Eve opened the door and stared unbelievingly. Her grandmother was standing there, stiff and straight as always, allowing no sign of frailty to show.

"May I come in?" Kate asked.

Eve stepped aside, unable to take in what was happening. "Of course."

Kate walked in and looked around the small apartment, but she made no comment. "May I sit down?"

"I'm sorry. Please do. Forgive me—this is so— Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, anything?"

"No, thank you. Are you well, Eve?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm fine."

"I just came from Dr. John. He told me you had been in a terrible accident."

Eve watched her grandmother cautiously, not sure what was coming. "Yes ..."

"He said you were ... near death. And that you would not allow him to tell me because you didn't want to worry me."

So that was it. Eve was on surer ground now. "Yes, Gran."

"That would indicate to me," Kate's voice was suddenly choked, "that—that you cared."

Eve started to cry from relief. "Of course I care. I've always cared."

And an instant later, Eve was in her grandmother's arms. Kate held Eve very close and pressed her lips to the blond head in her lap. Then she whispered, "I've been such a damned old fool. Can you ever forgive me?" Kate pulled out a linen handkerchief and blew her nose. "I was too hard on you," she declared. "I couldn't bear it if anything had happened to you."

Eve stroked her grandmother's blue-veined hand soothingly and said, "I'm all right, Gran.

Everything's fine."

Kate was on her feet, blinking back tears. "We'll have a fresh start, all right?" She pulled Eve up to face her. "I've been stubborn and unbending, like my father. I'm going to make amends for that. The first thing I'm going to do is put you back in my will, where you belong."

What was happening was too good to be true! "I—I don't care about the money. I only care about you."

"You're my heiress—you and Alexandra. You two are all the family I have."

"I'm getting along fine," Eve said, "but if it will make you happy—"

"It will make me very happy, darling. Very happy, indeed. When can you move back into the house?"

Eve hesitated for only a moment. "I think it would be better if I stayed here, but I'll see you as often as you want to see me. Oh, Gran, you don't know how lonely I've been."

Kate took her granddaughter's hand and said, "Can you forgive me?"

Eve looked her in die eye and said solemnly, "Of course, I can forgive you."

The moment Kate left, Eve mixed herself a stiff Scotch and water and sank down onto the couch to relive the incredible scene that had just occurred. She could have shouted aloud with joy. She and Alexandra were now the sole heirs to the Blackwell fortune. It would be easy enough to get rid of Alexandra. It was George Mellis Eve was concerned about. He had suddenly become a hindrance.

"There's been a change of plans," Eve told George. "Kate has put me back in her will."

George paused in the middle of lighting a cigarette. "Really? Congratulations."

"If anything happened to Alexandra now, it would look suspicious. So we'll take care of her later when—"

"I'm afraid later doesn't suit me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, darling. If anything happens to Alexandra, I'll inherit her stock. You want me out of the picture, don't you?"

Eve shrugged. "Let's say you're an unnecessary complication.

I'm willing to make a deal with you. Get a divorce, and as soon as I come into the money, I'll give you—"

He laughed. "You're funny. It's no good, baby. Nothing has changed. Alex and I have a date in Dark Harbor Friday night. I intend to keep it."

Alexandra was overjoyed when she heard the news about Eve and her grandmother.

"Now we're a family again," she said.

The telephone.

"Hello. I hope I'm not disturbing you, Eve. It's Keith Webster."

He had started telephoning her two or three times a week. At first his clumsy ardor had amused Eve, but lately he had become a nuisance.

"I can't talk to you now," Eve said. "I was just going out the door.

"Oh." His voice was apologetic. "Then I won't keep you. I have two tickets for the horse show next week. I know you love horses, and I thought—"

"Sorry. I will probably be out of town next week."

"I see." She could hear the disappointment in his voice. "Perhaps the following week, then. I'll get tickets to a play. What would you like to see?"

"I've seen them all," Eve said curtly. "I have to run." She replaced the receiver. It was time to get dressed. She was meeting Rory McKenna, a young actor she had seen in an off-Broadway play. He was five years younger than she, and he was like an insatiable wild stallion. Eve visualized his making love to her, and she felt a moisture between her legs.

She looked forward to an exciting evening.

On his way home, George Mellis stopped to buy flowers for Alexandra. He was in an exuberant mood. It was a delicious irony that the old lady had put Eve back in her will, but it changed nodiing. After Alexandra's accident, he would take care of Eve. The arrangements were all made. On Friday Alexandra would be waiting for him at Dark Harbor. "Just the two of us," he had pleaded as he kissed her. "Get rid of all the servants, darling."

Peter Templeton was unable to get Alexandra Mellis out of his mind. He heard the echo of George Mellis's words: / may take her away somewhere. I think she needs a change.

Every instinct told Peter that Alexandra was in danger, yet he was powerless to act. He could not go to Nick Pappas with his suspicions. He had no proof.

Across town, in the executive offices of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., Kate Blackwell was signing a new will, leaving the bulk of her estate to her two granddaughters.

In upstate New York, Tony Blackwell was standing before his easel in the garden of the sanitarium. The painting on the easel was a jumble of colors, the kind of painting an untalented child might do. Tony stepped back to look at it and smiled with pleasure.

Friday. 10:57 a.m.

At La Guardia Airport, a taxi pulled up in front of the Eastern Airlines shuttle terminal and Eve Blackwell got out. She handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill.

"Hey, I can't change this, lady," he said. "Have you got anything smaller?"

"No."

'Then you'll have to get change inside."

"I haven't time. I have to catch the next shuttle to Washington." She looked at the Baume

& Mercier watch on her wrist and made a decision. "Keep the hundred dollars," she told the startled driver.

Eve hurried into the terminal. She half-walked and half-ran to the departure gate marked Washington Shuttle. "One round trip to Washington," Eve said breathlessly.

The man looked at the clock above his head. "You missed this one by two minutes. It's just taking off."

"I've got to be on that plane. I'm meeting— Isn't there anything you can do?" She was near panic.

"Take it easy, miss. There's another shuttle leaving in an hour."

"That's too— Damn it!"

He watched her regain control of herself.

"Very well. I'll wait. Is there a coffee shop around here?"

"No, ma'am. But there's a coffee machine down the corridor."

"Thank you."

He looked after her and thought, What a beauty. I sure envy the guy she's in such a hurry to meet.

Friday. 2:00 p.m.

It will be a second honeymoon, Alexandra thought. The idea excited her. Get rid of all the servants. I want it to be just the two of us, angel. We'll have a lovely weekend. And now Alexandra was leaving the brownstone, on her way to Dark Harbor to meet George.

She was running behind schedule. She had had a luncheon engagement, and it had taken longer than Alexandra had planned. She said to the maid, "I'm going now. I'll be back Monday morning."

As Alexandra reached the front door, the telephone rang. I'm late. Let it ring, she thought, and hurried out the door.

Friday. 7:00 p.m.

George Mellis had examined Eve's plan over and over. There was not a single flaw in it.

There will be a motor launch waiting for you at Philbrook Cove. Take it to Dark Harbor and make sure you're not seen. Tie it to the stern of the Corsair. You'll take Alexandra for a moonlight sail. When you're out at sea, do whatever turns you on, George—just don't leave any traces of blood. Dump the body overboard, get into the launch and leave the Corsair adrift. You'll take the launch back to Philbrook Cove, then catch the Lincolnville ferry to Dark Harbor. Take a taxi to the house. Use some excuse to get the driver to go in so that you'll both

notice the Corsair is missing from the dock. When you see that Alexandra is gone, you'll call the police. They'll never find Alexandra's body. The tide will wash it out to sea. Two eminent doctors will testify it was a probable suicide.

He found the motorboat moored at Philbrook Cove, waiting for him, according to plan.

George crossed the bay without running lights, using the light of the moon to steer by.

