Weep No More, My Lady

was his Kiss-off to you. And more than you're worth. Don't blow it, honey.

The word's Out it's A Lousy Play. And you're Ten years too old for the part Too.

Your friend.

Dora watched as Elizabeth 's face turned stony pale. 'Leila hadn't seen this?' Elizabeth asked quietly.

'No, but she must have been receiving a series of them.'

'Who could have taken the other one today?'

Briefly Dora filled her in on the explosion over the expenses for the bathhouse and about Cheryl's unexpected arrival. 'I know Cheryl was at my desk. She left her bill there. But so could anyone else have taken it.'

'This smacks of Cheryl's touch.' Elizabeth held the letter by the corner, loath to handle it.

'I wonder if this can be traced.'

'Fingerprints?'

'That, and typeface has a code. Even knowing what magazines and newspapers these words were snipped from could be helpful. Wait a minute.' Elizabeth went into the bedroom and returned with a plastic bag. Carefully she slipped the anonymous note into it. 'I'll find out where to send this to be analyzed.' She sat down again and folded her arms on her knees. 'Sammy, do you remember exactly what the other letter said?'

'I think so.'

'Then write it down. Just a minute. There's paper in the desk.'

Dora wrote, crossed out, rewrote, finally handed the paper to Elizabeth. 'That's pretty close.'

Leila,

How many times do I have to write? Can't you get it straight that Ted is sick of you? His new girl is beautiful and much younger than you. I told you that the emerald necklace he gave her matches the bracelet he gave you. It cost twice as much and looks ten times better. I hear your play is lousy. You really should learn your lines. I'll write again soon.

Your friend.

This letter Elizabeth read and reread. 'That bracelet, Sammy. When did Ted give it to Leila?'

'Sometime after Christmas. The anniversary of their first date, wasn't it? She had me put it in the safety- deposit box because she was starting rehearsals and knew she wouldn't be wearing it.'

'That's what I mean. How many people could have known about that bracelet? Ted gave it to her at a dinner party. Who was there?'

'The usual people. Min. Helmut. Craig. Cheryl. Syd. Ted. You and I.'

'And the same group of people knew how much Ted put into the play. Remember, he didn't want it publicized. Sammy, have you finished going through the mail?'

'Besides the one I started this afternoon, there's one more large sack. It may have six or seven hundred letters in it.'

'Tomorrow morning I'm going to help you go through them. Sammy, think about who might have written these letters. Min and the Baron had nothing to do with the play; they had everything to gain by having Ted and Leila together here, with all the people they attracted. Syd had a million dollars in the play. Craig acted as though the four million Ted invested was out of his own pocket. He certainly wouldn't do anything to wreck the play's chances. But Cheryl never forgave Leila for taking Ted from her. She never forgave Leila for becoming a superstar. She knew Leila's vulnerabilities. And she would be the very one who'd want the letters back now.'

'What good are they to her?' Elizabeth stood up slowly. She walked to the window and pushed back the curtain. The night was still brilliantly clear. 'Because if some way they can be traced to her, they can ruin her career? How would the public feel if it learned that Leila had been driven to suicide by a woman she considered a friend?'

' Elizabeth, did you hear what you just said?' Elizabeth turned. 'Don't you think I'm right?'

'You have just conceded the fact that Leila might have committed suicide.'

Elizabeth gasped. She stumbled across the room, fell to her knees, and put her head on Sammy's lap. 'Sammy, help me,' she pleaded. 'I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know what to do.'

Eight

It was at Henry Bartlett's suggestion that they went out for dinner and invited Cheryl and Syd to join them. When Ted protested that he did not want to get involved with Cheryl, Henry cut him off sharply. 'Teddy, like it or not, you are involved with Cheryl. She and Syd Melnick can be very important witnesses for you.'

'I fail to see how.'

'If we don't admit that you may have gone back upstairs, we've got to prove that Elizabeth Lange was confused about the exact time of that phone conversation and we've got to make the jury believe that Leila may have committed suicide.'

'What about the eyewitness?'

'She saw a tree on the terrace moving. Her lively imagination decided it was you struggling with Leila. She's a nut case.'

They went to the Cannery. A chattering, happy end-of-summer crowd filled the popular restaurant; but Craig had phoned ahead, and there was a window table with a sweeping view of Monterey Harbor awaiting them. Cheryl slipped in beside Ted. Her hand rested on his knee. 'This is like old times,' she whispered. She was wearing a lame halter and matching skin-tight pants. A buzz of excite-ment had followed her as she walked across the room.

In the months since he'd seen her, Cheryl had phoned him repeatedly but he'd never returned the calls. Now as her warm, restless fingers caressed his knee, Ted wondered if he was being a fool for not taking what was being offered to him. Cheryl would say anything he wanted that might help his defense. But at what price?

Syd, Bartlett and Craig were visibly relieved to be here instead of at the Spa. 'Wait till you start eating,' Syd told Henry. 'You'll know what seafood is all about.'

The waiter came. Bartlett ordered a Johnnie Walker Black Label. His champagne-toned linen jacket was an impeccable fit; his sport shirt in the exact champagne shade and cinnamon-colored trousers were obviously custom-made. His thick but meticulously barbered white hair contrasted handsomely with his unlined, tanned face. Ted imagined him by turn informing, wooing, scolding a jury. A grandstander. Obviously, it worked for him. But what percentage of the time? He started to order a vodka martini and changed it to a beer. This was no time to dull any of his faculties.

It was early for dinner, only seven o'clock. But he had insisted on that. Craig and Syd were having an animated conversation. Syd seemed almost cheerful. Testimony for sale, Ted thought. Make Leila sound like a maniacal drunk. It could all backfire, kids, and if it does, I'm the one who pays.

Craig was asking Syd about his agency; was sympathizing with him over the money he'd lost in Leila's play. 'We took a bath too,' he said. He looked over at Cheryl and smiled warmly.

'And we think you were a hell of a good sport to try to save the ship, Cheryl.'

For God's sake, don't shovel it on! Ted bit his lip to keep from shouting at Craig. But everyone else was smiling broadly. He was the alien in the group, the Unidentified Flying Object. He could sense the eyes of the other diners on this table, on him. He might as well have been able to overhear the sotto voce conversations. 'His trial starts next week.'… 'Do you think he did it?'… 'With his money, he'll probably get off. They always do.'

Not necessarily.

Impatiently, Ted looked out at the bay. The harbor was filled with boats-large, small, sailing vessels, yachts. Whenever she could, his mother had brought him to visit here. It was the only place where she'd been happy.

'Ted's mother's family came from Monterey,' Craig was telling Henry Bartlett.

Again Ted experienced the wild irritation that Craig had begun to trigger in him. When had it started? In