The tennis player and his girlfriend were coming out of their bungalow. They greeted Ted warmly. 'Missed you at Forest Hills last time,' the pro told Ted.
'Next year for sure.'
'We're all rooting for you.' This time it was the pro's girlfriend with her model's smile flashing.
Ted returned the smile. 'Now, if I can just get you on the jury…' He raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgment and walked on. The smile disappeared. 'I wonder if they have celebrity tennis in Attica.'
'You won't have to give a damn one way or the other. It will have nothing to do with you.' Craig stopped. 'Look, isn't that Elizabeth?'
They were almost directly in front of the main house. From across the vast lawn they watched as the slender figure ran down the steps of the veranda and turned toward the outer gates. There was no mistaking the honey- colored loop of hair twirled on the top of her head, the thrust of the chin, the innate grace of her movements. She was dabbing at her eyes, and as they watched, she pulled sunglasses from her pocket and put them on.
'I thought she was going home this morning.' Ted's voice was impersonal. 'Something's wrong.'
'Do you want to see what it is?'
'Obviously my presence would only upset her more. Why don't
'Ted, for God's sake, knock it off! I'd put my hand in the fire for you and you know it, but being a punching bag isn't going to make me function any better. And I fail to see how it helps you.'
Ted shrugged. 'My apologies. You're quite right. Now see if you can help Elizabeth. I'll meet you back at my place in about an hour.'
Craig caught up with her at the gate. Quickly she explained what had happened. His reaction was comforting. 'You mean to say that Sammy may have been missing for hours and the police haven't been called?'
'They're going to be as soon as the grounds are searched, and I thought I'd just see if maybe…' Elizabeth could not finish. She swallowed and went on: 'You remember when she had that first attack. She was so disoriented and then so embarrassed.'
Craig's arm was around her. 'Okay-steady. Let's walk a bit.' They crossed the road toward the path that led to the Lone Cypress. The sun had dispersed the last of the morning mist, and the day was bright and warm. Sandpipers flurried over their heads, circled and returned to their perches on the rocky shoreline. Waves broke like foaming geysers against the rocks and retreated to the sea. The Lone Cypress, always a tourist attraction, was already the center of attention of the camera buffs.
Elizabeth began to question them. 'We're looking for an older lady… She may be ill… She's quite small…'
Craig took over. He gave an accurate description of Dora. 'What was she wearing, Elizabeth?'
'A beige cardigan, a beige cotton blouse, a tan skirt.'
'Sounds like my mother,' commented a tourist in a red sport shirt with a camera slung over his shoulder.
'She's kind of everybody's mother,' Elizabeth said.
They rang doorbells of the secluded homes hidden by shrubbery from the road. Maids, some sympathetic, some annoyed, promised to 'keep an eye out.'
They went to the Pebble Beach Lodge. 'Sammy has breakfast here sometimes on her days off,' Elizabeth said. With a clutch of hope, she searched the dining rooms, praying that her eyes would find the small straight figure, that Sammy would be surprised at all the fuss. But there were only the vacationers, dressed in casually expensive sport clothes, most of them awaiting their tee-off time.
Elizabeth turned to leave, but Craig held her arm. 'I'll bet you didn't have any breakfast.' He signaled to the headwaiter.
Over coffee they surveyed each other. 'If there's no sign of her when we get back, we'll insist on calling the police,' he told her.
'Something's happened to her.'
'You can't be sure of that. Tell me exactly when you saw her, whether she said anything about going out.'
Elizabeth hesitated. She was not sure if she wanted to tell Craig about the letter Sammy was going to copy or about the letter that had been stolen. She did know that the deep concern on his face was a tremendous comfort, that if it became necessary, he would put the awesome power of Winters Enterprises into the search for Sammy. Her response was careful. 'When Sammy left me, she said she was going back to the office for a while.'
'I can't believe that she's so overworked she has to burn midnight oil.'
Elizabeth half-smiled. 'Not quite midnight. Nine thirty.' To avoid further questions, she gulped the rest of the coffee. 'Craig, do you mind if we go back now? Maybe there's been some word.'
But there was not. And if the maids, the gardener and the chauffeur could be believed, every inch of the grounds had been searched. Now even Helmut agreed not to wait until noon, that it was time to phone in a missing-person report.
'That's not good enough,' Elizabeth told them. 'I want you to ask for Scott Alshorne.'
She waited for Scott at Sammy's desk. 'Do you want me to hang around?' Craig asked.
'No.'
He glanced at the trash bags. 'What's all that?'
'Leila's fan mail. Sammy was answering it.'
'Don't start going through it. It will only upset you.' Craig glanced into Min and Helmut's office. They were sitting side by side on the Art Deco wicker couch, speaking in low tones. He leaned over the desk. ' Elizabeth, you have to know I'm between a rock and a hard place. But when this is over, no matter how it ends, we've got to talk. I've missed you terribly.' In a surprisingly agile move, he was around the desk; his hand was on her hair, his lips on her cheek. 'I'm always here for you,' he whispered. 'If anything has happened to Sammy and you need a shoulder or an ear… You know where to find me.'
Elizabeth clutched at his hand and for an instant held it against her cheek. She felt its solid strength, its warmth, the width of his blunt fingers. And incongruously thought of Ted's long-fingered graceful hands. She dropped his hand and pulled away. 'Watch out or you'll get me crying.' She tried to make her voice light, to dispel the intensity of the moment.
Craig seemed to understand. He straightened up and said matter-of-factly, 'I'll be in Ted's bungalow if you need me.'
Waiting was the hardest. It was like the night when she'd sat in Leila's apartment hoping, praying that Leila and Ted had made up, had gone off together and knowing with every nerve in her body that something was wrong. Sitting at Sammy's desk was agony. She wanted to run in a dozen different directions; to walk along the road and ask people if they'd seen her; to search the Crocker Woodland in case she'd wandered in there in a daze.
Instead, Elizabeth opened one of the bags of fan mail and brought out a handful of envelopes. At least she could accomplish something.
She could search for more anonymous letters.
Six
Sheriff Scott Alshorne had been a lifelong friend of Samuel Edgers, Min's first husband, the man who had built the Cypress Point Hotel. He and Min had liked each other from the start, and it had pleased him to see that Min kept her part of her bargain. She gave the ailing and cantankerous octogenarian a new lease on life for the five years she was married to him.
Scott had watched with mingled curiosity and awe as Min and that titled jerk she married next had taken a