He passed a number of moored boats without being detected, and arrived at the dock at the Blackwell estate. He cut the motor and made the line fast to the Corsair, the large motor sailer.

She was talking on the telephone, waiting for him in the living room when George walked in. She waved to him, covered the receiver with her hand and mouthed, "It's Eve." She listened a moment, then, "I have to go now, Eve. My darling just arrived. I'll see you at lunch next week." She replaced the receiver and hurried over to hug George. "You're early. I'm so pleased."

"I got lonely for you, so I just dropped everything and came."

She kissed him. "I love you."

"I love you, matia mou. Did you get rid of the servants?"

She smiled. "It's just the two of us. Guess what? I made moussaka for you."

He traced a finger lightly across the nipples straining against her silk blouse. "Do you know what I've been thinking about all afternoon at that dreary office? Going for a sail with you. There's a brisk wind. Why don't we go out for an hour or two?"

"If you like. But my moussaka is—"

He cupped his hand over her breast. "Dinner can wait. I can't."

She laughed. "All right. I'll go change. It won't take me a minute."

"I'll race you,"

He went upstairs to his clothes closet, changed into a pair of slacks, a sweater and boat shoes. Now that the moment was here, he was filled with a sense of wild anticipation, a feeling of excitement that was almost an explosion.

He heard her voice. "I'm ready, darling."

He turned. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a sweater, a pair of black slacks and canvas shoes. Her long, blond hair was tied back with a little blue ribbon. My God, she's beautiful! he thought. It seemed almost a shame to waste that beauty.

"So am I," George told her.

She noticed the motor launch secured to the stern of the yacht. "What's that for, darling?"

"There's a little island at the end of the bay that I've always wanted to explore," George explained. "We'll take the launch over to it so we won't have to worry about rocks."

He cast off the lines and powered slowly out of the slip. He nosed into the wind to raise the mainsail and jib, and the boat fell off on a starboard tack. The wind caught the large sails and the Corsair surged forward. George headed out to sea. As they cleared the breakwater, they were met with a stiff force-five wind, and the boat started heeling, its lee rail running under.

"It's wild and lovely," she called out. "I'm so happy, darling."

He smiled. "So am I."

In an odd way, it gave George Mellis pleasure that Alexandra was happy, that she was going to die happy. He scanned the horizon to make certain no other boats were close by.

There were only faint lights from afar. It was time.

He put the boat on automatic pilot, took one last look around the empty horizon and walked over to the lee railing, his heart beginning to pound with excitement.

"Alex," he called. "Come look at this."

She made her way over to him and looked down at the cold, dark water racing below them.

"Come to me." His voice was a harsh command.

She moved into his arms, and he kissed her hard on the lips. His arms closed around her, hugging her, and he felt her body relax. He flexed bis muscles and began to lift her in the air toward the railing.

She was fighting him suddenly. "George!"

He lifted her higher, and he felt her try to pull away, but he was too strong for her. She was almost on top of the railing now,

her feet kicking wildly, and he braced himself to shove her over the side. At that instant, he felt a sudden white-hot pain in his chest. His first thought was, I'm having a heart attack.

He opened his mouth to speak and blood came spurting out. He dropped his arms and looked down at his chest in disbelief. Blood was pouring from a gaping wound in it. He looked up, and she was standing there with a bloody knife in her hand, smiling at him.

George Mellis's last thought was, Eve ...

It was ten o'clock in the evening when Alexandra arrived at the house at Dark Harbor.

She had tried telephoning George there several times, but there had been no answer.

She hoped he would not be angry because she had been detained. It had been a stupid mix-up. Early that afternoon, as Alexandra was leaving for Dark Harbor, the phone had rung. She had thought, I'm late. Let it ring, and had gone out to the car. The maid had come hurrying after her.

"Mrs. Mellis! It's your sister. She says it is urgent."

When Alexandra picked up the telephone, Eve said, "Darling, I'm in Washington, D.C.

I'm having a terrible problem. I have to see you."

"Of course," Alexandra said instantly. "I'm leaving for Dark Harbor now to meet George, but I'll be back Monday morning and—"

"This can't wait." Eve sounded desperate. "Will you meet me at La Guardia Airport? I'll be on the five o'clock plane."

"I'd like to, Eve, but I told George—"

"This is an emergency, Alex. But, of course, if you're too busy..."

"Wait! All right. I'll be there."

'Thanks, darling. I knew I could count on you."

It was so seldom that Eve asked her for a favor, she could not refuse her. She would catch a later plane to the island. She telephoned George at the office to tell him she would be detained, but he was not in. She left a message with his secretary. An hour later she took a taxi to La Guardia in time to meet the five o'clock plane from Washington. Eve was not on it. Alexandra waited for two hours, and there was still no sign of Eve. Alexandra had no idea where to reach Eve in Washington. Finally, because there was nothing else she could do, Alexandra took a plane to the island. Now as she approached Cedar Hill House, she found it dark. Surely George should have arrived by now. Alexandra went from room to room, turning on the lights.

"George?"

There was no sign of him. She telephoned her home in Manhattan. The maid answered.

"Is Mr. Mellis there?" Alexandra asked.

"Why, no, Mrs. Mellis. He said you would both be away for the weekend."

"Thank you, Marie. He must have been detained somewhere."

There had to be a logical reason for his absence. Obviously some business had come up at the last minute and, as usual, the partners had asked George to handle it. He would be along at any moment. She dialed Eve's number.

"Eve!" Alexandra exclaimed. "What on earth happened to you?"

"What happened to you? I waited at Kennedy, and when you didn't show up—"

"Kennedy! You said La Guardia."

"No, darling, Kennedy."

"But—" It did not matter any longer. "I'm sorry," Alexandra said. "I must have misunderstood. Are you all right?"

Eve said, "I am now. I've had a hellish time. I got involved with a man who's a big political figure in Washington. He's insanely jealous and—" She laughed. "I can't go into the details

over the telephone. The phone company will take out both our phones. I'll tell you all about it Monday."

"All right," Alexandra said. She was enormously relieved.

"Have a nice weekend," Eve told her. "How's George?"

"He's not here." Alexandra tried to keep the note of concern out of her voice. "I suppose he got tied up on business and hasn't had a chance to call me."

"I'm sure you'll hear from him soon. Good night, darling."

"Good night, Eve."

Alexandra replaced the receiver and thought, It would be nice if Eve found someone really wonderful. Someone as good and kind as George. She looked at her watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. Surely he would have had a chance to call by now. She picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the brokerage firm. There was no answer. She telephoned his club. No, they had not seen Mr. Mellis. By midnight, Alexandra was alarmed, and by one a.m. she was in a state of panic. She was not sure what to do. It was possible that George was out with a client and could not get to a telephone, or perhaps he had had to fly somewhere and had not been able to reach her before he left. There was some simple explanation. If she called the police and George walked in, she would feel like a fool.

At 2:00 a.m. she telephoned the police. There was no police force on the island of Islesboro itself, and the closest station was in Waldo County.

A sleepy voice said, "Waldo County Sheriff's Department. Sergeant Lambert."

"This is Mrs. George Mellis at Cedar Hill House."

"Yes, Mrs. Mellis." The voice was instantly alert. "What can I do for you?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure," Alexandra said hesitantly. "My husband was supposed to have met me at the house earlier this evening, and he—he hasn't shown up."

"I see." There were all kinds of implications in that phrase. The sergeant knew at least three reasons why a husband could be away from home at two a.m. in the morning: blondes, brunets and redheads.

He said tactfully, "Is it possible he was detained on business somewhere?"

"He—he usually calls."

"Well, you know how it is, Mrs. Mellis. Sometimes you get in a situation where you can't call. I'm sure you'll be hearing from him."

Now she did feel like a fool. Of course there was nothing the police could do. She had read somewhere that a person had to be missing for twenty-four hours before the police would even start looking for him, and George was not missing, for heaven's sake. He was just late.

