Shattered Silk

CHAPTER NINE

FALLS CHURCH was, as Cheryl put it, a bust. The buildings they inspected were too expensive, too rundown, or in the wrong area. They left their names with a realtor who promised to notify them if anything turned up and headed for home, feeling somewhat deflated.

"We've just begun," Cheryl said consolingly. "Shall we have a quick look at Alexandria? You never know…"

Karen consulted her watch. "I'm afraid there's not time. Rob is totally unreliable, and I'm going to be late as it is."

As matters turned out, she was even later than she had expected. They finally found a parking place several blocks from the house; and as they approached it they saw something on the doorstep. It resembled a pile of rags rather than a human being, and Cheryl said pitifully, "Oh, it's one of those poor old bag ladies, shopping bags and all. I feel so sorry for them."

"That's no bag lady." Karen came to a stop and clutched Cheryl. "That's Mrs. Grossmuller!"

"My God, it is!" Cheryl clutched back. They stood huddled together, staring, until Karen let out a nervous laugh.

"What are we going to do? We can't stand here like a couple of Victorian damsels in distress."

"Let's walk around the block. Maybe she'll go away."

But Mrs. Grossmuller had seen them. Rising with monolithic dignity, she beckoned. She wore what must have been her "town" clothes-a rumpled, tarnished black suit of decidedly antique vintage, and the most incredible hat Karen had ever seen. It measured a good two feet across and was heaped with limp pink moire bows, with an almost naked ostrich feather crowning the pile.

"Don't laugh," Karen said out of the corner of her mouth, as they obeyed the summons.

"Laugh? I'm more likely to howl like Alexander. Why, hello there-Mrs. Grossmuller, isn't it?"

"I have been waiting a considerable time." Mrs. Grossmuller brushed at her dusty skirt. "You are very late."

Her dignity was so extreme it was difficult not to apologize; but Karen managed to refrain from doing so. Being at a loss for words, she fell back on the formula she used with customers. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Brought you some stuff," said Mrs. Grossmuller, in one of her sudden descents from formal English to western Maryland accent and colloquialism. "You gonna ask me to come in or do you want I should dump it out on the sidewalk like a common vendor?"

She pushed past Karen as soon as the latter had unlocked the door, and Karen's cry of warning came too late. "Watch out for the dog!"

Mrs. Grossmuller stood looking down at Alexander, who was squirming at her feet in unbecoming admiration. "Homely, ain't he? I guess that's the homeliest dog I ever seen."

The insult did not affect Alexander in the least. He continued to grovel and Mrs. Grossmuller added grudgingly, "Nice little feller, though. Friendly."

"He likes you," Karen exclaimed incredulously.

"Most dogs do. Well? Where's the sitting room? I could be persuaded to partake of a glass of sherry if it is not too sweet."

Mrs. Grossmuller got her sherry. She then spread her wares out across the furniture. They weren't quite as bad as Karen had feared, but they ran the gamut from a pair of pretty Victorian petticoats to faded calico aprons and sunbonnets. Some could never have fit Mrs. Grossmuller, at any stage in her life; Karen deduced that she had been looting her neighbors' attics, spurred on by her successful sale, and only hoped she had had their permission to do so. Being a receiver of stolen goods had a certain piratical ring to it when the stolen goods were gems and precious metals, but it would be demeaning to be arrested over a calico sunbonnet.

For once it was she who had to put her foot down on the outlandish prices Mrs. Grossmuller asked. Cheryl, who had not spoken a word since Alexander's astonishing performance, seemed absolutely hypnotized.

Her worst fears were uncalled for; after a reasonable amount of dickering Mrs. Grossmuller accepted her offers and repacked the merchandise that had been rejected. "You're smarter than I thought," she remarked. "Couldn't take you in. Figured it was worth trying, though."

She settled back with a pleased smile and thumbed through the money Karen had given her.

"How did you find me?" Karen asked.

The answer was the one she expected. "Your address was on your check. I'll bring you some more stuff another time."

"No, don't do that," Karen exclaimed. "I mean- I'll be moving soon."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet. Why don't you give me your address and phone number and I'll call you."

"Makes sense," said Mrs. Grossmuller agreeably. She reached into her capacious purse. "My card."

It really was a calling card, yellow with age and frayed around the edges, but handsomely engraved.

"Thank you," Karen said. "Well. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, I'm not leaving yet," said Mrs. Grossmuller, settling herself more comfortably. "You still got my wedding dress?"

"Uh-no. It's not here. It's-it's at the cleaners'."

"Oh. Too bad. I'd have liked to look at it again."

Karen glanced at Cheryl, who was staring at Mrs. Grossmuller with the dumb fascination of a chicken under the cold, hypnotic gaze of a snake. She herself was conscious of a desire to burst into wild, uncontrolled shrieks of laughter.

"I'm sorry we can't ask you to stay, Mrs. Grossmuller. We are going out."

"When?"

"Right now," Karen said firmly.

"Oh. Well, I guess you couldn't ask me to stay to lunch then. Were that not the case I might be offended by the omission." Mrs. Grossmuller gathered up her shopping bags and rose, stepping carefully over Alexander, who was sprawled at her feet, licking her shoe. "I guess I'll just hike down Wisconsin and look in the windows. Maybe have lunch out, seeing as I'm so rich. Is there a McDonald's around?"

Karen showed her out and then ran into the parlor, where she and Cheryl stood watching out the window, as Mrs. Grossmuller walked to a car parked-illegally-across the street, and got in. The vehicle swung abruptly out into the traffic, ignoring a Camaro that had to slam on its brakes to avoid a collision, and wove erratically away.

"Are you all right?" Karen asked, nudging her paralyzed partner.

"Pinch me," Cheryl gasped. "I don't believe it. Did you see that car? It was a Mercedes. And Alexander… She put a spell on him!"

"Cheryl, get hold of yourself. She's a poor, senile old woman. Why does she affect you that way?"

"Listen, I know a lot of senile old ladies. None of them acts like that. I can't help it. She gives me the creeps. Be honest, Karen; what would you think if you woke up in the middle of the night and saw that face looking in your window?"

"I'd think I was dreaming. She couldn't get up to a second-story window without a ladder-"

"Or a broomstick," Cheryl muttered.

"I'm sorry I can't stay and protect you from witches, but I'm horribly late already. I haven't even time to change. Are you sure you won't be nervous?"

Cheryl gave herself a shake. "Don't be silly. I've got plenty to keep me busy. But I'm going to lock all the doors."

"You do that. I wish I could stay and help you. Oh, well, it won't be long; Julie will be back in a few days."

Julie was back sooner than that. Karen was not unduly surprised, though she was angry, to see that the shop was dark and that the grille across the door was still in place. Not until she started to unlock the padlock did she realize that although the hasp had been inserted into the hole, it had not been pushed home.

"THIS is getting monotonous," said Tony Cardoza.

Hands on his narrow hips, he looked down at Karen, seated at Julie's desk.

"It's not my fault," Karen growled. "And if you've called Mark…"

"I have not called Mark." Tony sat down on the corner of the desk.

"Then don't. I won't have him dashing to the rescue everytime something happens."

