Houses of Stone (34 page)

Picnic tables and chairs had been set up in the shade of the trees near
the barn. All the seats were occupied, however, so Karen leaned against a tree. Cameron stood facing her; she could tell from his expression that he wasn't looking forward to the conversation.

"I heard about your . . . accident last evening," he began.

"From whom?"

"Dr. Meyer. He didn't volunteer the information; I met him when I arrived today and asked what had happened to him." Cameron hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain how to phrase his next statement. "He doesn't believe it was an accident."

"He doesn't?"

"Is that all you have to say?" Cameron's cheeks darkened. "You might have been killed."

"Oh, I doubt it." Karen folded her arms and tried to look unconcerned. "It was some kid, driving too fast and losing control. The near miss probably scared him as much as it did me."

"Dr. Meyer thought not. He pointed someone out to me—a woman named Dorothy Angelo—"

"Dorothea." Karen laughed, and saw the flush on his cheeks deepen. She wasn't sure why he was so angry, but she was rather enjoying the spectacle of Cameron the imperturbable about to lose his temper. "She's a little crazy, but she wouldn't do anything so stupid. Bill is just being melodramatic. And overprotective."

"I see." After a moment he said, in a voice as cool as hers had been, "In that case I won't belabor the point. I wanted to assure you, as I assured Dr. Meyer, that Ms. Angelo has not approached me. I never saw her before today."

"I appreciate your telling me," Karen said formally. She turned away. "I'd better get back now; Peggy buys the most extraordinary things if I'm not there to restrain her."

Cameron followed her in silence.

Turning the corner of the barn, Karen suddenly found herself again face-to-face with her landlady. This time the encounter was even more direct; they would have run into one another if Mrs. Fowler had not fallen back, with a shriek and a look of such horror, one might have supposed she had come in contact with a leper. Her abrupt movement set off a chain reaction; she bumped into the stomach of the Colonel, who was following on her heels, his arms loaded with miscellaneous
objects—presumably her purchases as well as his own, since Mrs. Fowler's hands were empty. The Colonel staggered, lost his grip, and a rain of small items fell to the ground. Mrs. Fowler swayed wildly back and forth until Cameron caught her arm and steadied her.

"Sorry," he said. "My fault. Are you all right, Miz Fowler?"

Karen stooped to pick up the fallen treasures—chipped cups and miscellaneous saucers. "Lucky the ground is still soft," she said pleasantly. "They don't seem to be damaged."

Since the Colonel's arms were fully occupied, she offered the objects to Mrs. Fowler, with what she hoped was an ingratiating smile.

Mrs. Fowler could retreat no farther. She was pressed up against the Colonel, whose red round face hovered over her like that of a gargoyle. Hers was almost as colorful.

"How dare you?" she gasped. "Cameron, you planned this, I know you did. Well, you can just get her away from me and keep her away. I will not lend my countenance to such a person."

"Now, Miz Fowler—" Cameron began.

"She made a laughing stock of me! She deliberately, cold-bloodedly set out to humiliate me. You knew what she was when you brought her to meet me." She proceeded to describe what Karen was, using words her astonished auditor had encountered only in Victorian novels. "Brazen hussy" and "trollop" were two of the mildest terms.

If she wanted to avoid publicity, Mrs. Fowler was going about it the wrong way. The noise level had risen—her piercing soprano voice, the Colonel's bass rumbles of indignant agreement. People were staring and edging closer. Cameron's face was brick-red and he was having trouble controlling his mouth, but Karen couldn't decide whether anger, amusement or embarrassment was responsible.

Mrs. Fowler finally ran down; either her breath or her vocabulary had given out. Cameron's voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. "You can't say things like that, Miz Fowler. Take her home, Colonel. She's making a fool of herself."

The Colonel swelled like a crimson toad. "Sir, if I were a younger man and you were a gentleman, I would ... I would ..."

Karen had found the business mildly entertaining thus far, but things were getting out of hand. The old man looked as if he were on the verge of a stroke, and Cameron was on the verge of losing his temper. She
would have enjoyed seeing that phenomenon, but not under these circumstances; it was too ludicrous, like a travesty of a Southern romantic novel. The two men squaring off in defense of their ladies . . . Some ladies!

"I think we've had enough of this," she said. "I'll move out on Tuesday, Mrs. Fowler. I've paid my rent till then, if you remember."

She couldn't resist the last dig. It had an effect she had not anticipated. The angry color faded from Mrs. Fowler's face and a look of calculation narrowed her eyes. "That won't be necessary. Unlike some people, I keep my word once I've given it. Our business arrangement still stands. Just don't you expect me to take notice of you on a social level. No, Colonel, not another word; they aren't worth it."