"I'm sure you're right," Alexandra said into the telephone. "I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"Not at all, Mrs. Mellis. I'll bet he'll be on the seven o'clock ferry first thing in the morning."

He was not on the seven o'clock ferry, or the one after that. Alexandra telephoned the Manhattan house again. George was not there.

A feeling of disaster began to grip Alexandra. George had been in an accident; he was in a hospital somewhere, ill or dead. If only there had not been the mix-up with Eve at the airport. Perhaps George had arrived at the house, and when he found she was not there, he had gone. But that left too many things unexplained. He would have left a note. He could have surprised burglars and been attacked or kidnapped. Alexandra went through the house, room by room, looking for any possible clue. Everything was intact. She went down to the dock. The Corsair was there, safely moored.

She telephoned the Waldo County Sheriff's Department again. Lieutenant Philip Ingram, a twenty-year veteran of the force, was on morning duty. He was already aware that George Mellis had not been home all night. It had been the chief topic of conversation around the station all morning, most of it ribald.

Now he said to Alexandra, "There's no trace of him at all Mrs. Mellis? All right. I'll come out there myself." He knew it

would be a waste of time. Her old man was probably tomcatting around in some alley.

But when the Blackwells call, the peasants come running, he thought wryly. Anyway, this was a nice lady. He had met her a few times over the years. "Back in an hour or so," he told the desk sergeant.

Lieutenant Ingram listened to Alexandra's story, checked the house and the dock and reached the conclusion that Alexandra Mellis had a problem on her hands. George Mellis was to have met his wife the evening before at Dark Harbor, but he had not shown up.

While it was not Lieutenant Ingram's problem, he knew it would do him no harm to be helpful to a member of the Blackwell family. Ingram telephoned the island airport and the ferry terminal at Lincolnville. George Mellis had used neither facility within the past twenty-four hours. "He didn't come to Dark Harbor," the lieutenant told Alexandra. And where the hell did that leave things? Why would the man have dropped out of sight?In the lieutenant's considered opinion, no man in his right mind would voluntarily leave a woman like Alexandra.

"We'll check the hospitals and mor—" He caught himself. "And other places, and I'll put out an APB on him."

Alexandra was trying to control her emotions, but he could see what an effort it was.

'Thank you, Lieutenant. I don't have to tell you how much I'll appreciate anything you can do."

'That's my job," Lieutenant Ingram replied.

When Lieutenant Ingram returned to the station, he began calling hospitals and morgues. The responses were negative. There was no accident report on George Mellis.

Lieutenant Ingram's next move was to call a reporter friend on the Maine Courier. After that, the lieutenant sent out a missing person all-points-bulletin.

The afternoon newspapers carried the story in headlines: HUSBAND OF BLACKWELL HEIRESS MISSING.

Peter Templeton first heard the news from Detective Nick Pappas.

"Peter, remember askin' me a while ago to do some checkin' on George Mellis?"

"Yes..."

"He's done a vanishing act."

"He's what!"

"Disappeared, vamoosed, gone." He waited while Peter digested the news.

"Did he take anything with him? Money, clothes, passport?"

"Nope. According to the report we got from Maine, Mr. Mellis just melted into thin air.

You're his shrink. I thought you might have some idea why our boy would do a thing like that."

Peter said truthfully, "I haven't any idea, Nick."

"If you think of anything, let me know. There's gonna be a lot of heat on this."

"Yes," Peter promised. "I will."

Thirty minutes later, Alexandra Mellis telephoned Peter Templeton, and he could hear the shrill edge of panic in her voice. "I— George is missing. No one seems to know what happened to him. I was hoping he might have told you something that might have given you a clue or—" She broke off.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mellis. He didn't. I have no idea what could have happened."

"Oh."

Peter wished there was some way he could comfort her. "If I think of anything, I'll call you back. Where can I reach you?"

"I'm at Dark Harbor now, but I'm going to return to New York this evening. I'll be at my grandmother's."

Alexandra could not bear the thought of being alone. She had talked to Kate several times that morning. "Oh, darling, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," Kate said. "He probably went off on some business deal and forgot to tell you."

Neither of them believed it.

Eve saw the story of George's disappearance on television. There were photographs of the exterior of Cedar Hill House, and pictures of Alexandra and George after their wedding ceremony. There was a close-up of George, looking upward, with his eyes wide. Somehow it reminded Eve of the look of surprise on his face just before he died.

The television commentator was saying, 'There has been no evidence of foul play and no ransom demands have been made. The police speculate that George Mellis was possibly the victim of an accident and may be suffering from amnesia." Eve smiled in satisfaction.

They would never find the body. It had been swept out to sea with the tide. Poor George.

He had followed her plan perfectly. But she had changed it. She had flown up to Maine and rented a motorboat at Philbrook Cove, to be held for "a friend." She had then rented a second boat from a nearby dock and taken it to Dark Harbor, where she had waited for George. He had been totally unsuspecting. She had been careful to wipe the deck clean before she returned the yacht to the dock. After that, it had been a simple matter to tow George's rented motorboat back to its pier, return her boat and fly back to New York to await the telephone call she knew Alexandra would make.

It was a perfect crime. The police would list it as a mysterious disappearance.

The announcer was saying, "In other news ..." Eve switched the television set off.

She did not want to be late for her date with Rory McKenna.

At six o'clock the following morning, a fishing boat found George Mellis's body pinned against the breakwater at the mouth of Penebscot Bay. The early news reports called it a drowning and accidental death, but as more information came in, the tenor of the stories began to change. From the coroner's office came reports that what at first had been thought to have been shark bites were actually stab wounds. The evening newspaper editions screamed: murder suspected in george mellis

MYSTERY DEATH . . . MILLIONAIRE FOUND STABBED TO DEATH.

Lieutenant Ingram was studying the tide charts for the previous evening. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair,

a perplexed expression on his face. George Mellis's body would have been swept out to sea had it not been caught against the breakwater. What puzzled the lieutenant was that the body had to have been carried by the tide from the direction of Dark Harbor. Where George Mellis was not supposed to have been.

Detective Nick Pappas flew up to Maine to have a talk with Lieutenant Ingram.

"I think my department might be of some help to you in this case," Nick said. "We have some interesting background information on George Mellis. I know this is out of our jurisdiction, but if you were to ask for our cooperation, we'd be happy to give it to you, Lieutenant."

In the twenty years Lieutenant Ingram had been with the Waldo County Sheriff's Department, the only real excitement he had seen was when a drunken tourist shot a moose head off the wall of a local curio shop. The George Mellis murder was front-page news, and Lieutenant Ingram sensed a chance to make a name for himself. With a little luck, it could lead to a job as a detective in the New York City Police Department, where the action was. And so now he looked at Nick Pappas and murmured, "I don't know ..."

As though reading his mind, Nick Pappas said, "We're not looking for credit. There's gonna be a hell of a lot of pressure on this one, and it would make life easier for us if we could wrap it up fast. I could start by filling you in on George Mellis's background."

Lieutenant Ingram decided he had nothing to lose. "OK, you've got a deal."

Alexandra was in bed, heavily sedated. Her mind stubbornly refused to accept the fact that George had been murdered. How could he have been? There was no reason in the world for anyone to kill him. The police had talked of a knife wound, but they were wrong about that. It had to be some kind of accident.

No one would want to kill him___No one would want to kill him-----The opiate Dr. Harley gave her finally took hold.

She slept.

Eve had been stunned at the news that George's body had been found. But perhaps it's a good thing, Eve thought. Alexandra will be the one under suspicion. She was there, on the island.

Kate was seated next to Eve on the couch in the drawing room. The news had been a tremendous shock to Kate.

"Why would anyone want to murder George?" she asked.

Eve sighed. "I don't know, Gran. I just don't know. My heart breaks for poor Alex."