Tony grinned and pushed his hat back on his head; then he remembered and whipped it off. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, who gives a damn about formality? Just tell those idiots to stop spraying powder on the merchandise. It will take me all day to clean it up."

"They are looking for fingerprints," Tony said mildly.

"I know. I'll never get the damned ink off my hands."

"If you're through yelling, maybe I can ask you some questions. I have a few other things to do this afternoon, little unimportant things like investigating some murders."

"Okay, okay." After a moment Karen added, "I'm sorry, Tony. I appreciate your coming so quickly."

"Oh, listen, I've developed a conditioned reflex. I've seen your name on so many call sheets lately I automatically jump into action. Did you call what's-er-name- the owner?"

"She was out. I left a message for her at the hotel."

"The name of which is…"

"I told the officers."

"Then tell me."

"What are you up to?" Karen asked curiously. "Cheryl said you're Homicide, so this isn't even your case."

"I'm on my lunch hour," Tony said. "What I do in my spare time is none of the Department's business. Now, then, you were about to give me the name of that hotel."

Karen leaned back in her chair. She was recovering from her evil humor; Tony's calm, friendly professionalism was comforting to overstrained nerves.

"I thought of Julie when you asked me if someone had a grudge against me," she admitted. "She was furious when I refused to let her have the clothes for her own shop. I gather you know all about that; you seem to know everything else about me."

"Cheryl talks a lot," Tony said. "Look, Karen, I'm doing this because I want to-okay? Nobody's forcing me. So why don't you relax and let me do it?"

"Well…"

"Here comes one of the boys in blue to ask you what is missing. Talk nice to him."

"I don't know what's missing. The place is so torn up… Oh, damn! Julie is going to blow her stack."

Julie did. It was late afternoon before she telephoned, and it was clear that she had already heard the bad news, for she burst into a scream of vituperation as soon as Karen picked up the telephone. Karen had been prepared to sympathize, but the unreasonable accusations of negligence and worse made her angry; after trying unsuccessfully to get a word in, she finally hung up. Then she closed the shop and went home.

Cheryl administered iced tea and sympathy, and Karen expounded her own theory. "Rob has to be the guilty party. He never showed up, and when I called his number nobody answered. I told Tony, but that man just smiled mysteriously and wouldn't say a thing."

"I could call him," Cheryl began.

"No. And don't call Mark, either. Tell me about your day. I'm sick to death of Julie and her problems. One good thing-I'm through with her. After the things she said to me I don't feel any obligation about staying on."

"You should have told her you quit," Cheryl said loyally.

"I did. Three times. But I don't think she heard me. She'll probably show up here later; don't be polite and leave us alone, I'll need your moral support."

"I'll slug her if she gives you a hard time," Cheryl promised.

"Oh, damn," Karen said, hearing the telephone. "I'll bet that's her now."

It was Mark. He asked to speak to Cheryl, and Karen handed over the phone. Cheryl covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Can I-"

"Oh, sure, go ahead. Tony has probably talked to him already."

She stamped out to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes. Cheryl followed her a few minutes later. "Mark was wondering," she began, "if we'd like to go-"

"He'll have to settle for hamburgers and potato salad." Karen gestured with her paring knife at the pile of vegetables. "And tell him to bring that closemouthed friend of his. Maybe when Tony is off duty and full of food he'll be more communicative."

TONY was perfectly willing to talk. "It's not a secret. You didn't have to bribe me. But I'm glad you did," he added, accepting a second serving of potato salad.

They were sitting around the kitchen table. It was still too hot for an outdoor picnic, and Ruth's formal dining room didn't seem appropriate for hamburgers and the beer Mark had brought. He and Tony were in their shirt sleeves and the latter was very obviously off duty. He paid Karen outrageous compliments on her cooking; when she accused him of looking unusually pleased with himself, he was prompt to admit it.

"I think we've solved the identity of your ghost, Karen. Since he's probably well on his way to parts unknown, you shouldn't have any more trouble."

"Rob?" Karen asked.

"You don't sound surprised."

"I am-and I'm not. I knew he didn't like me, but I can't believe he would be so vicious."

"You're jumping to conclusions," Mark said, tugging absently at a lock of hair. "What makes you think it was Rob?"

"This was found on the floor of the office, where it might have fallen out of someone's pocket, and been kicked into a corner. I persuaded the boys to let me have a copy."

He handed the paper to Karen. Mark reached for her hand and moved it into a position from which he could see too. His fingers tightened over hers, and he muttered something under his breath.

The original had been a group photograph. Karen recognized it immediately. "It's from my college yearbook," she said in a strained voice. "I made the tennis team the first year-by a fluke, really, everybody got sick or broke an ankle or something. That's Anne-I forget her last name… Susan Reeder… and (strange how hard it was for her to pronounce the name)… and Shreve."

"And the hole in the middle is you?" Mark asked. He snatched the paper from her numbed fingers and examined it closely.

"The names are printed underneath," Tony said. "That's how I knew. The face has been obliterated. Slashed with a knife or a pair of scissors."

"How do you suppose Rob got hold of this?" Cheryl asked. Some of the pretty color had faded from her cheeks.

"Julie brought the yearbook in one day," Karen said. She had to clear her throat before she went on. "She was pretending to play 'do you remember?' games; but I think she wanted to rub it in-how much I had changed. She showed it to Rob and-and to other people. He made a few of his cute little cutting remarks… I thought she had taken it home after the joke wore thin."

"She may have. The book wasn't at the shop." Tony retrieved the paper from Mark, who was holding it by the tips of his fingers, his lips curled in disgust. "This is proof of malice-"

"Malice?" Mark's hair stood up in agitated tufts. "This is sick."

Tony looked uncomfortable. "I didn't realize how it would affect you. Guess I've become hardened; some of the things I see make this look like a harmless joke. Sorry, Karen."

"It isn't only the photograph," Karen said. "It's the total accumulation. I feel as if I've been walking blindly along, doing my thing and trying not to get in people's way-assuming I was on solid ground-and all of a sudden I look down and see there is nothing under my feet except a narrow plank over an abyss. And someone is sawing the plank. I've never deliberately hurt anyone…"

The movement Mark made was so slight no one except Karen noticed it; it affected her like a bolt of lightning that cast a sudden garish illumination into dark corners of her mind. She had never thought of her actions as hurting Mark himself, only his pride-his ego. There had been no commitment broken…At least that was what she had believed.

"Sure, I know that," Tony said. "You're a natural victim, that's all."

It was Cheryl, not Karen, who exclaimed in indignant repudiation. Karen was struck speechless by this second burst of enlightenment. She felt as if someone were not only sawing the plank on which she walked, but knocking down all the protective walls she had built up. Was she really a natural victim, the helpless object of random violence, the scapegoat for resentment and hatred she had done nothing to deserve? The idea was humiliating and repellent.

Tony had tried to redeem his error by explaining.

"Most women are passive victim types…" This had only enraged Cheryl more, and they got into a heated argument which Tony ended by snapping, "Nobody would ever accuse you of being passive."

"Leave him alone, Cheryl," Karen ordered.

Cheryl looked at her in surprise, and subsided. Tony let out a martyred sigh. "Thanks, lady. As I was about to say-with the obviously mistaken intention of relieving everybody's mind-the robbery was an inside job. Your friend Rob tried to make it look like a break-in, but it was a clumsy effort that wouldn't fool a baby. Now he's disappeared. One of the other tenants in his building saw him go out last night about midnight. He was carrying a couple of suitcases."

