Galbraith gestured. "Ringside. I usually sit toward the back when I'm doing surveillance, but I thought you'd prefer to have a closer look at her. You said on the phone that you were going to talk to Tier, anyway." He turned and led the way through the thickly clustered tables. He dropped into a chair at the ringside table he'd indicated and picked up a half-empty highball glass. His eyes, set deep in his round, tanned face, were as bright and inquisitive as a squirrel's. "You look really beat, Clancy. What the hell have you been doing to yourself?"

"The usual." Clancy sat down and shook his head at the waiter who paused to look at him inquiringly. He wanted to keep a clear head, and he was too tired to risk even the slightest alcohol haze. "No sign of Baldwin?"

"Not one. She's made no telephone calls since she's been here. She takes long walks on the beach every day, but she doesn't speak to anyone." He shrugged. "Or no one important. She stopped thisafternoon and helped a little kid build a sand castle.

Then she came back to the hotel, rehearsed with the trio, and had dinner in her room. She does two shows a night here and then goes back to her room. \o men since she's arrived on the island."

"Not off the island, either," Clancy said slowly.

"Odd. It could mean she's still carrying a torch for Baldwin." His lips twisted. "Or maybe she's frigid and that's the challenge she poses for him."

"No." Galbraith said quickly and with utmost certainty. Then, as Clancy looked at him in surprise, he muttered sheepishly, "I mean, I can't imagine her being cold to anyone she cared about."

"She seems to have impressed you," Clancy said.

"Is the lady that much of a femme fatale?" Galbraith shifted uncomfortably. "No. Hell, you Know I've never had a thing for older women."

"And she's all of thirty-seven. Practically ancient," Clancy said dryly. "She must be very beautiful to make you overlook her rapidly advancing decrepitude."