Lieutenant Philip Ingram was questioning the attendant on the Lincolnville-Islesboro ferry. "Are you positive neither Mr. or Mrs. Mellis came over on the ferry Friday afternoon?"

"They didn't come over on my shift, Phil, and I checked with the morning man, and he didn't see 'em neither. They had to have come in by plane."

"One more question, Lew. Did any strangers take the ferry across on Friday?"

"Hell," the attendant said, "you know we don't get no strangers goin' to the island this time of year. There might be a few tourists in the summer—but in November! She-e-e-it!"

Lieutenant Ingram went to talk to the manager of the Isles-boro airport. "George Mellis sure didn't fly in that evening, Phil. He musta come over to the island by ferry."

"Lew said he didn't see him."

"Well, hell, he couldn't a swum over, now could he?"

"What about Mrs. Mellis?"

"Yep. She come in here in her Beechcraft about ten o'clock. I had my son, Charley, run her over to Cedar Hill from the airport."

"What kind of mood did Mrs. Mellis seem to be in?"

"Funny you should ask. She was as nervous as spit on a hot kettle. Even my boy noticed it. Usually she's calm, always has a

pleasant word for everybody. But that night she was in a tearin' hurry."

"One more question. Did any strangers fly in that afternoon or evening? Any unfamiliar faces?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just the regulars."

An hour later, Lieutenant Ingram was on the phone talking to Nick Pappas. "What I've got so far," he told the New York detective, "is damned confusing. Friday night Mrs. Mellis arrived by private plane at the Islesboro airport around ten o'clock, but her husband wasn't with her, and he didn't come in by plane or ferry. In fact, there's nothin' to show he was on the island at all that night."

"Except the tide."

"Yeah."

"Whoever killed him probably threw him overboard from a boat, figuring the tide would carry him out to sea. Did you check the Corsair?"

"I looked it over. No sign of violence, no bloodstains."

"I'd like to bring a forensics expert up there. Would you mind?"

"Not as long as you remember our little deal."

"I'll remember. See you tomorrow."

Nick Pappas and a team of experts arrived the following morning. Lieutenant Ingram escorted them to the Blackwell dock, where the Corsair was tied up. Two hours later, the foren-sics expert said, "Looks like we hit the jackpot, Nick. There are some bloodstains on the underside of the lee rail."

That afternoon, the police laboratory verified that the stains matched George Mellis's blood type.

Manhattan's "silk stocking" police precinct was busier than usual. A series of all-night drug busts had filled the prisoners' cage to capacity, and the holding cells were crowded with prostitutes, drunks and sex offenders. The noise and the stench competed for Peter Templeton's attention, as he was escorted through the din to Lieutenant Detective Pappas's office.

"Hey, Peter. Nice of you to drop by."

On the phone Pappas had said, "You're holdin' out on me, chum. Be at my office before six o'clock, or I'll send a fuckin' SWAT team to bring you in."

When his escort left the office, Peter asked, "What's this all about, Nick? What's bothering you?"

'I'll tell you what's botherin' me. Someone's being clever. Do you know what we've got? A dead man who vanished from an island he never went to."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Tell me about it, pal. The ferryboat operator and the guy who runs the airport swear they never saw George Mellis on the night he disappeared. The only other way he could have gotten to Dark Harbor was by motorboat. We checked all the boat operators in the area.

Zilch."

"Perhaps he wasn't at Dark Harbor that night."

"The forensic lab says different. They found evidence that Mellis was at the house and changed from a business suit into the sailing clothes he was wearin' when his body was found."

"Was he killed at the house?"

"On the Blackwell yacht. His body was dumped overboard. Whoever did it figured the current would carry the body to China."

"How did—?"

Nick Pappas raised a beefy hand. "My turn. Mellis was your patient. He must have talked to you about his wife."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"Everything. She's my first, second and third choice."

"You're crazy."

"Hey, I thought shrinks never used words like crazy."

"Nick, what makes you think Alexandra Mellis killed her husband?"

"She was there, and she had a motive. She arrived at the island late that night with some cockamamy excuse about being delayed because she was waitin' at the wrong airport to meet her sister."

"What does her sister say?"

"Give me a break. What the hell would you expect her to say?

They're twins. We know George Mellis was at the house that night, but his wife swears she never saw him. It's a big house, Peter, but it's not that big. Next, Mrs. M gave all the servants the weekend of. When I asked her why, she said it was George's idea. George's lips, of course, are sealed."

Peter sat there, deep in thought. "You said she had a motive. What?"

"You have a short memory span. You're the one who put me on the track. The lady was married to a psycho who got his kicks sexually abusing everything he could lay his fists on.

He was probably slapping her around pretty good. Let's say she decided she didn't want to play anymore. She asked for a divorce. He wouldn't give it to her. Why should he? He had it made. She wouldn't dare take him to court—it would touch off too juicy a scandal. She had no choice. She had to kill him." He leaned back in his chair.

"What do you want from me?" Peter asked.

"Information. You had lunch with Mellis's wife ten days ago." He pressed the button on a tape recorder on the desk. "We're going on the record now, Peter. Tell me about that lunch. How did Alexandra Mellis behave? Was she tense? Angry? Hysterical?"

"Nick, I've never seen a more relaxed, happily married lady."

Nick Pappas glared at him and snapped off the tape recorder. "Don't shaft me, my friend.

I went to see Dr. John Harley this morning. He's been giving Alexandra Mellis medication to stop her from committing suicide, for Christ's sake!"

Dr. John Harley had been greatly disturbed by his meeting with Lieutenant Pappas. The detective had gotten right to the point. "Has Mrs. Mellis consulted you professionally recently?"

"I'm sorry," Dr. Harley said. "I'm not at liberty to discuss my patients. I'm afraid I can't help you."

"All right, Doc. I understand. You're old friends. You'd like to keep the whole thing quiet.

That's okay with me." He rose to his feet. "This is a homicide case. I'll be back in an hour with a

warrant for your appointment records. When I find out what I want to know, I'm going to feed it to the newspapers."

Dr. Harley was studying him.

"We can handle it that way, or you can tell me now what I want to know, and I'll do what I can to keep it quiet. Well?"

"Sit down," Dr. Harley said. Nick Pappas sat. "Alexandra has been having some emotional problems lately."

"What kind of emotional problems?"

"She's been in a severe depression. She was talking about committing suicide."

"Did she mention using a knife?"

"No. She said she had a recurrent dream about drowning. I gave her Wellbutrin. She came back and told me it didn't seem to be helping, and I prescribed Nomifensine. I—I don't know whether it helped or not."

Nick Pappas sat there, putting things together in his mind. Finally he looked up.

"Anything else?"

"That's everything, Lieutenant."

But there was more, and John Harley's conscience was bothering him. He had deliberately refrained from mentioning the brutal attack George Mellis had made on Eve Blackwell. Part of his concern was that he should have reported it to the police at the time it happened, but mainly Dr. Harley wanted to protect the Blackwell family. He had no way of knowing whether there was a connection between the attack on Eve and George Mellis's murder, but his instincts told him that it was better not to bring up the subject. He intended to do everything possible to protect Kate Blackwell.

Fifteen minutes after he made that decision, his nurse said, "Dr. Keith Webster is on line two, Doctor."

It was as if his conscience was prodding him.

Keith Webster said, "John, I'd like to stop by this afternoon and see you. Are you free?"

"I'll make myself free. What time?"

"How's five o'clock?"

"Fine, Keith. I'll see you then."

So, the matter was not going to be laid to rest so easily.

At five o'clock, Dr. Harley ushered Keith Webster into his office. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you, John. I don't drink. Forgive me for barging in on you like this."

It seemed to John Harley that every time he saw him, Keith Webster was apologizing about something. He was such a mild, little man, so inoffensive and eager to please—a puppy waiting to be patted on the head. It was incredible to John Harley that within that pale, colorless persona there lurked such a brilliant surgeon.