Frowning and unconvinced, Mark continued to tug at his hair. Tony added, "He has a record. Petty larceny, procuring, immoral acts-"

"What kind of immoral acts?" Cheryl asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Uh-you know. The usual."

"Porno films and dirty photographs," Mark said, his tight lips relaxing into a half-smile. "She's of age, Tony, you don't have to be so prim and proper. How about drugs?"

"He used 'em. But we never picked him up for dealing."

"Burglary? Breaking and entering?"

"No."

"Assault? Armed robbery?"

"No. Now look, Mark, I know what you're getting at and I'm here to tell you it doesn't mean a damned thing."

"It's the wrong profile," Mark insisted. "You used the word passive-that's the word for little Robbie and his little misdemeanors. He wouldn't have the guts to break in here or attack Karen."

"You don't know what he would do. That's the trouble with you armchair detectives, you think real life is like the cases you read about, all neat and tidy and tied up with a ribbon."

They glowered at one another. Tony's brows were drawn down until they almost met in the middle of his forehead; Mark's face showed the familiar dark mantling of anger. This wasn't one of their usual friendly arguments; Karen could almost feel the tension between them.

Mark turned his head slightly. His eyes met Karen's for a brief, electric moment before he looked away and made a visible effort to control his temper.

"I'm not trying to tell you your job, Tony, but there are some big gaping holes in your theory. If Rob decided to take off after robbing the shop, why didn't he do a thorough job of robbing it? According to Karen, none of the major items were taken, only odds and ends. He knew how to turn off the alarm; he could have pulled a truck up to the back door and loaded it. Why leave the most valuable pieces?"

"You said it yourself," Karen replied, before Tony could speak. "He's a coward. He was afraid he'd be seen."

"Whose side are you on?" Mark demanded.

"Tony's," Karen said.

"I knew this woman had brains," Tony said, relaxing. "You have a point, Mark, but again you're assuming this guy was behaving rationally. After we've talked with the owner-"

"You're about to have that pleasure," Karen said, as the doorbell set up an angry, persistent clamor. "That sounds like Julie. I thought she'd come here looking for me. Somebody hold on to the dog."

She never knew whether the request was deliberately ignored, or whether Alexander's escape was accidental. He arrived on the scene just in time to turn Julie's angry greeting into a scream of pain. It was Mark who removed the culprit and sent him flying with a whack on his hairless rump.

Mark's appearance halted Julie's outcries. Smiling and brave, she allowed herself to be escorted to the kitchen, and accepted a beer.

"You can't blame me for being upset," she said plaintively. "Karen understands; she knows how I am.

Darling-" She fumbled for Karen's hand and clasped it tightly. "Darling Karen, I'm so relieved you weren't hurt. That was my first thought: Thank God Karen wasn't there, she might have been hurt."

Karen freed her hand. "It's not likely that I would be at work in the middle of the night."

"Oh," Julie murmured. "Was that when it happened?"

"So we assume," Tony answered. "Do you mind answering a few questions, Ms. Kerchak? It's not official procedure, but since we're both here…"

"Do call me Julie." She smiled at him, lips tremulous, lashes quivering. "And please ask any questions you like."

At first Julie refused to believe Rob was the thief. She defended him so vehemently that Karen wondered again whether their relationship was more intimate than she had believed.

Yet Julie's arguments were not those of an infatuated lover. "He might sneak things into his pockets-he's done it before-but he wouldn't risk his job. He's got a soft deal with me and he knows it, lots of perks on the side…"

"Like meeting wealthy women customers," said Mark.

Julie's lids veiled her eyes. "That's not my business. I tell you, Rob will turn up in a few days. He's gone off with one of his women, that's all."

"The locks weren't forced," Tony said. "Who else had keys?"

"Why, no one. Except Karen, of course…" Her indecisive tone and the quick, sidelong look she gave Karen virtually amounted to an accusation.

No one spoke. Cheryl was crimson with anger, but Tony's hand on her shoulder kept her quiet. After a moment Julie threw up her hands. "I'm so upset I don't know what I'm saying. I won't sleep a wink tonight, I just know I won't. I'm afraid to go home. What if someone is there, waiting-"

"I'll take you home if you like," Tony said.

"Oh, would you? That is so sweet of you. I'd appreciate it more than I can say. Good night, all. Karen, I'll see you tomorrow."

Karen cleared her throat. Even after Julie's latest outrage she felt some qualms about what she was planning to do, but Tony's casual comments still rankled. A helpless victim type, was she? Not if she could help it.

"You won't see me tomorrow. I quit, remember?"

"Quit? Oh, but Karen-"

"I quit three times."

"I thought you were joking. You didn't take those things I said seriously, did you? Karen, you know how I am!"

"You also fired me. Right after I quit the first time."

"Oh, Karen." Julie clung to her hands. "You can't leave me in the lurch. You can't abandon me when I need you."

"I'll try to help you out now and then, until you find someone else. But I can't come in tomorrow. I'm busy."

Julie looked as if she were choking on the words she had to hold back. It was Tony's presence that restrained her; taking the arm he had not offered, she drooped and clung her way out of the house.

Cheryl immediately opened the back door. "Place needs airing out. What a bitchy broad! I was afraid for a minute you were going to let her talk you into going back to work."

"I'm not quite as big a sucker as everyone seems to think," Karen said shortly.

"Hey, I didn't-"

"I know. I wasn't referring to you." But even Cheryl had a protective big-sister attitude at times. That could be charming-if one wasn't overly sensitive about one's passivity. Mark did not protest. Instead he said mildly, "She's the kind of friend immortalized in the classic saying about not needing enemies. Has she really been out of town the past week?"

"I have no reason to suppose she was lying," Karen said.

"Right. Well, Tony will find out."

"Is that why he was so gallant about offering to take her home?" Cheryl asked.

"It wasn't because he's wild about her company. She's not his type." Mark spoke abstractedly, as if his mind were on something else.

"Well, if it was her, she'll be too tired to try anything tonight," Cheryl said. "And if it was Rob, he's long gone. Looks as if we can get a good night's sleep, Karen."

"Is that a hint?" Mark asked, without moving.

"No, just an announcement. You two can sit here all night if you want. I'm going to bed."

Mark got to his feet. "What's on the schedule tomorrow?"

"Virginia," Cheryl said with a grin. "Not all of it, just as much of it as we can cover. Why, were you about to make us an offer?"

"Just curious. Drive carefully, hmmm?" He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and nodded casually at Karen. "Good night."

Karen stayed in the kitchen when Cheryl went to the door with Mark. He had made it clear he wasn't interested in her company. Why was he so determined to deny Tony's theory? Tony was the professional; and Tony felt sure the trouble was over. Rob and/or Julie were certainly the most likely suspects. It was almost as if Mark wanted her to be afraid.

OCCOQUAN, the town in Prince William County Cheryl had mentioned, was charming-small in size, fronting directly on the river, with a disproportionate number of craft and antique shops. According to Cheryl, its other advantages included restaurants with liquor licenses and lots of salads on the menu.