Realizing that Karen had no intention of retreating she did so. The Colonel followed, growling like a very large dog.

"I'm sorry," Cameron began.

Karen turned on him. There were a lot of people watching them, so she kept her voice soft and the smile fixed on her face. "For the love of God, will you stop apologizing for everything everybody does? If anyone is responsible for that poor crazy old creature's foul mood, it's me!"

He studied her in silence—counting to ten, Karen thought. Why didn't he let himself go? Such self-control was abnormal—unhealthy, Sharon would probably say. And why, Karen wondered, did she give a damn?

Fascinated by the twitching of the muscles around his mouth and jaw, she did not see Peggy until the latter spoke.

"Wonder how she got at the booze this early. Carries a flask, maybe."

"What are you talking about?" Karen turned. Simon, at Peggy's side, smiled sardonically.

"It needn't have been alcohol talking, Peggy. You've encountered people like that, I'm sure. The world revolves around them, and they interpret everything in terms of their narrow little egos."

Cameron's rigid shoulders relaxed. "She drinks, all right," he said wearily. "She thinks no one knows, but . . . How did you know, Peggy?"

"I recognized the signs," Peggy said curtly.

"I'll find you another apartment, Karen," Cameron said.

"That's kind of you, but you needn't bother."

"Why not? It's my job."

"You're a realtor?"

It had never occurred to her until then to wonder what he did for a living. His eyes shifted away from her curious gaze and he said brusquely, "Real estate, insurance, sales rep, you name it. Anything to make a buck."

Karen couldn't tell whether he was jeering at himself or her. Her question hadn't been meant as a snub or a sneer, but she could not altogether blame him for taking it that way. Apology or explanation would only make matters worse, she decided ruefully.

"I've no intention of moving out," she said. "Why should I waste time apartment hunting? It's only for a few weeks."

"If that's what you prefer," Cameron said. "Just let me know."

He started to turn away. Peggy, who had followed the exchange with a poorly concealed smile, said quickly, "One question, Cameron. Where are your folks buried?"

"What?" Then his scowl turned to the smile Peggy could usually induce. "Oh, I get it. Peggy, that old cemetery is as wild and overgrown as the estate. I assume you want the old one? Nobody has been buried there for fifty years. You don't want to go out there."

She grinned back at him without speaking. Cameron laughed and took a notebook from his pocket. "You do want to go out there. All right. I'll draw a map for you. You want Gothic ambience, you'll get plenty."

Simon leaned against the tree and reached for a cigar. He looked as neat and relaxed as he had eight hours earlier. Karen glanced down at her wrinkled, dusty pants and decided a few grass stains couldn't worsen their appearance. She sat down cross-legged at Simon's feet. "I assume everything is under control or you and Peggy wouldn't be loitering here."

"Oh, yes. We carried a few of her miscellaneous purchases out to her car and were on our way back when we saw you. Relax and enjoy the fresh air. Would you care for coffee, or something to eat?"

"No, thanks."

Sunlight sifted through the leaves in a scattering of gold. The shadows deepened as the sun sank lower. The air was very warm, but a breeze ruffled Karen's hair and cooled her cheeks. From inside the tent she could hear the drone of the auctioneer's voice. People wandered in and out, carrying boxes, stopping to chat or resting in the shade. A large brown dog of indiscriminate breed wandered around looking for scraps,
its tail wagging hopefully. One young woman pushed a stroller; the tow-headed child within lay in a sprawl of arms and legs, its mouth gaping in infantile slumber. There were other children in the crowd; most of them were whining and tugging at parental skirts. Bored out of their skulls, poor little things, Karen thought sympathetically.

She saw Joan first; that redhead was hard to miss, especially when it dazzled with sunlight. She held a sandwich in one hand; the other hand had a firm grip on Bill Meyer's arm.

"Here he is," Joan announced. "I told him you wanted to thank him."

In the bright light his face looked even worse than Karen had realized. He started to smile and winced, almost imperceptibly, as the muscles around his mouth stretched.

"That's not why I let Joan drag me here," he said quickly. "I thought you ought to know I saw Dorothea heading for the parking lot just now. She'd left her jacket on her chair and she wasn't carrying anything, so I couldn't help wondering—."

"Aha!" Peggy cried. "Simon, she saw us taking those boxes to my car. Hurry, maybe we can catch her in the act."

"Come now," Simon protested. "There is nothing she can do. The car is locked. And you have no reason to suppose—"

"I just thought I'd mention it," Meyer said humbly.

Peggy was already on her way. "I'll go after her," Simon said with a sigh.

