Meaning, once again, that they will have to risk life and limb in order to undo his latest plot, as opposed to hitting at the obvious root of the problem.

Risking her life, all their lives, merely to treat a symptom, rather than curing the disease.

And there is nothing she can do about it.

Because Nancy is committed to Cynthia, no matter where that commitment leads her.

Which seems, invariably, to be into the utmost danger.

By the pool.

And Daisy looks fetching indeed, in her string bikini.

Randy Buck comes out to the pool as well, clad only in a terrycloth robe and sunglasses.

He watches her for a while, now swimming with strong, even strokes, now jack-knifing gracefully from the low board, which rattles as she leaves it, making a triangle of herself before straightening out and torpedoing smoothly into the water.

"Water's great!" she says to Randy, draping herself on the edge of the pool, head floating on crossed arms, smiling at him.

"Take off your bikini," he suggests.

"You'll be more comfortable that way.

"Besides, I don't like to skinny dip alone." And he stands up, removing his robe.

"See?" he says, pointing to himself.

"No tan lines. Better that way."

She shrugs.

And hoists herself up on the edge of the pool.

And removes her top, then her bottom, revealing large, doorbell-like pink nipples on top, a thick chestnut triangle down below.

But, as though to cover herself, she dives from the side into the pool at once.

And Buck is right in there after her. The pool scene, just like in one of those paperback romances, she thinks.

Except that Buck seems to be ignoring her, intent on doing laps, as though he is on a regular exercise program of some kind.

Daisy has never considered herself forward or (to use the word in the novels) wanton, but still, a naked woman, a naked man, a beautiful day, a secluded pool-and nothing?