"That's important," she insisted, when Karen laughed at her. "I went antiquing a couple of times with some of those high-class Washington women-friends of Mark's, being nice to his poor relation-and I'm telling you, they consider the day a dead loss if they can't get their booze at lunchtime."

However, the only available building had no living quarters attached and the structure was in poor repair. They left their names with the realtor and inspected a few other properties in nearby towns before heading northward, following a route Cheryl had mapped out.

Shortly before noon they were in Leesburg, which Karen remembered as a quiet country town with a number of fine eighteenth-century houses. It also had several antique shops and restaurants that met Cheryl's specifications. However, Cheryl was pessimistic about their chance of finding anything in their price range.

"Loudon County is getting fashionable, which means expensive. There's a new shopping mall in Leesburg, one of those restoration projects like Harborplace and Faquier Square; that will drive prices up too."

They found one house that tempted both of them. Though the original structure was much older, turn-of-the-century additions had turned it into a late-Victorian gem with a wide veranda supported by white pillars and a profusion of gingerbread trim. The third floor had been converted into a separate suite with its own kitchen and bath, and there were two other bedrooms in an annex that overlooked a sunny, tree-shaded yard. The moment Karen saw the twin drawing rooms, one on either side of a wide, handsome hall, she knew they were the perfect ambiance for her gowns and linens. They were so like the mental image she had formed that she had an eerie sense of deja vu.

The owner didn't think he wanted to rent. He had not quite made up his mind, but he was in a hurry to sell and would give them a price they couldn't refuse.

"We should have known it was just a come-on," Cheryl said disgustedly, as they drove away from the realtor's office. "These people will do anything and say anything to get you into a house. They think you'll fall in love with it and forget it doesn't meet any of your specifications."

"It almost worked, didn't it?" Karen, in the passenger's seat, twisted around for a last look as they passed the house. Wicker furniture and ferns on the front porch, she thought; in fine weather we could have dressed-up dummies sitting in the chairs, like ladies having tea.

Dressed-up dummies reminded her of her plundered wardrobe and the case Tony had mentioned. It was not a pleasant thought. At least they had passed a quiet night, with not so much as a growl from Alexander to alarm them. It must have been Rob, she thought. I wonder where he is now.

Cheryl glanced wistfully around as they drove through the quiet streets toward the highway. "It's a pretty town. I bet the schools are good, too."

"Maybe we could afford to buy."

"No, we couldn't." Cheryl gave her an affectionate smile. "I was just dreaming out loud. Doesn't cost anything to dream. What do you say we head south on Route 15? Then we can take 50 back to the Beltway."

Karen glanced at the map. "I hope you aren't dreaming about finding a place in Middleburg. Even in my day it was a haven for the horsy rich."

"It's even more so now. But it can't do any harm to look. Maybe one of the nearby towns will have something."

Almost the first thing they saw in Middleburg was a little shop specializing in vintage clothing. The owner was not overly gracious; either she spotted them as prospective competitors or she was unimpressed by their rumpled appearance.

"You shouldn't have asked her about her overhead," Karen said, as they walked along the street toward a realtor's office. "That was a dead giveaway."

"Well, we have to find out about those things. Most of the other merchants I've talked to have been nice and helpful."

The realtor was nice but not very helpful. As they had suspected, rentals in the center of town were beyond their means, and the few properties she had listed in outlying areas had other disadvantages. They left the office with a handful of Xeroxed papers to add to the other listings they had collected.

"I've had it," Karen announced, as they got back into the car. "Let's quit for the day."

"What do you say we go home by back roads? We can avoid some of the highway traffic and scout out the area."

"You're driving." Karen settled back. "Lord, it's hot. Turn that air-conditioning up, will you?"

The countryside steamed under a hazy sun. From the cool comfort of the car it looked very attractive, the lush greenery of trees and pasture forming a perfect setting for the white-pillared and soft red brick facades of handsome old houses. Cheryl drove easily and competently, undisturbed by the slow-moving farm vehicles that sometimes slowed their pace to a crawl. Fields of ripe hay glowed like golden tapestries; the corn was tassled and breast-high, and beyond white-painted fences horses grazed in the green meadows, their coats of black and russet shining in the sunlight.

"What a way to live," Cheryl said, glancing at a mansion high on a knoll beside the road.

"If you don't mind living with security guards and Dobermans," Karen said, indicating the closed gates and the two fierce dogs behind them.

Cheryl flicked on the turn signal. "I'm going to pull into the next driveway and let that Cadillac pass. It's been driving up my tailpipe for the last couple of miles, and I don't want to take any chances with your uncle's car."

As she suited the action to the words, the following car suddenly picked up speed and shot past, narrowly missing their rear bumper. Cheryl swore, and Karen exclaimed, "That looked like Miriam Montgomery."

"That friend of yours who bought the flapper dresses? She's a lousy driver."

"She's also no friend of mine. Just an acquaintance and, I hope, a good customer. She said she lived in Middleburg."

"Then I won't tell her she's a lousy driver. I'm going to turn and go back to the main road. I don't have the faintest idea where we are."

THEY got home in the late afternoon, after stopping at the cleaner's.

"Let's not entertain this evening," Cheryl said, as Karen opened the gate. "We really do have lots to do."

"I had planned to invite the President for drinks, but since you insist…"

"Karen-Mrs. Nevitt!"

Karen turned to see the next-door neighbor in his doorway. He came trotting fussily toward them, the sun glaring on his bald head and winking off his glasses.

"Hello, Mr. DeVoto." Karen introduced Cheryl, adding, "Mrs. Reichardt is staying with me."

"Ah, I see. I am glad to know that. I had wondered who she might be." He turned his bespectacled gaze on Cheryl and explained seriously, "We watch out for one another here, Mrs. Reichardt. We are concerned citizens. In times such as these-the old values crumbling-crime rampant-moral and ethical standards deteriorating-and a young lady alone… You follow me, I am sure. I was only too happy to assure her aunt and uncle I would keep my eyes open."

Remembering Pat's reference to his neighbor as a fussy, prurient old fuss-budget, Karen was hard-pressed not to laugh.

"It's very kind of you," she said. "How is Mrs. DeVoto?"

"Keeping her spirits up, as always." He turned again to Cheryl. "My wife is bedridden, I am sorry to say. But always cheerful, always interested in the world around her. As a matter of fact, it is she whom you must thank for observing the incident I am about to relate to you. She insisted I tell you about it as soon as you returned home. She takes a great interest in young people. Karen is a particular favorite of hers."

Since Karen had seen Mrs. DeVoto twice in the past ten years, she took the statement with a grain of salt, but offered the apology that was obviously demanded. "I've been meaning to call on her, but I have been awfully busy. I work, you know."

"What incident?" Cheryl asked.

"A very peculiar-looking person came to your house today. Mrs. DeVoto happened to be at the front window. She is a keen student of human nature and enjoys watching people pass along the street…"

Mr. DeVoto was finally persuaded to come to the point. The very peculiar person had been a woman-"an elderly female, shabbily dressed; one of the sort they call street people, I believe, for she carried a number of parcels."