"What can I do for you, Keith?"

Keith Webster drew a deep breath. "It's about that—you know—that beating George Mellis gave Eve Blackwell."

"What about it?"

"You're aware she almost died?"

"Yes."

"Well, it was never reported to the police. In view of what's happened—Mellis's murder and everything—I was wondering if maybe I shouldn't tell the police about it."

So there it was. There seemed no way to escape the problem.

"You have to do whatever you think best, Keith."

Keith Webster said gloomily, "I know. It's just that I'd hate to do anything that might hurt Eve Blackwell. She's a very special person."

Dr. Harley was watching him cautiously. "Yes, she is."

Keith Webster sighed. "The only thing is, John, if I do keep quiet about it now and the police find out later, it's going to look bad for me."

For both of us, John Harley thought. He saw a possible out. He said casually, "It's not very likely the police would find out, is it? Eve certainly would never mention it, and you fixed her up perfectly. Except for that little scar, you'd never know she'd been disfigured."

Keith Webster blinked. "What little scar?"

"The red scar on her forehead. She told me you said you were going to remove it in a month or two."

Dr. Webster was blinking faster now. It was some kind of nervous tic, Dr. Harley decided.

"I don't re— When did you last see Eve?"

"She came in about ten days ago to talk about a problem involving her sister. As a matter of fact, the scar was the only way I could tell it was Eve instead of Alexandra.

They're identical twins, you know."

Keith Webster nodded slowly. "Yes. I've seen photographs of Eve's sister in the newspapers. There's an amazing likeness. And you say the only way you could tell them apart was by the scar on Eve's forehead from the operation I performed?"

'That's right."

Dr. Webster sat there, silent, chewing on his lower lip. Finally he said, "Perhaps I shouldn't go to the police just yet. I'd like to think about this a little more."

"Frankly, I think that's wise, Keith. They're both lovely young women. The newspapers are hinting that the police think Alexandra killed George. That's impossible. I remember when they were little girls ..."

Dr. Webster was no longer listening.

When he left Dr. Harley, Keith Webster was lost in thought. He had certainly not left even the trace of a scar on that beautiful face. Yet, John Harley had seen it. It was possible that Eve could have gotten a scar afterward in another accident, but then why had she lied? It made no sense.

He examined it from every angle, going over all the different possibilities, and when he had come to a conclusion, he thought, If I'm right, this is going to change my whole life....

Early the following morning, Keith Webster called Dr. Harley. "John," he began, "excuse me for disturbing you. You said that Eve Blackwell came in to talk to you about her sister, Alexandra?"

"That's right."

"After Eve's visit, did Alexandra happen to come in to see you?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, she came to my office the following day. Why?"

"Just curious. Can you tell me what Eve's sister came to see you about?"

"Alexandra was in a deep depression. Eve was trying to help her."

Eve had been beaten and almost killed by Alexandra's husband. And now the man had been murdered and it was Alexandra who was being blamed.

Keith Webster had always known he was not brilliant. In school he had had to work very hard in order to achieve barely passing grades. He was the perennial butt of his classmates' jokes. He was neither an athlete nor a scholar, and he was socially inept. He was as close as one could come to being a nonentity. No one was more surprised than his own family when Keith Webster was admitted to medical school. When he elected to become a surgeon, neither his peers nor his teachers expected him to become a competent one, let alone a great one. But he had surprised them all. There was a talent deep inside him that was nothing short of genius. He was like some exquisite sculptor working his magic with living flesh instead of clay, and in a short time Keith Webster's reputation spread. In spite of his success, however, he was never able to overcome the trauma of his childhood. Inside he was still the little boy who bored everyone, the one atwhom the girls laughed.

When he finally reached Eve, Keith's hands were slippery with sweat. She answered the phone on the first ring. "Rory?" Her voice was low and sultry.

"No. This is Keith Webster."

"Oh. Hello."

He heard the change in her voice. "How've you been?" he asked.

"Fine."

He could sense her impatience. "I—I'd like to see you."

"I'm not seeing anyone. If you read the papers, you'll know my brother-in-law was murdered. I'm in mourning."

He wiped his hands on his trousers. "That's what I want to see you about, Eve. I have some information you should know about."

"What kind of information?"

"I would prefer not to discuss it on the telephone." He could almost hear Eve's mind working.

"Very well. When?"

"Now, if it's convenient."

When he arrived at Eve's apartment thirty minutes later, Eve opened the door for him.

"I'm very busy. What did you want to see me about?"

"About this," Keith Webster said apologetically. He opened a manila envelope he was clutching, took out a photograph and diffidently handed it to Eve. It was a photograph of herself.

She looked at it, puzzled. "Well?"

"It's a picture of you."

"I can see that," she said curtly. "What about it?"

"It was taken after your operation."

"So?"

"There's no scar on your forehead, Eve."

He watched the change that came over her face.

"Sit down, Keith."

He sat opposite her, on the edge of the couch, and he could not keep from staring at her.

He had seen many beautiful women in his practice, but Eve Blackwell totally bewitched him. He had never known anyone like her.

"I think you'd better tell me what this is all about."

He started at the beginning. He told her about his visit to Dr. Harley and about the mysterious scar, and as Keith Webster talked, he watched Eve's eyes. They were expressionless.

When Keith Webster finished, Eve said, "I don't know what you're thinking, but whatever it is, you're wasting my time. As for the scar, I was playing a little joke on my sister. It's as simple as that Now, if you've quite finished, I have a great deal to do."

He remained seated. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I just thought I should talk to you before I went to the police." He could see that he really had her attention now.

"Why on earth would you go to the police?"

"Fm obliged to report the attack George Mellis made on you. Then there's that business about you and the scar. I don't understand it, but Fm sure you can explain it to them."

Eve felt the first stab of fear. This stupid, dreary little man in front of her had no idea what had really happened, but he knew enough to start the police asking questions.

George Mellis had been a frequent visitor to the apartment The police could probably find witnesses who had seen him. She had lied about being in Washington the night of George's murder. She had no real alibi. She had never thought she would need one. If the police learned that George had almost killed her, it would give them a motive. The whole scheme would begin to unravel. She had to silence this man.

"What is it you want? Money?"

"No!"

She saw the indignation on his face. "What then?"

Dr. Webster looked down at the rug, his face red with embarrassment. "I—I like you so much, Eve. I would hate it if anything bad happened to you."

She forced a smile. "Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Keith. I haven't done anything wrong. Believe me, none of this has anything to do with George Mellts's murder."

She reached out and took his hand. "I would really appreciate it very much if you would forget about this. All right?"

He covered her hand and squeezed it "I'd like to, Eve. I really would. But they're holding the coroner's inquest Saturday. I'm a doctor. I'm afraid it's my duty to testify at that inquest and tell them everything I know."

He saw the alarm that appeared in her eyes.

"You don't have to do that!"

He stroked her hand. "Yes, I do, Eve. It's my sworn obligation. There's only one thing that could prevent me from doing it" He watched her leap to the bait of his words.

"What is that?"

His voice was very gentle. "A husband can't be forced to testify against his wife."

The wedding took place two days before the coroner's inquest. They were married by a judge in his private chambers. The mere idea of being married to Keith Webster made Eve's skin crawl, but she had no choice. The fool thinks I'm going to stay married to him.

As soon as the inquest was over, she would get an annulment and that would be the end of it.

Detective Lieutenant Nick Pappas had a problem. He was sure he knew who the murderer of George Mellis was, but he could not prove it. He was confronted by a conspiracy of silence around the Blackwell family that he could not break through. He discussed the problem with his superior, Captain Harold Cohn, a street-wise cop who had worked his way up from the ranks.

Cohn quietly listened to Pappas and said, "It's all smoke, Nick. You haven't got a fucking bit of evidence. They'd laugh us out of court."

"I know," Lieutenant Pappas sighed. "But I'm right." He sat there a moment, thinking.

