Two young girls were doing cannonb.a.l.l.s off the diving board. Father Leo tried to read an article about the creation of the universe but he couldn't keep his mind on it. After a time he gave up and watched the girls, who sensed his attention. They began to show off. First they did swan dives. Then one of them tried a flip. She hit the water with a loud crack, flat on her stomach. Father Leo started out of his chair, but she seemed to be all right. She pulled herself up the ladder and left the courtyard, crying. Her friend walked carefully out to the end of the board, turned around, bounced twice, and executed a perfect backward flip. Then she walked away from the pool, feet slapping on the wet cement.

"Coincidence," Sandra said. "Looks like we've got the pool to ourselves." She was standing beside the next chair, looking down at him. She stepped out of her high-heeled clogs and took off her robe.

"You shouldn't be out here," Father Leo said. "Not with that burn of yours."

"This is my last day," she said. "I wanted to catch the sunset."

Father Leo looked up. The sun was just touching the roof of the hotel across from them. It looked like another sign.

Sandra sat down and took a bottle of baby oil out of her tote bag. She rubbed the oil along her arms and across her chest, under the halter of her bathing suit. Then she raised her legs one at a time and slowly oiled them until they glistened. They were deep red. "So," she said, "where's your wife?"

"I'm not married."

"Me either," she said.

Father Leo closed his magazine and sat up.

"What shows have you been to?" she asked.

"None."

"You should go," she said. "The dancers are so beautiful. I don't think I've ever seen such beautiful women in my whole life. Do you like to dance?"

Father Leo shook his head.

Sandra drew her legs up. She rested her chin between her knees. "What do you like?"

Father Leo was about to say, "I like peace and quiet," but he stopped himself. She was lonely. There was no reason to hurt her feelings. "I like to read," he said. "Music. Good music, not weird music. Eating in restaurants. Talking to friends."

"Me too," Sandra said. "Those are the same things I like." She lowered the back of the deck chair and rolled onto her stomach. She rubbed baby oil over her shoulders, then held the bottle out toward Father Leo. "Could you give me a hand?" she said.

He saw that she wanted him to oil her back, which looked swollen and painful, glowing in the little sun that was left. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he said.

"Oh," she said. She put the bottle down. "Sorry I asked."

"I'm a priest," he said.

"That's a new one," she said, not looking at him. "A priest named Slim."

"Slim is my nickname," he said.

"Sure," she said. "Your nickname. What kind of priest are you, anyway?"

Father Leo began to explain but she cut him off. "You're no priest," she said. She sat up and began stuffing things into her tote bag-lighter, cigarettes, baby oil, sungla.s.ses. She put her robe on and stepped into her clogs. She stood there, looking down at him. "What are you, anyway?"

"I came here with a friend," Father Leo said. "He's been gone ever since last night. I don't have any idea where he is."

"I don't know what you are," she said, "but if you come near me again I'll scream."

Father Leo thought of calling the police, but he was afraid that if they did find Jerry they would discover his real name and put him in prison. He looked up the numbers of all the hospitals in town. There were seven. None of them had a Jerry Royce registered, but at Desert Springs the nurse who took the call said that on the previous night they had admitted a John Doe with what she called a "sucking chest wound." Father Leo asked for a description of the man, but she did not have his file and the line to Intensive Care was busy. "It's always busy," she told him. "If you're in town, the simplest thing is to just come over."

But when Father Leo arrived at Intensive Care, he discovered that the John Doe was dead. He had died that afternoon and they had sent his body to the morgue. Father Leo put his hands on the desk. "The morgue?" he said.

The nurse nodded. "We have a picture. Would you like to see it?"

"I guess I'd better," Father Leo said. He was afraid to look at the picture but he didn't feel ready for a trip to the morgue. The nurse opened a folder and took out a large glossy photograph and handed it to him. The face was that of a boy with narrow features. His eyes were open, staring without defiance or shyness into the blaze of the flash. Father Leo knew that the boy had died before the picture was taken. He gave the picture back.

The nurse looked at it. "Not your friend?" she asked.

He shook his head. "What happened?"

"He was stabbed." She put the folder away.

"Did they catch the person who did it?"

"Probably not," she said. "We get over a hundred murders a year in town."

On his way back to the hotel Father Leo watched the crowd through the window of the cab. A group of sailors ran across the street. The one in front was throwing coins over his shoulder and the rest were jumping for them. Signs flashed. People's faces pulsed with reflected light.

Father Leo bent forward. "I just heard that you get over a hundred murders a year in town. Is that true?"

"I suppose it's possible," the cabby said. "This place has its drawbacks, all right. But Utica's a d.a.m.n sight worse. They've got almost two feet of snow right now and there's more on the way."

At half-past two in the morning Jerry called. He was sorry about the mix-up, but he could explain everything. It turned out that while Father Leo was upstairs that first night Jerry had met a fellow on his way to a poker game outside town. It was a private game. The players were rich and there was no limit. They'd had to leave right away, so Jerry wasn't able to tell Father Leo. And after he got there he'd had no chance to call. The game was that intense. Incredible amounts of money had changed hands. It was still going on; he'd just broken off to catch a few winks and let Father Leo know that he wouldn't be going back to Seattle the next morning. He couldn't, not now. Jerry had lost every penny of his own savings, the seven thousand dollars from the man at Boeing, and some other cash he had held back. "I feel bad," he said. "I know this is going to put you in an awkward position."