After knocking several times she had tried the front door, banging on it and rattling the knob. She had then gone to the back and banged on that door. When Mr. DeVoto spoke to her from his garden-"my wife had called me to the window, and of course I felt obliged to see what the woman was doing"-she had said something rude and gone away.

"Perhaps I should have called the police," he finished. "But since I am not acquainted with all your friends…"

"I'm glad you didn't," Karen said. "I think I know who it was. She's perfectly harmless, but a trifle eccentric. We mustn't keep you standing out in the heat, Mr. DeVoto. I do appreciate your concern."

Mr. DeVoto was not that easy to dismiss, but after it had become apparent that he had learned all he was going to learn, he retreated into his house to pass the information on to his wife.

"That's a relief," Karen said, closing the door behind them. "I was afraid he was going to lecture me about hanging laundry all over the garden."

"I am not relieved," Cheryl announced. "Hi, Alexander, did you miss us? I don't like the idea of that crazy old lady hanging around here."

"What's the harm? She can't get in. Mr. DeVoto and his wife are terrible busybodies, but I suppose they don't have much else to do, poor things. Oh, all right, Alexander, it's early, but I guess you may as well have your supper, you'll go on bugging me until you get it. I can hardly wait to get into the shower!"

"Go ahead, I'll feed Alexander."

When Cheryl came upstairs Karen was in her room, hair dryer in hand. "What are you doing?" Cheryl asked. Instead of applying the dryer to her damp hair, Karen passed it carefully over a dress spread across the bed.

"Killing mildew. This is satin, it can't be washed; according to that book, the mold can be dried, and then brushed or vacuumed off."

"New book?" Cheryl picked it up and began leafing through the pages.

"I sent away for it. It came in the mail today."

"Hmm. Well, I know you're the intellectual half of the partnership, but I think this stuff is a waste of time. These people are so pompous! Listen to this: 'Historical costumes should never be worn for any occasion.' If we followed that rule we'd never sell anything."

"Most of the books are written for museum curators and conservators," Karen said. "But you know…" Absently she turned the dryer onto her head and reached for a brush. "I understand how they feel. It's true that the great majority of the clothes we'll be handling won't be unique or museum quality, but when I think of those dresses of Mrs. Mac's I get a pang of conscience. They're real works of art, one of a kind. And I'm selling them to rich idiots with no appreciation of their beauty who will ruin them in one wearing and throw them away."

"If it were my dress, I'd want someone to wear it- and look pretty, and have fun in it," Cheryl said. "I wouldn't want it to be stuck up in a case in some museum."

"That's because you are a hopeless romantic," Karen said, smiling. "My romantic side agrees with you. I wouldn't mind so much if they were going to someone who appreciated them. Miriam doesn't care about anything except how much they cost."

"If you really feel that bad about it-"

"Don't suggest we keep them. We simply can't afford to. Maybe someday, when we're rich and successful, I can start collecting for myself. But right now we need every cent we can get our hands on."

"I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, that maybe we could sell them to collectors. Like museums, for instance."

Karen stopped brushing; her hair stood up in a wild halo, like Frankenstein's bride. "I don't know why I didn't think of that. We could try, at any rate. The Costume Institute in New York has a terrific collection of designer dresses."

"There's a list of museums in one of your books. I'll copy it and we can write letters, or call."

"You're sensational." Karen beamed at her.

"Oh, hey, that's my job, being sensational. I'm also great at making lists, which is what I'm going to do now. I wanted to finish listing the merchandise we have."

She went into the other room, but came back after only a few minutes. "Karen?"

"I don't think this is working," Karen muttered, moving the dryer slowly back and forth over the dress. "Maybe it takes longer… What?"

"Did you move any of the clothes in your aunt's wardrobe just now?"

"No, I haven't even been in that room. What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure anything is wrong. But I could swear things have been moved. The blue peignoir was on the end last night. Now it's not."

Karen followed her into the bedroom. "I can't see anything different," she said, after a brief inspection.

"Maybe I'm imagining things."

"It's the baneful influence of Mrs. Grossmuller," Karen said with a laugh. "She couldn't have gotten into the house, Cheryl."

"I guess not."

"Is anything missing?"

"How would I know? That's why I want to finish that inventory. We can't even get insurance without it. Come and give me a hand when you've finished fooling around with your moldy satin."

Karen didn't resent her brusque tone; she could tell Cheryl was still brooding about Mrs. Grossmuller. Really, Cheryl seemed to be developing a complex about the old woman. To Karen, Mrs. Grossmuller was more pathetic than frightening and more pitiful than funny. Perhaps it was because she could understand better than Cheryl the years of desperation that had driven Mrs. Grossmuller over the edge. If she had gone on living with Jack, resenting every move he made and every word he said, would she have ended up, forty years from now, with a similar idee fixe? Not the same delusion necessarily, but one that reflected the same long-suppressed anger and indignation? Mrs. Grossmuller probably hadn't killed Henry; but oh, how often she must have wanted to!

At least divorce was a more acceptable option today. Not for Mrs. Grossmuller; in her time, decent middle-class women didn't get divorced. Socially it was more acceptable to murder an infuriating spouse-assuming you got away with it-than to leave him. Easier for me, Karen thought absently. All I had to do was get fat and sloppy…

Her mouth dropped open as the truth dawned- the answer to a question the psychologist had asked weeks ago. That was why she had let herself go. She didn't have the guts to come right out and tell Jack she wanted to leave him; she didn't even have the courage to admit it to herself. So she had pushed him into taking the fatal step, by turning herself into a careless, unattractive frump.

Was she succumbing to the weakness Cheryl had accused her of, blaming herself for everything that happened to her? No; there was a difference between feeling guilty and accepting responsibility. She had been silly and cowardly, but that didn't absolve Jack of his share of blame.

The telephone rang, interrupting her train of thought. She was not sorry to have it halted; her new insight would have to be considered and absorbed before she could really accept it.

The call did nothing to calm her. When she joined Cheryl a short time later, it was Cheryl's turn to ask, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Karen forced a smile. "That was Shreve."

"Oh. What did she want?"

"That's a good question. She was so busy dropping little hints and innuendoes I couldn't figure out what the hell she was driving at. Finally I just said, 'Do you want to buy something or don't you?' and she admitted she did."

"Good, another big sale," Cheryl said. She replaced a white nightgown and took out another garment. "Where did you get this?"

Karen frowned. "It's one of Ruth's, I think. Yes, it's her size."

"Blue wool suit, size 6, Garfinckel's label," Cheryl muttered, writing. "Which of the dresses are you going to sell that-Mrs. Givens?"

"I don't know. She'll want one of Mrs. Mac's gowns, I suppose. Keeping up with the Joneses-or, in this case, her dear friend Miriam. But I'm not going to let her have anything until I'm certain the museums aren't interested."

"Makes sense," Cheryl murmured, her head bent over the ledger.

It was easy to tell when Cheryl was embarrassed or uncomfortable. Karen knew why her face was averted, her comments brief and stiff. Karen didn't regret the way she had answered back when Shreve deliberately baited her in front of other people, but talking about her behind her back was a form of spitefulness she was determined to avoid. She didn't want Cheryl to get the wrong idea about her reasons for disliking Shreve.

She went on, in a voice she attempted to keep cool and detached, "I told her my best dresses were at the cleaners'. It's true, actually."