"Would you mind if I talked to Kate Blackwell?"

"Jesus! What for?"

"It'll be a little fishing expedition. She runs that family. She might have some information she doesn't even know she has."

"You'll have to watch your step."

"I will."

"And go easy with her, Nick. Remember, she's an old lady."

"That's what I'm counting on," Detective Pappas said.

The meeting took place that afternoon in Kate Blackwell's office. Nick Pappas guessed that Kate was somewhere in her eighties, but she carried her age remarkably well. She showed little of the strain the detective knew she must be feeling. She was a very private person, and she had been forced to watch the Blackwell name become a source of public speculation and scandal.

"My secretary said you wished to see me about a matter of some urgency, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am. There's a coroner's inquest tomorrow on the death of George Mellis. I have reason to think your granddaughter is involved in his murder."

Kate went absolutely rigid. "I don't believe it."

"Please hear me out, Mrs. Blackwell. Every police investigation begins with the question of motive. George Mellis was a fortune hunter and a vicious sadist." He saw the reaction on her face, but he pressed on. "He married your granddaughter and suddenly found himself with his hands on a large fortune. I figured he beat up Alexandra once too often and when she asked for a divorce, he refused. Her only way to get rid of him was to kill him."

Kate was staring at him, her face pale.

"I began looking around for evidence to back up my theory. We knew George Mellis was at Cedar Hill House before he disappeared. There are only two ways to get to Dark Harbor from the mainland—plane or ferryboat. According to the local sheriffs office, George Mellis didn't use either. I don't believe in miracles, and I figured Mellis wasn't the kind of man who could walk on water. The only possibility left was that he took a boat from somewhere else along the coast. I started checking out

boat-rental places, and I struck pay dirt at Gilkey Harbor. At four p.m. on the afternoon of the day George Mellis was murdered, a woman rented a motor launch there and said a friend would be picking it up later. She paid cash, but she had to sign the rental slip. She used the name Solange Dunas. Does that ring a bell?"

"Yes. She—she was the governess who took care of the twins when they were children.

She returned to France years ago."

Pappas nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. "A little farther up the coast, the same woman rented a second boat. She took it out and returned it three hours later. She signed her name Solange Dunas again. I showed both attendants a photograph of Alexandra.

They were pretty sure it was her, but they couldn't be positive, because the woman who rented the boats was a brunet."

"Then what makes you think—?"

"She wore a wig."

Kate said stiffly, "I don't believe Alexandra killed her husband."

"I don't either, Mrs. Blackwell," Lieutenant Pappas told her. "It was her sister, Eve."

Kate Blackwell was as still as stone.

"Alexandra couldn't have done it. I checked on her movements the day of the murder.

She spent the early part of the day in New York with a friend, then she flew directly from New York up to the island. There's no way she could have rented those two motorboats."

He leaned forward. "So I was left with Alexandra's look-alike, who signed the name Solange Dunas. It had to be Eve. I started looking around for her motive. I showed a photograph of George Mellis to the tenants of the apartment house Eve lives in, and it turned out that Mellis was a frequent visitor there. The superintendent of the building told me that one night when Mellis was there, Eve was almost beaten to death. Did you know that?"

"No." Kate's voice was a whisper.

"Mellis did it. It fits his pattern. And that was Eve's motive— vengeance. She lured him out to Dark Harbor and murdered

him." He looked at Kate, and felt a pang of guilt at taking advantage of this old woman.

"Eve's alibi is that she was in Washington, D.C., that day. She gave the cab driver who took her to the airport a hundred-dollar bill so he would be sure to remember her, and she made a big fuss about missing the Washington shuttle. But I don't think she went to Washington. I believe she put on a dark wig and took a commercial plane to Maine, where she rented those boats. She killed Mellis, dumped his body overboard, then docked the yacht and towed the extra motorboat back to the rental dock, which was closed by then."

Kate looked at him a long moment. Then she said, slowly, "All the evidence you have is circumstantial, isn't it?"

"Yes." He was ready to move in for the kill. "I need concrete evidence for the coroner's inquest. You know your granddaughter better than anyone in the world, Mrs. Blackwell. I want you to tell me anything you can that might be helpful."

She sat there quietly, making up her mind. Finally she said, "I think I can give you some information for the inquest."

And Nick Pappas's heart began to beat faster. He had taken a long shot, and it had paid off. The old lady had come through. He unconsciously leaned forward. "Yes, Mrs.

Blackwell?"

Kate spoke slowly and distinctly. "On the day George Mellis was murdered, Lieutenant, my granddaughter Eve and I were in Washington, D.C., together."

She saw the surprised expression on his face. You fool, Kate Blackwell thought. Did you really think I would offer up a Black-well as a sacrifice to you? That I would let the press have a Roman holiday with the Blackwell name? No. I will punish Eve in my own way.

The verdict from the coroner's jury was death at the hands of an unknown assailant or assailants.

To Alexandra's surprise and gratitude, Peter Templeton was at the inquest at the county courthouse.

"Just here to lend moral support," he told her. Peter thought Alexandra was holding up remarkably well, but the strain showed in her face and in her eyes. During a recess, he took her

to lunch at the Lobster Pound, a little restaurant facing the bay in Lincolnville.

"When this is over," Peter said, "I think it would be good for you to take a trip, get away for a while."

"Yes. Eve has asked me to go away with her." Alexandra's eyes were filled with pain. "I still can't believe George is dead. I know it has happened, but it—it still seems unreal."

"It's nature's way of cushioning the shock until the pain becomes bearable."

"It's so senseless. He was such a fine man." She looked up at Peter. "You spent time with him. He talked to you. Wasn't he a wonderful person?"

"Yes," Peter said slowly. "Yes, he was."

Eve said, "I want an annulment, Keith."

Keith Webster blinked at his wife in surprise. "Why on earth would you want an annulment?"

"Oh, come on, Keith. You didn't really think I was going to stay married to you, did you?"

"Of course. You're my wife, Eve."

"What are you after? The Blackwell money?"

"I don't need money, darling. I make an excellent living. I can give you anything you want."

"I told you what I want. An annulment."

He shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid I can't give you that."

"Then I'm going to file for divorce."

"I don't think that would be advisable. You see, nothing has really changed, Eve. The police haven't found out who killed your brother-in-law, so the case is still open. There's no statute of limitations on murder. If you divorced me, I'd be forced to ..." He raised bis hands helplessly.

"You're talking as though / killed him."

"You did, Eve."

Her voice was scornful. "How the hell do you know?"

"It's the only reason you would have married me."

She looked at him, filled with loathing. "You bastard! How can you do this to me?"

"It's very simple. I love you."

"I hate you. Do you understand that? I despise you!"

He smiled sadly. "I love you so much."

The trip with Alexandra was called off. "I'm going to Barbados on my honeymoon," Eve told her.

Barbados was Keith's idea.

"I won't go," Eve told him flatly. The idea of a honeymoon with him was disgusting.

"It will look strange if we don't have a honeymoon," he said shyly. "And we don't want people asking a lot of awkward questions, do we, dear?"

Alexandra began to see Peter Templeton for lunch once a week. In the beginning, it was because she wanted to talk about George, and there was no one else she could discuss him with. But after several months, Alexandra admitted to herself that she enjoyed Peter Templeton's company immensely. There was a dependability about him that she desperately needed. He was sensitive to her moods, and he was intelligent and entertaining.

"When I was an intern," he told Alexandra, "I went out on my first house call in the dead of winter. The patient was a frail old man in bed with a terrible cough. I was going to examine his chest with my stethoscope, but I didn't want to shock him, so I decided to warm it first. I put it on the radiator while I examined his throat and his eyes. Then I got my stethoscope and put it to his chest. The old man leaped out of bed like a scalded cat. His cough went away, but it took two weeks for the burn to heal."