"I think you ought to come home," Father Leo said. "We can work this thing out."

"They'll throw the book at me," Jerry said.

"No, they won't. I won't let them."

"Get serious. Vincent'll have me for dinner."

"She doesn't have to know it was you," Father Leo said. "I'll tell her I took it."

Jerry didn't answer right away. Finally he said, "She'd never believe you."

"Why not? She already thinks I'm a killer."

Jerry laughed. "Slim, you're something. Thanks, but no thanks. I still have four hundred left. I've been down further than that and bounced back, I'm just getting warmed up."

"Jerry, listen."

"Haven't you ever had the feeling that you're bound to win?" Jerry asked. "Like you've been picked out and you'll get taken care of no matter what?"

"Sure," Father Leo said, "I've had that feeling. It doesn't mean a d.a.m.n thing."

"That's what you say."

"For G.o.d's sake, Jerry, use your head. Come home."

But it was no good. Jerry said good-bye and hung up. Father Leo sat on the edge of the bed. The telephone rang again. He picked it up and said, "Jerry?"

It wasn't Jerry, though. It was Sandra. "I'm sorry if I woke you up," she said.

"Sandra," he said. "What on earth do you want?"

"Are you really a priest?" she asked.

"What kind of a question is that? What do you mean by calling me at this hour?" Father Leo knew that he had every right to be angry, but he wasn't, not really. The sound of his own voice, fussy and peevish, embarra.s.sed him. "Yes," he said.

"Oh, thank G.o.d. I'm so frightened."

He waited.

"Someone's been trying to get into my room," she said. "At least I think they have. I could have been dreaming."

"You should call the police."

"I already thought of that," she said. "What would they do? They'd come in and stand around and then they'd go away. And there I'd be."

"I don't know how I could help," Father Leo said.

"You could stay."

"My friend still isn't back," Father Leo said. "We have to leave tomorrow morning and I should be here in case he calls. What if you were dreaming?"

"Please," she said.

Father Leo slammed his fist into the pillow. "Of course," he said. "Of course, I'll be right there."

After Sandra unlocked the door she told Father Leo to wait a second. Then she called, "Okay. Come on in." She was wearing a blue nightgown. She slid into bed and pulled the covers up to her waist. "Please don't look at me," she said. "And in case you wondered, I'm not making this up. I'm not that desperate for company."

There were two beds in the room, with a night table in between. Father Leo sat at the foot of the other bed. He looked at her. Her face was red and puffy. She had white stuff on her nose.

"I'm a sight," she said.

"You should have that burn looked at when you get home."

She shrugged. "It's going to peel whatever I do. In a couple of weeks I'll be back to normal." She tried to smile and gave it up. "I thought I'd at least come home with a tan. This has been the worst vacation. It's been one thing after another." She picked at the covers. "My second night here I lost over three hundred dollars. Do you know how long it takes me to save three hundred dollars?"

"This is an awful place," Father Leo said. "I don't know why anybody comes here."

"That's no mystery," Sandra said.

"The whole thing is fixed," Father Leo said.

Sandra shrugged. "That doesn't matter."

Father Leo went over to the sliding gla.s.s door. He opened it and stepped out onto the balcony. The night was cold. A mist hung over the glowing blue surface of the pool.

"You'll catch your death out there," Sandra called.

Father Leo went back inside and closed the door. He was restless. The room smelled of coconut oil.

"I have a confession to make," Sandra said. "It wasn't a coincidence when I came out to the pool today. I saw you down there."

Father Leo sat in the chair next to the TV. He rubbed his eyes. "Did somebody really try to break into the room?"

"I thought so," Sandra said. "Can't you tell I'm scared?"

"Yes," he said.

"Then what difference does it make?"

"None," Father Leo said.

"This has been the worst vacation," Sandra said. "I won't tell you all the things that happened to me. Let's just say the only good thing that's happened to me is meeting you."

"This is a terrible place," Father Leo said. "It's dangerous, and everything is set up so you can't win."

"Some people win," she said.

"I haven't seen any winners. Do you mind if I use your phone?"

Sandra smoked and watched Father Leo while he talked to the desk clerk. Jerry had not called back. Father Leo left Sandra's room number and hung up.

"You told him you were here?" she said. "I wonder what he'll think."

"He can think whatever he wants to think."

"He probably isn't thinking anything," Sandra said. "I'll bet he's seen it all."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"It's strange," she said. "Usually, when I'm about to go home from a vacation, I get excited-even if I've had a great time. This year I just feel sad. How about you? Are you looking forward to going home?"

"Not much," Father Leo said.

"Why not? What's it like where you live?"

Father Leo thought of the noise in the refectory, Sister Gervaise shrieking at one of her own wisecracks. Then he saw her face go white as she listened to the lie he'd told Jerry. It would be all over the convent by now, and there was no way to undo it. When you heard a story like that it became the truth about the person it was spoken of. Denials would only make it seem more true.

He would have to live with it. And that meant that everything was going to change. He saw how it would be. The hallways empty at night and quiet. The sisters falling silent as he walked past them, their eyes downcast.

"What are you smiling at?" Sandra asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just a thought."