed there. Maybe he should have stayed there too.

Min and the Baron came out onto the veranda. Syd was immediately aware of how drawn Min looked. Her expression was frozen on her face, the way people get when they've witnessed an accident and cannot believe what they've seen. How much had she guessed? He did not glance at Helmut but instead turned his head to watch Cheryl and Ted coming up the path. Syd could read Ted's mind. He'd always felt guilty about dumping Cheryl for Leila, but it was obvious he didn't want to pick up with her again. Obvious to everyone except Cheryl.

What in hell had she meant with that dumb remark about "proof" that Ted was innocent? What was she up to now?

"Good morning, Mr. Melnick." He turned to see Alvirah Meehan beaming up at him. "Why don't we just walk together?" she asked. "I know how disappointed you must be that Margo Dresher is probably going to be Amanda in the series. I'm telling you, they're making a terrible mistake."

Syd did not realize how hard he had grasped her arm until he saw her flinch. "Sorry, Mrs. Meehan, but you don't know what you're talking about."

Too late, Alvirah realized that only the insiders had that tip-the reporter from the Globe who was her contact for her article had told her to study Cheryl Manning's reaction when she got the news. She'd made a bad slip. "Oh, am I wrong?" she asked. "Maybe it's just that my husband was saying that he read it's neck and neck between Cheryl and Margo Dresher."

Syd made his voice confidential. "Mrs. Meehan, do me a favor, won't you? Don't talk about that to anyone. It isn't true, and you can imagine how it would upset Miss Manning."

Cheryl had her hand on Ted's arm. Whatever she had been saying, she had him laughing. She was a hell of a good actress-but not good enough to keep her cool if she lost the Amanda role. And she'd turn on him like an alley cat. Then, as Syd watched, Ted raised his hand in a careless salute and started jogging toward the front gate.

"Good morning, everyone," Min boomed in a hollow attempt at her usual vigor. "Let us be on our way. Remember, a brisk pace and deep breathing, please."

Alvirah stepped back as Cheryl caught up with them. They fell into line on the walkway that led to the woods. Scanning the clusters of people ahead, Syd picked out Craig walking with the lawyer, Henry Bartlett. The Countess and her entourage were directly behind them. The tennis pro and his girlfriend were holding hands. The talk-show host was with his date for the week, a twenty-year-old model. The various other guests in twos and threes were unfamiliar.

When Leila made this place her hangout, she put it on the map, Syd thought. You never knew when you'd find her here. Min needs a new superstar. He had noticed the way all eyes drank in Ted as he jogged away. Ted was a superstar.

Cheryl was clearly in a buoyant mood. Her dark hair exploded around her face. Her coal-black brows arced above the huge amber eyes. Her petulant mouth was carved into a seductive smile. She began to hum "That Old Feeling." Her breasts were high and pointed under her jogging suit. No one else could make a jogging suit look like a second coat of skin.