Alexandra laughed. It was the first time she had laughed in a long time.

"Can we do this again next week?" Peter asked.

"Yes, please."

Eve's honeymoon turned out much better than she had anticipated. Because of Keith's pale, sensitive skin, he was afraid to go

out in the sun, so Eve went down to the beach alone every day. She was never alone for long. She was surrounded by amorous lifeguards, beach bums, tycoons and playboys. It was like feasting at a wonderful smorgasbord, and Eve chose a different dish each day.

She enjoyed her sexual escapades twice as much because she knew her husband was upstairs in their suite waiting for her. He could not do enough for her. He fetched and carried for her like a little lapdog, and waited on her hand and foot. If Eve expressed a wish, it was instantly gratified. She did everything she could think of to insult him, anger him, to turn him against her so that he would let her go, but his love was unshakable. The idea of letting Keith make love to her sickened Eve, and she was grateful that he had a weak libido.

The years are beginning to catch up with me, Kate Blackwell thought. There were so many of them, and they had been so full and rich.

Kruger-Brent, Ltd., needed a strong hand at the helm. It needed someone with Blackwell blood. There's no one to carry on after I'm gone, Kate thought. All the working and planning and fighting for the company. And for what? For strangers to take over one day.

Bloody hell! I can't let that happen.

A week after they returned from their honeymoon, Keith said apologetically, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go back to work, dear. I have a lot of operations scheduled. Will you be all right during the day without me?" Eve barely managed to keep a straight face. 'Til try." Keith was up and out early every morning long before Eve awakened, and when she went into the kitchen she found he had made coffee and laid out all the breakfast things for her. He opened a generous bank account in Eve's name and kept it replenished. She spent his money recklessly. As long as she was enjoying herself, Keith was happy. Eve bought expensive jewelry for Rory, with whom she spent almost every afternoon. He worked very little.

"I can't take just any part," he complained to Eve. "It would hurt my image."

"I understand, darling."

"Do you? What the fuck do you know about show business? You were born with a silver spoon up your ass."

And Eve would buy him an extra-nice present to placate him. She paid Rory's rent and bought him clothes for interviews, and paid for his dinners at expensive restaurants so that he could be seen by important producers. She wanted to be with him twenty-four hours a day, but there was her husband. Eve would arrive home at seven or eight o'clock at night, and Keith would be in the kitchen preparing dinner for her in his "Kiss the Cook" apron. He never questioned her about where she had been.

During the following year, Alexandra and Peter Templeton saw each other more and more often. Each had become an important part of the other's life. Peter accompanied Alexandra when she went to visit her father at the asylum, and somehow the sharing made the pain easier to bear.

Peter met Kate one evening when he arrived to pick up Alexandra. "So you're a doctor, eh? I've buried a dozen doctors, and I'm still around. Do you know anything about business?"

"Not a great deal, Mrs. Blackwell."

"Are you a corporation?" Kate asked.

"No."

She snorted. "Bloody hell. You don't know anything. You need a good tax man. I'll set up an appointment for you with mine. The first thing he'll do is incorporate you and—"

"Thank you, Mrs. Blackwell. Pm getting along just fine."

"My husband was a stubborn man, too," Kate said. She turned to Alexandra. "Invite him to dinner. Maybe I can talk some sense into him."

Outside, Peter said, "Your grandmother hates me."

Alexandra laughed. "She likes you. You should hear how Gran behaves with people she hates."

"I wonder how she would feel if I told her that I want to marry you, Alex ... ?"

And she looked up at him and beamed. "We'd both feel wonderful, Peter!"

Kate had watched the progress of Alexandra's romance with Peter Templeton with a great deal of interest. She liked the young doctor, and she decided he would be a good husband for Alexandra. But she was a trader at heart. Now she sat in front of the fireplace facing the two of them.

"I must tell you," Kate lied, "that this comes as a complete surprise. I always expected Alexandra to marry an executive who would take over Kruger-Brent."

"This isn't a business proposition, Mrs. Blackwell. Alexandra and I want to get married."

"On the other hand," Kate continued, as if there had been no interruption, "you're a psychiatrist. You understand the way people's minds and emotions work. You would probably be a great negotiator. I would like you to become involved with the company. You can—"

"No," Peter said firmly. "I'm a doctor. I'm not interested in going into a business."

"This isn't 'going into a business,' " Kate snapped. "We're not talking about some corner grocery store. You'll be part of the family, and I need someone to run—"

"I'm sorry." There was a finality in Peter's tone. "I'll have nothing to do with Kruger-Brent.

You'll have to find someone else for that___"

Kate turned to Alexandra. "What do you have to say to that?"

"I want whatever makes Peter happy, Gran."

"Damned ingratitude," Kate glowered. "Selfish, the both of you." She sighed. "Ah, well.

Who knows? You might change your mind one day." And she added innocently, "Are you planning to have children?"

Peter laughed. "That's a private matter. I have a feeling you're a great manipulator, Mrs.

Blackwell, but Alex and I are

going to live our own lives, and our children—if we have children—will live their lives."

Kate smiled sweetly. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Peter. I've made it a lifelong rule never to interfere in other people's lives."

Two months later when Alexandra and Peter returned from their honeymoon, Alexandra was pregnant. When Kate heard the news, she thought, Good. It will be a boy.

Eve lay in bed watching Rory walk out of the bathroom naked. He had a beautiful body, lean and trim. Eve adored the way he made love to her. She could not get enough of him.

She suspected he might have other bedmates, but she was afraid to ask, afraid to say anything that might upset him. Now, as he reached the bed, he ran his finger along her skin, just below the eyes, and said, "Hey, baby, you're gettin' a few wrinkles. They're cute."

Each word was a stab, a reminder of the age difference between them and the fact that she was twenty-five years old. They made love again, but for the first time Eve's mind was elsewhere.

It was almost nine o'clock when Eve arrived home. Keith was basting a roast in the oven.

He kissed her on the cheek. "Hello, dear. I've made some of your favorite dishes. We're having—"

"Keith, I want you to remove these wrinkles."

He blinked. "What wrinkles?"

She pointed to the area around her eyes. "These."

"Those are laugh lines, darling. I love them."

"I don't! I hate them!" she yelled.

"Believe me, Eve, they're not—"

"For Christ's sake, just get rid of them. That is what you do for a living, isn't it?"

"Yes, but— All right," he said placatingly, "if it will make you happy, dear."

"When?"

"In about six weeks. My schedule is full right—"

"I'm not one of your goddamned patients," Eve snapped. "I'm your wife. I want you to do it now—tomorrow."

"The clinic is closed on Saturdays."

"Then open it!" He was so stupid God, she could not wait to get rid of him. And she would. One way or another. And soon.

"Come into the other room for a moment." He took her into the dressing room.

She sat in a chair under a strong light while he carefully examined her face. In an instant he was transformed from a bumbling little milquetoast to a brilliant surgeon, and Eve could sense the transformation. She remembered the miraculous job he had done on her face.

This operation might seem unnecessary to Keith, but he was wrong. It was vital. Eve could not bear the thought of losing Rory.

Keith turned off the light. "No problem," he assured her. "I'll do it in the morning."

The following morning, the two of them went to the clinic. "I usually have a nurse assist me," Keith told her, "but with something as minor as this, it won't be necessary."

"You might as well do something with this while you're at it." Eve tugged at a bit of skin at her throat.

"If you wish, dear. I'll give you something to put you to sleep so you won't feel any discomfort. I don't want my darling to have any pain."

Eve watched as he filled a hypodermic and skillfully gave her an injection. She would not have minded if there had been pain. She was doing this for Rory. Darling Rory. She thought of his rock-hard body and the look in his eyes when he was hungry for her.... She drifted off to sleep.

She woke up in a bed in the back room of the clinic. Keith was seated in a chair next to the bed.

"How did it go?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Beautifully," Keith smiled.

Eve nodded, and was asleep again.