"Yes. I forgot to tell you, he didn't have the other things ready. Try again tomorrow, he said. But he wasn't very apologetic; acted like he was doing us a favor by working on them."

"By his lights he is. He's the 'in' cleaner for the smart set. I don't intend to use him except for really good clothes, but I don't want to take a chance on some incompetent ruining a valuable item."

"Is this one of your aunt's?" Cheryl held up a pink crepe afternoon dress. She was determined to stick to business, and Karen was content to go along with her. She didn't want to talk about Shreve, or think about her, any more than she had to.

"Yes. I think that finishes Ruth's things. Now this one-"

They worked steadily for several hours, stopping only long enough to snatch a hasty meal. They made good progress, although the telephone seemed to ring incessantly-first Mark, inquiring whether they had been burglarized lately and wanting to know what Cheryl had done with his black socks; then a realtor from Gaithersburg, with a new listing she wanted to show them; then Julie, tearful and reproachful and apologetic. They were in the kitchen looking over the list of properties they had inspected thus far when Julie's call came; and when Cheryl realized who was calling she didn't pretend not to listen. Karen had barely hung up when she burst out, "Honest, Karen, you haven't got the gumption of a rabbit. After all that woman did to you, and now you tell her you'll go back to work!"

"I didn't tell her anything of the sort-just that I'd give her a hand now and then, whenever it didn't conflict with my own schedule. I'll have to go back at least once, to pick up my paycheck."

"Hmph," said Cheryl, only partially appeased. "Your big fat check. Minimum wage, I believe you said?"

"Every little bit helps."

"Well… I guess if you weren't a sucker at heart I wouldn't want to be your partner."

"You put things so nicely. Now where were we?"

The telephone rang again. "I'm going to take the damned thing off the hook," Karen said irritably. "Hello? Oh. Hello, Tony. Cheryl is right here if you… Oh."

Her altered expression and tone brought a faint smile to Cheryl's face. She gathered up the papers and retreated into the dining room, carefully closing the door behind her.

This demonstration of tact only made Karen more self-conscious. "No, I can't tonight. Oh, I understand, I know you can't always tell in advance when… It isn't that. I just… Tomorrow night? I guess so. All right. Yes."

After she had hung up she went to the dining room door and threw it open, in time to see Cheryl hastily thrust one piece of paper into the pile.

"What was the object of that?" she demanded.

"I thought a little privacy-"

"Oh, crap," Karen said. Cheryl's eyes opened wide. Karen went on, "You knew what he was going to ask me. You put him up to it, didn't you? Poor Karen, she hasn't had an honest-to-God date in ten years, why don't you give the girl a break? I don't want you, so-"

"Just a goddamn minute," Cheryl exclaimed. She bounded up from her chair, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. "That's a lousy thing to say!"

"It's the truth, isn't it? You're not interested, so you kindly hand over-"

"Hand over? Tony Cardoza? You think I can give him away like I would a-a raw oyster? Tony?"

Her voice rose in outrage, ending in an absurd coloratura squeak. Alexander jumped up, barking insanely. Cheryl's lips twitched. "Hey," she gasped. "Look at us. We're having our first fight. And over Tony Cardoza."

Karen found it was impossible to hold on to her indignation. They fell into one another's arms, shaking with laughter.

"I'm sorry," Karen said after a while. "I don't know what got into me."

"It's more a question of getting something out of you," Cheryl said profoundly. "That awful inferiority complex. I mean, just look at the two of us. What man would pick a short, fuzzy-brained woman with a fat tush when he could have you?"

"I suspect Tony Cardoza might," Karen said soberly. "Cheryl-"

"Look, don't push, okay? I'm glad we had our fight, we were being so damned sweet to each other it wasn't natural, but one fight per day is enough."

"More than enough. Let's get back to work. What's that paper you were trying to hide?"

Since one corner was sticking out of the pile, she found it without difficulty, despite Cheryl's laughing attempt to prevent her. As she had suspected, it was the listing of the house in Leesburg.

"I was just looking at it," Cheryl explained. "No harm in looking."

"Or in dreaming. I wish we could, Cheryl. I like it too."

"Maybe he'll decide to rent after all. We could make him an offer."

"Why not?"

This time it was not the telephone but the doorbell that interrupted. Karen swore-Cheryl's uninhibited vocal habits were having a decided effect on her own-and Cheryl said, "If it's that Julie, don't let her in."

"I'm not letting anybody in," Karen said, going to the door.

Mindful of Alexander, among other matters, she left the chain in place when she opened it. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating. A second look told her her eyes were not deceiving her. The wavy, silver-gray hair, the aristocratic features, even the faint frown that was his normal expression when he looked at her…

"Jack?" she whispered.

"Karen? Is that you? What the devil are you doing? Open the door."

"I don't open doors without looking," Karen said. "I was mugged the other night, if you remember."

"Oh, yes. Well, I'm not going to mug anyone. Let me in."

"When did you get to Washington?"

"I arrived this afternoon. I have my ticket to prove it, so don't try accusing me of anything. I came to talk to you, in the hope that we can cut through some of the legal red tape… For God's sake, Karen, are you going to let me in or do you want everyone in the neighborhood to learn about our private affairs?"

"You really want to come in?"

"No, I'd prefer to stand here and shout at you through the crack," said her husband, with heavy sarcasm.

"Okay," Karen said. She opened the door and stepped back.

After Cheryl had detached Alexander and carried him off to the kitchen, Karen followed Jack into the parlor.

He sat down and fixed her with the icy stare that had so often reduced her to sick silence.

"I hope that childish demonstration made you feel better."

"Yes, it did," Karen admitted. "What do you want, Jack?"

He opened his briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers. Placing them on the coffee table, he studied her curiously. "You look different. I can't quite decide how… Have you lost weight?"

"Yes. I'm rather busy, so please get to the point."

"I brought these papers for you to sign. Since you chose not to reply to the letters from my lawyer-" He broke off, staring pointedly at the doorway, and Karen turned to see Cheryl hovering, not certain whether she was wanted or not.

"Come in," she said.

"Really, Karen, this is between us," Jack protested.

"I want her here," Karen said. "She's my-er- accountant."

She had planned to say "lawyer," but thought that was putting an unfair burden on Cheryl's powers of dissimulation. Jack's eyebrows lifted in a well-remembered and thoroughly hated expression, as he contemplated Cheryl's cotton dress and her bare feet. Cheryl smiled broadly and sat down, crossing her legs in such a way that the dusty sole of one foot was visible.

"Hi," she said. "Go right ahead, don't mind me."

"Accountant," Jack repeated. After considering the options for a few seconds, he selected charm. After all, he was supposed to be irresistible to women.

"I'm delighted Karen has found someone to advise her on business matters," he said in a confidential tone. "You can tell her what a mistake it would be to let personal grievances blind her to her real interests. The sooner we settle these unpleasant but necessary financial questions, the better it will be for both of us. Lawyers merely exacerbate the bitterness in a divorce. The longer they drag things out, the more money they make-and the less there is left for the parties themselves."

"I s'pose that's true," said Cheryl, widening her eyes.

"So if you'll just sign here, and here." Jack offered Karen his pen.