"I'd better go too," Karen said, glad of an excuse to leave. She felt uncomfortable—not angry or wary, as she usually was with Bill Meyer, just . . . uncomfortable. He appeared to be as embarrassed as she, and Joan was beaming at them like a marriage broker.

Karen cleared her throat. "I did want to thank you, Bill. I haven't had a chance before this. I hope you feel better than you look."

"Don't make me laugh," Meyer begged, raising a hand to his cheek.

To her annoyance, Karen felt herself flushing. "I suppose I could have expressed it more gracefully. If you hadn't acted so promptly I might be nursing something nastier than a scraped face. I'm very grateful."

"I'll settle for that," Meyer said softly. His eyes lingered on her face. "In the hope of better things to come."

Cameron cleared his throat. "Do you want me to go after Peggy and Mr. Hallett?"

Meyer said easily, "Oh, hello, Hayes. I didn't see you. Thanks, but I don't believe your assistance will be necessary."

"Now he's offended," Karen muttered, as Cameron walked away without another word. "Excuse me, if I'm going to catch Peggy, I'd better hurry."

"What did I say?" Meyer demanded, trotting after her.

"Nothing. Forget it." She broke into a run.

She had no difficulty finding the people she sought. The sound of voices could be heard a long way off. There were only two voices— Dorothea's booming and loud, Peggy's higher in pitch, but no less penetrating. They were standing at the back of Peggy's car and when Karen first caught sight of them she feared armed combat was imminent. Peggy, her back to Karen, held what looked like a crowbar. Dorothea needed no weapon; if she had flung herself on the smaller woman she would have covered her entirely and left not a square inch showing.

"Oh, there you are, Meyer," Dorothea said, without moderating her voice. "Take this crazy dwarf away before I murder her, will you? I caught someone trying to break into her car, and this is the thanks I get."

"You were the one who was trying to break into the trunk," Peggy shouted, brandishing the heavy piece of metal. "You threw the tire iron under the car when you saw me coming."

Simon stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. Catching Karen's eye, he shrugged. "I tried, Karen. Perhaps you can do better."

"Is this cretinous midget a friend of yours, Holloway?" Dorothea demanded. "I might have known."

Meyer reached out and caught hold of the tire iron. "Let me have it, Peggy. Dorothea loves to sue people."

Peggy relinquished her hold. "If anybody sues anybody, it will be me suing her. Look at the lock!"

"Just try it," Dorothea sneered. "It'll be your word against mine. With the rest of you backing her up, no doubt."

"Do try to control yourself, Dr. Angelo," Simon said frostily. "No one is going to sue anyone. You surely don't mean to imply that I would perjure myself on behalf of Dr. Finneyfrock here. I may have my suspicions, but I didn't see anything."

"You're all against me," Dorothea muttered. "But I don't give a damn. I can take care of myself. I'll take on the lot of you."

She stalked away. The others stared after the monolithic form.

"She's really lost it," Peggy said. "Thanks for playing peacemaker, Bill. I thought for a few minutes she was going to jump me."

"She's never actually struck anyone," Bill said doubtfully. "At least I never heard of her doing so."

"She doesn't have to," Karen said. "She looms over people and screams at them. It's a fairly effective technique."

Simon nodded agreement. "Most people are reluctant to make a scene in public. That was a most distasteful exhibition. And I must say, Peggy, your behavior—"

"She called me a cretinous dwarf!"

"Not until after you had waved the tire iron at her." Simon laughed and took her by the arm. "Come along. You can revenge yourself by getting her to spend more money on useless junk."

Karen followed them, Meyer falling in step with her. "If I'd realized Peggy was such a firebrand I wouldn't have told her about Dorothea," he said ruefully. "Sorry about that."

"Don't you start apologizing, Bill. It doesn't suit you."

The roughly plowed ground was uneven. She stumbled over a clump of weeds. Meyer caught her by the shoulder and swung her around to face him.

"What does it take to get you to lower those barriers?" he demanded. "I've done my damnedest to prove I can be trusted—"

"I said I was grateful," Karen began.

"Oh, that. I don't expect gratitude for that; it was sheer instinct, anyone would have acted the same. What you should appreciate is the strenuous self-control I've displayed over the past couple of weeks. At this precise moment I am fighting the urge to kiss you till your stubborn head swims."

His fingers bit into her shoulder. She cried out, more in anger than in pain; with an incoherent mumble of apology he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. One of the scratches on his cheek had broken open; a bright drop of blood shone against the tanned skin. She leaned against him, off balance in several ways, and tried to steady her voice. "That would not be a good idea, Bill."