Keith was there when she woke up later. "We'll leave the bandages on for a few days. I'll keep you here where you can be properly cared for."

"All right."

He checked her each day, examined her face, nodded. "Perfect."

"When can I look?"

"It should be all healed by Friday," he assured her.

She ordered the head nurse to have a private telephone installed by the bedside. The first call she made was to Rory.

"Hey, baby, where the hell are you?" he asked. "I'm horny."

"So am I, darling. Fm still tied up with his damned medical convention in Florida, but I'll be back next week."

"You'd better be."

"Have you missed me?"

"Like crazy."

Eve heard whispering in the background. "Is there someone there with you?"

"Yeah. We're havin' a little orgy." Rory loved to make jokes. "Gotta go." The line went dead.

Eve telephoned Alexandra and listened, bored, to Alexandra's excited talk about her pregnancy. "I can't wait," Eve told her. "I've always wanted to be an aunt."

Eve seldom saw her grandmother. A coolness had developed that Eve did not understand. She'll come around, Eve thought.

Kate never asked about Keith, and Eve did not blame her, for he was a nothing. Perhaps one day Eve would talk to Rory about helping her get rid of Keith. That would tie Rory to her forever. It was incredible to Eve that she could cuckold her husband every day and that he neither suspected nor cared. Well, thank God he had a talent for something. The bandages were coming off on Friday.

Eve awakened early on Friday and waited impatiently for Keith.

"It's almost noon," she complained. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I'm sorry, darling," he apologized. "I've been in surgery all morning and—"

"I don't give a damn about that. Take these bandages off. I want to see."

"Very well."

Eve sat up and was still, as he deftly cut the bandages away from her face. He stood back to study her, and she saw the satis-faction in his eyes. "Perfect."

"Give me a mirror."

He hurried out of the room and returned a moment later with a hand mirror. With a proud smile, he presented it to her.

Eve raised the mirror slowly and looked at her reflection.

And screamed.

EPILOGUE

Kate 1982

It seemed to Kate that the wheel of time was spinning faster, hurrying the days along, blending winter into spring and summer into autumn, until all the seasons and years blurred into one. She was in her late eighties now. Eighty what? Sometimes the forgot her exact age. She could face growing old, but she could not face the idea of growing old and slovenly, and she took great pains with her appearance. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a neat, erect figure of a woman, proud and indomitable.

She still went to her office every day, but it was a gesture, a ruse to ward off death. She attended every board meeting, but things were no longer as clear as they once had been.

Everyone around her seemed to be speaking too rapidly. The most disturbing thing to Kate was that her mind played tricks on her. The past and present were constantly intermingling. Her world was closing in, becoming smaller and smaller.

If there was a lifeline that Kate clutched, a driving force that kept her alive, it was her passionate conviction that someone in the family must one day take charge of Kruger-Brent. Kate had

no intention of letting outsiders take over what Jamie McGregor and Margaret and she and David had suffered and toiled so long and so hard for. Eve, on whom Kate had twice pinned such high hopes, was a murderer. And a grotesque. Kate had not had to punish her. She had seen Eve once. What had been done to her was punishment enough.

On the day Eve had seen her face in the mirror, she had tried to commit suicide. She had swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, but Keith had pumped out her stomach and brought her home, where he hovered over her constantly. When he had to be at the hospital, day and night nurses guarded her.

"Please let me die," Eve begged her husband. "Please, Keith! I don't want to live like this."

"You belong to me now," Keith told her, "and I'll always love you."

The image of what her face looked like was etched in Eve's brain. She persuaded Keith to dismiss the nurses. She did not want anyone around her looking at her, staring at her.

Alexandra called again and again, but Eve refused to see her. All deliveries were left outside the front door so no one could see her face. The only person who saw her was Keith. He was, finally, the only one she had left. He was her only link with the world, and she became terrified that he would leave her, that she would be left alone with nothing but her ugliness—her unbearable ugliness.

Every morning at five o'clock, Keith arose to go to the hospital or clinic, and Eve was always up before him to fix his breakfast. She cooked dinner for him every night, and when he was late, she was filled with apprehension. What if he had found some other woman!

What if he did not return to her!

When she heard his key in the door, she would rush to open it and go into his arms, holding him tightly. She never suggested they make love because she was afraid he might refuse, but when he did make love to her, Eve felt as though he was bestowing upon her a wonderful kindness.

Once she asked, timidly, "Darling, haven't you punished me enough? Won't you repair my face?" He looked at her and said proudly, "It can never be repaired."

As time went on, Keith became more demanding, more peremptory, until Eve was finally and completely a slave to him, catering to his every whim. Her ugliness bound her to him more strongly than iron chains.

Alexandra and Peter had had a son, Robert, a bright, handsome boy. He reminded Kate of Tony when he was a child. Robert was almost eight now, and precocious for his age.

Very precocious indeed, Kate thought. A really remarkable boy.

All the members of the family received their invitations on the same day. The invitation read: mrs. kate blackwell requests

THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE TO CELEBRATE HER NINETIETH BIRTHDAY

AT CEDAR HILL HOUSE, DARK HARBOR, MAINE, ON SEPTEMBER 24, 1982, AT

EIGHT O'CLOCK. BLACK TIE.

When Keith read the invitation, he looked at Eve and said, "We're going." "Oh, no! I can't! You go. I'll—" He said, "We're both going."

Tony Blackwell was in the garden of the sanitarium, painting, when his companion approached. "A letter for you, Tony."

Tony opened the envelope, and a vague smile lighted his face. "That's nice," he said. "I like birthday parties."

Peter Templeton studied the invitation. "I can't believe the old girl's ninety years old.

She's really amazing."

"Yes, isn't she?" Alexandra agreed. And she added thoughtfully, "Do you know something sweet? Robert received his own invitation, addressed to him."

The overnight guests had long since departed by ferry and plane, and the family was gathered in the library at Cedar Hill. Kate looked at those in the room, one by one, and she saw each with remarkable clarity. Tony, the smiling, vaguely amiable vegetable who had tried to kill her, the son who had been so full of promise and hope. Eve, the murderer, who could have owned the world if she had not had the seed of evil in her. How ironic it was, Kate thought, that her terrible punishment had come from the meek little nonentity she married. And then there was Alexandra. Beautiful, affectionate and kind—the bitterest disappointment of all. She had put her own happiness before the welfare of the company.

She was not interested in Kruger-Brent and had chosen a husband who refused to have anything to do with the company. Traitors, both of them. Had all the pain of the past gone for nothing? No, Kate thought. I won't let it end like this. It's not all been wasted. I've built a proud dynasty. A hospital in Cape Town is named after me. I've built schools and libraries and helped Banda's people. Her head was beginning to hurt. The room was slowly filling with ghosts. Jamie McGregor and Margaret—looking so beautiful—and Banda smiling at her.

And dear, wonderful David, holding out his arms. Kate shook her head to clear it. She was not ready for any of them yet. Soon, she thought. Soon.

There was one more member of the family in the room. She turned to her handsome young great-grandson and said, "Come here, darling."

Robert walked up to her and took her hand.

"It sure was a great birthday party, Gran."

"Thank you, Robert. I'm glad you enjoyed it. How are you getting along in school?"

"All A's, like you told me to get. I'm at the head of my class."

Kate looked at Peter. "You should send Robert to the Wharton School when he's old enough. It's the best—"

Peter laughed. "For God's sake, Kate, my darling, don't you ever give up? Robert's going to do exactly what he likes. He has a remarkable musical talent, and he wants to be a classical musician. He's going to choose his own life."

"You're right," Kate sighed. "I'm an old woman, and I have no right to interfere. If he wants to be a musician, that's what he should be." She turned to the boy, and her eyes shone with love. "Mind you, Robert, I can't promise anything, but I'm going to try to help you. I know someone who's a dear friend of Zubin Mehta."