Karen took it. A faint shadow of anxiety crossed Cheryl's face, but she didn't move or speak.

Karen didn't know what to do. Conflicting emotions came and went with such bewildering rapidity she was unable to focus on any one.

She opened her fingers and let the pen fall to the floor.

"You have to be out of your mind," she said. "Did you really believe you could con me into doing something that stupid?"

"Now see here," Jack began angrily.

"Excuse me." Karen rose. "There's someone at the door."

As she left the room she heard Cheryl say earnestly, "You see how she is, mister. I just can't get her to do a thing. No sense in you hanging around, is there? Hey, Karen, maybe that's your friend, that nice policeman."

Karen rather hoped it was. She didn't bother putting up the chain; hearing Jack's footsteps behind her, quick and heavy with anger, she flung the door wide.

The two men confronted one another as she involuntarily stepped aside. Mark was the first to speak. "Just leaving, were you? Don't let me stand in your way."

For a moment Karen thought Jack was going to swing the briefcase he carried in a futile, spiteful blow; but he thought better of it. Mark was coatless, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow; the tendons in his forearms twitched as he flexed his hands.

Jack edged past him without speaking. Once safely on the sidewalk he turned; before he could say anything, Mark had pushed Karen out of the way and closed the door.

"I'm not sure I could control myself if he started sounding off," he explained apologetically. "My constituents would hate it if I were arrested for assault and featured prominently in the evening news-"

"I'm not sure I can control myself," Karen said. She folded her arms. "What are you doing here?"

"I just happened to be… No, I guess you won't buy that. So, all right, I was parked down the street. I saw him go in; when he didn't come back out, I started to worry."

"And who licensed you to worry about me?"

"Uh-Karen-" said Cheryl, from the door of the parlor.

"Keep out of this," said Karen. "I don't blame you, Mark, for taking precautions on Cheryl's account. That's between the two of you. But if you think you can come waltzing in here whenever some situation arises that you believe I can't handle… I didn't need you. I had everything under control."

"She really did, Mark," said Cheryl. "You should have seen her. She was-"

"Keep out of this," said Mark. Cheryl threw up her hands and vanished. "Okay, you didn't need me," Mark went on. "Fine. Great. I humbly apologize."

"Don't you see, you only made matters worse! He's already been abusive and insulting, now he's going to think-"

"I get the point," Mark interrupted. "Don't worry, I'll stay out of his way from now on. I don't want to make matters more difficult for you. Good night, Karen."

The door slammed as she stood openmouthed, her hand half-extended-too late to stop him.

He had misunderstood. Small wonder; she hadn't made it clear that she was primarily concerned about the verbal vitriol Jack could throw at him. His constituents wouldn't like to hear on the evening news that their congressman had been arrested for assault? They wouldn't be too happy about the insinuations Jack was capable of feeding the press either. He could play the injured, betrayed husband to perfection. Those who lived "inside the Beltway," as Washington was sometimes designated, were cynically casual about sexual misconduct; the small-town Midwest was not.

Karen reached for the doorknob. She didn't want Mark or anyone else rushing to her rescue all the time. Affectionate concern could be as destructive of independence as Jack's domineering contempt had been. She had to learn to handle her own problems. But she might have put it more gracefully, and expressed her appreciation for his intentions, if not his actions. An impractical, romantic gesture, and wholly typical of Mark-not the cool, calculating politician he had become, but the quixotic boy she remembered. He couldn't possibly mount guard over them every night, he had to sleep sometime! He was probably out there now, sitting in his car and sweltering in the summer heat. He wouldn't go off in a huff, however badly she treated him. She knew she would toss and turn half the night, in a turmoil of self-reproach, if she didn't set things right.

It was very dark outside. She stood uncertainly at the gate, looking up and down the lines of parked cars. Then she saw him, across the street-only a shadow moving, but the glimmer of his light shirt and the very way he moved made her certain. She called out and started after him. It was hard to find a way between the cars. Many were parked almost bumper-to-bumper. Half-running, she passed out of shadow into the patch of yellow cast by a streetlight, and went back into shadow before she found a way to cross the street.

She never actually saw the car. Without headlights it was only a shape of greater darkness, suddenly growing larger. She heard it, though-a squeal of tires, the roar of abrupt acceleration. Midway across the street, which was narrowed to a single lane by vehicles on either side, she wasted several vital seconds trying to decide whether to retreat or go forward. A voice shouted; then, as the car hung over her like a moving cliff face, she was struck and flung back. She felt his arms close bruisingly around her body; pain stabbed her thighs as she was squeezed and thrust into a space too small to admit her, between the close-parked vehicles. A rush of hot air fanned her face and lifted her hair.

Then there was nothing but the rapidly fading sound of the engine and the crumpled shape at her feet. It took her a while to extricate herself from the cramped space where she was pinned by metal and hard plastic. As she crouched beside him, fumbling with numbed, frantic fingers in the darkness, she felt the sticky wetness of blood on her hands and heard Cheryl screaming her name.

"GET away from me." None too gently, Mark pushed his sister aside. "I'm not going to the Hill tomorrow swathed in bandages. It's just a scratch."

"Suit yourself," Cheryl said. "It's your face. What's left of it."

Her pallor belied her sharp tone. Suddenly she sat down hard, her legs folded under her. "My God. I've never been so scared in my life. Hearing those tires squeal, then going down and finding the door wide open, and not a sign of either of you…" She covered her face with her hands.

Karen wanted to reach out to comfort her, but she couldn't seem to move. The air in the room felt abnormally cold; she had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Calm down," Mark said. "Nobody is hurt. I knocked myself out for a second when I fell, and scraped some skin off my face. That's all. It could have been worse."

It would have been worse if you hadn't thrown yourself in the path of the car. The words formed in Karen's mind but some substance filled her throat and blocked their utterance. Cheryl took her hands from her face. She was still pale, but she had herself under control.

"Drunk driver?" she suggested.

"Could be." Mark started to shrug, winced, and changed his mind. He had fallen heavily; he'd have bruises and sore muscles next day.

"His headlights weren't on," Karen said.

The others stared at her in surprise, as if a table or a rock had spoken. She had not uttered a word since Cheryl found them-Karen sitting stupefied on the pavement, Mark trying to pull her to her feet.

"It could have been Jack," Karen said.

"It could have been anybody. I didn't get a good look at the car. All I know is it was light in color-white or tan or pale blue-and good-sized. Maybe it looked bigger than it was," Mark added with a faint smile.

"It could have been Rob," Karen said. She sounded like a parrot, even to herself.

"I thought of that," Mark said. He swung his feet off the couch and sat up, looking quite himself except for the scraped, raw patches on his forehead and cheek. "This was brutally direct, though, not the same style as the other incidents. It's almost as if…" He stopped and looked intently at Karen. "If I weren't afraid of being slapped down for butting into someone else's business, I'd suggest you go to bed. Since I am afraid of getting slapped down, I suggest I go to bed."

He levered himself carefully to his feet. Hands still folded in her lap, Karen said, "Are you going back out there to sit in your car?" Mark made a movement as if to deny the implicit accusation; before he could speak, Karen went on, "Because if that's what you are planning to do, you may as well sleep here. Cheryl, I'll leave him to you; try to talk some sense into him. I'm going to make up the bed in the guest room."

As she left the room she heard Mark say, "I'll stay on one condition. If you call Tony Cardoza and tell him to rush over because baby brother has been damaged, I'll tear you limb from limb."

Karen did not hear Cheryl's reply. She got to the top of the stairs before she broke down. It wasn't a serious collapse, only a fit of trembling and a few hard, hot tears. Then she heard them in the hall below, and hurried to find sheets in the linen closet.

Later, after the house was quiet and she lay staring into the darkness, it was easier to come to grips with the truth she had denied so long. She was still in love with him; had never really stopped loving him. If spite had been Jack's reason for asking her to marry him, her motive for accepting him had been no less contemptible. Mark had never told her he loved her, never asked for a deeper commitment. Perhaps he never would have asked. But that was no reason to fall into the arms of the first man who offered her the conventional safety of marriage, who more or less demanded her acquiescence as something to which he was entitled.

Mark had saved her life, risking his own. He would have done the same for a stray dog or cat. But that did not lessen the value of what he had done.

THE hot new listing in Gaithersburg was in a shopping mall, a fact the realtor had not bothered to mention.

"I told her, no malls," Cheryl sputtered. "That's not the type of clientele we're looking for. Besides, the rents are too high, and the so-and-sos want a percentage of the gross, can you imagine such nerve?"

They were having coffee at a fast-food restaurant while they discussed their next move. Cheryl's eyes were heavy, and even her curls had lost their usual bounce.

They had not talked about the previous night. Karen had overslept; when she came downstairs, Mark had already left and Cheryl was eating breakfast. Karen had had to rush in order to avoid being late for their appointment.

"What time did you finally get to sleep?" she asked.

"Late. That damned brother of mine slept like a baby," Cheryl added bitterly. "Did you hear him snoring?"

"I closed my door."

"I left mine open so I could tend to the sufferer if he needed me. He was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, and he never stirred." A ghost of her old dimple showed at the corner of her mouth, and she added, "I was tempted to go in there and give him a kick, along about three a.m., but my better nature prevailed, as they say."

"Then he was all right this morning?" Karen concentrated on adding sugar to her coffee.

"Oh, sure. He looked like he'd been in a fight, though. Black eye and everything. I asked him if he was going to tell people he ran into a door and he said, yes, he was, because that's what hit him. A car door."

"I'm glad you can both laugh about it," Karen said.

"What else can you do? Life is full of narrow escapes. Some drunk-"

"I don't believe that, and neither do you."

"What do you believe?"

Karen shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me to learn it was Jack driving that car. He hadn't been gone but a few minutes. If he happened to see me crossing the street he might have yielded to a sudden impulse-not meaning to hurt me, just scare me."

"He hates you, all right," Cheryl said soberly. "You should have seen his face after you walked out on him."

"I'm not afraid of him. Not physically, at any rate. He's too cautious to take direct action. But he can do a lot of damage in other ways… Oh, damn it, Cheryl, I wish you hadn't been exposed to that-and so many other horrible things."

"I enjoyed that part of it," Cheryl said with a grin. "Watching you slap him down-that was wonderful. It wasn't worry that kept me awake, actually, it was that damned book. I started reading it and I couldn't stop. Then I was afraid to turn off the light."

"Georgetown ghosts?" Karen smiled, accepting the change of subject.

"And murders. I don't know which was worse. There was one awful story about some house that's haunted by a girl who was killed by her own father during some long-ago war, because she wanted to elope with a dashing captain from the wrong side. When a girl the same age moves into that house she is possessed by the ghost and tries to murder her father!"

Cheryl's eyes were round as pennies. "Bah, humbug," Karen said. "Sounds like a novel I read once. But I wouldn't blame the owner of the house for wanting to sue the author. Such a story wouldn't improve his chances of selling, especially to a family with a young daughter. Some people," she added cuttingly, "are hopelessly superstitious."

"It's the way the book is written," Cheryl said sheepishly. "Half serious and half kidding, like a gossip column. Then there was another one, about-"

"For heaven's sake, Cheryl!"

"… about a father and mother getting stabbed to death on the day of their daughter's graduation. Stabbed a dozen times-just cut to pieces. Now that really happened. It was in the newspapers. And they never found the homicidal maniac that did it-"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to throw this coffee at you," Karen threatened. "I'm surprised you didn't wake me up screaming about witches at the window."

"Mrs. Grossmuller drives a big car," Cheryl said. "A Mercedes."

"A dark-blue Mercedes. That's enough of that. Where are we going next?" She pushed her coffee cup aside and unfolded the map.

Their search had been simplified by their decision to concentrate on areas that already had a number of antique and craft shops. One place in Bethesda, just off a main commuter route, boasted a small antiques mall that offered possibilities. A number of dealers shared the space, each with his own cubicle. There was space available, and the rent was within their means. They debated the pros and cons as they ate lunch at one of the many restaurants in the area-another positive point, as Cheryl reminded Karen.

"Going into a previously established place is a kind of short cut," she added. "People are already in the habit of shopping there."

"The space is awfully small, though. And it definitely lacks pizzazz-those awful cardboard dividers."

"The space limitation is a negative, I admit. We're going to have to sell other things, you know, not just clothes. What they call 'alternative selling areas.'"

"Like accessories-fans, shoes, shawls?"

"Jewelry, too. But I think we'll need more than that."

"Textiles and linens," Karen mused. "Laces and ribbons, buttons…"

"Boxes. Hat boxes, jewel boxes, button boxes…"

"Books on costume. Prints from Godey's Lady's Book, frames…"

"We definitely need more space," Cheryl said. "Let's go to Kensington."

Kensington also had a concentration of antique shops, with several malls like the one they had seen in Bethesda. Unlike the latter, which was in a purely commercial area, the Kensington center was surrounded by shady side streets and beautiful turn-of-the-century houses. The realtor they consulted was pleasant and helpful; they left with another handful of possibilities, but without a definite decision.

"We're going to have to settle on something soon," Karen said. "We could go on looking for the perfect place for months. Suppose we set ourselves a deadline. Two weeks?"

"Fine by me." It was Karen's turn to drive; Cheryl slid down and rested her head against the back of the seat. "I'm enjoying this, though. It seems impossible that we've done so much in only a few days."

"Especially considering the distractions. Maybe they are finished. Maybe that was a drunk driver last night."

Cheryl sat up and knocked on the dashboard.

"That's plastic," Karen said.

"It's the thought that counts," said Cheryl.

Cheryl insisted on approaching the house from an oblique angle, but there was no one squatting on the doorstep and Mr. DeVoto did not emerge to tell them about peculiar visitors.

"What time is Tony picking you up?" Cheryl asked casually.

"He said about six. Are you sure you don't mind-"

"Staying alone?" Cheryl deliberately misunderstood. "My dear, I won't be alone. Alexander will keep me company. Just be sure you're home by midnight, dearie, and don't let him take any liberties."

"I'm not so sure about that," Karen said. "He strikes me as the type who would take very nice liberties."

"Then let him take all he wants."

Tony never got the chance. He called shortly after six to tell Karen he couldn't make it; he was working late. Rob's body had been found in a wooded area in Virginia. He had been dead for almost two days.