Shattered Silk (18 page)

"All right." Miriam reached for her checkbook. "How much?"

Karen took a deep breath. "The Hattie Carnegie is nine hundred and fifty." There was no reaction from Miriam except a slight movement of impatience as she sat with her pen poised. Karen went on, "The white one is- is thirteen hundred. That comes to two thousand, two hundred and fifty. Plus tax."

Miriam stared at her. "You've got to be kidding."

"I know it seems like a lot, but the white one was handmade by Callot Soeurs."

Miriam's face was as blank as a doll's. Karen said firmly, "I could probably get more from someone else, Miriam. I'm giving you a break because I hope you will want other things-and recommend me to your friends. You don't have to pay me now. Or you can give me a deposit, if you like."

Miriam bent her head over the checkbook and began to write.

AFTER
Miriam had left, Karen stood admiring the check she held. Two thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, plus tax. The full amount. That had been really decent of Miriam. One couldn't blame her for her initial protest. A woman who could casually dash off a check for over two thousand dollars might not be expected to balk at such a sum, but Karen knew from experience that the richer the customer, the more likely she was to haggle.

Of course a third of the money belonged to Mrs. MacDougal, and today's sale was an unusual event, one that wouldn't happen often. All the same, it deserved a celebration. Karen decided she would not go back to work. It was four-thirty and she felt sure Rob had already closed up.

She went flying down the hall to release Alexander from the kitchen. He almost fainted with surprise when she snatched him up and hugged him. "Steak for you tonight, my boy. And champagne for me!"

Alexander's ears pricked up. He had an extensive vocabulary, and "steak" was a word he knew.

Karen put a bottle of champagne into the refrigerator and reached for the telephone.

Cheryl was almost as excited as she was, but she reluctantly refused Karen's invitation to supper. "I've got a class. I don't dare skip it, there's a test tonight. Unless- would it be all right if I came over afterwards? I could be there by nine, unless you're set on getting drunk right this minute."

"I think I can hold off for a few hours," Karen admitted.

After inspecting the larder, she decided there was nothing on hand worthy of the occasion. Snatching her purse, she ran out to shop, treating herself to veal chops (two very small chops) from the Georgetown Market. She did not buy Alexander's steak at the Georgetown Market. She hoped he couldn't tell the difference between supermarket fare and that of a French butcher, but she did not count on it.

Cheryl arrived at 9:10, brandishing a bottle. "I figured one bottle of champagne wasn't enough for your first big sale. Let's open it right this minute."

They drank with simulated solemnity-"to Miriam and her millions." Karen filled the glasses again. "I'd like to propose another toast. Feel free to throw the wine and the glass out the window if you hate the idea, but… How about drinking to our new partnership?"

Cheryl stopped with her glass halfway to her lips. She stared at Karen; then her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "I thought you'd never ask," she said.

AT
midnight they were halfway through the second bottle and neither one of them had stopped talking.

"Might as well finish it," Cheryl said seriously, pouring the wine. "It'd be a shame to let it go flat. Here's another toast. To the greatest business brains in the state-"

"This isn't a state," Karen said, with only the slightest difficulty over the sibilants.

"And a damn shame, too," Cheryl cried. "Here's to self-gov'ment for the District of Columbia!"

"Right on!"

"No, but I mean we are the best business brains in whatever it is," Cheryl insisted. "Do you realize that in the last three hours we've figured out everything we're gonna do, even the way we're gonna decorate the shop?"

"We haven't got the shop yet."

"But I'm gonna start looking tomorrow. In all those places we talked about. You know, this town closes down and dies in August, after Congress lets out. My classes are over the end of July, and soon as your friend gets back you can give her your notice and work at this full-time."

"I think we can do it," Karen agreed. They looked at one another, at once sobered and exhilarated by the prospect. "I really think we can do it, Cheryl."

"Sure we can do it. You know, Karen, you don't know what this means t'me. I can't tell you-"

"You did tell me. About ten times."

"An' I'll say it ten more times," Cheryl declared. "Can't say it too often."

For some reason this struck both of them as hilariously funny, and they laughed until they were breathless.

"We're drunk," Karen said, in surprise.

"Maybe you are, but I'm not. I'm just a little tipsy. Here we go-this is the last. A final toast?"

"To us," Karen said.

"Couldn't've said it better myself."

They had retired to Karen's room to inspect the merchandise and go over the books. "I tell you what," Karen said, trying to collect her wits. "You better not go home in that condition. Oh, I know you aren't drunk. But neither of us is exactly sober, now are we? Why don't you spend the night?"

"Okay," Cheryl agreed. "I better call Mark. Ask him if I can spend the night."

"What do you mean, ask him?"

"You're right, you're right. Don't ask him-tell him. Only…" Cheryl's mouth drooped. "Only I don't have my toothbrush or my nightie."

"No problem. Ruth is one of those perfect hostesses who always has extra toothbrushes for guests. And if you want a nightgown-" Karen walked, none too steadily, to the wardrobe and threw open the door. "Take your pick. Victorian with handmade eyelet ruffles, Edwardian with pin tucks and tatting, bias-cut peach satin-"

"What, wrinkle the merchandise?" Cheryl's eyes widened in horror. "I'll sleep in my skin. First, better call ol' Mark."

Cheryl pulled herself together enough to sound relatively coherent when she announced to her brother that she would not be home that night. Karen, preparing Ruth and Pat's room for a guest, overheard enough to deduce that Mark had been properly congratulatory about the partnership and rather pleased than otherwise that he would not have to deal with a giggling, tipsy sister.

After she had tucked her new partner into bed, Karen went downstairs to let Alexander out. It was not until she looked into the darkened garden that she remembered her ghost. "Nothing like cash in hand to scare away spooks," she thought with a smile as she called Alexander in, checked the doors and windows, and went up to bed.

"Karen! Karen!"

Muzzy with sleep and champagne, it took her a while to recognize the voice. She struggled to sit up, muttering, "Whazzamatter?"

Cheryl stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the hall. She had been persuaded to wear one of the older, more tattered nightgowns; it was too big for her and puddled around her bare feet.

"What's the matter?" Karen repeated.

"There was somebody in my room."

The only body in Cheryl's room belonged to Alexander, who was engaged in a thorough sniff of every corner. Someone had certainly been there, however, or else Cheryl was guilty of walking in her sleep. The wardrobe doors were flung wide, and most of the clothes had been removed from the hangers.

"What happened?" Karen gasped, reaching for some of the garments that littered the floor.

Cheryl caught her arm. "Don't touch anything yet. Did you feel a draft when we came through the hall?"

They stared at one another. Then Karen ran for the stairs, with Cheryl close behind. The draft of air became stronger as they descended. Karen heard Cheryl stumble and swear as Alexander scooted between her legs. He passed Karen, tumbled down the last few steps, and scrambled wildly on the slippery floor before achieving a right-angle turn and vanishing in the direction of the kitchen.

When Karen reached the room he was gone. The back door stood wide open.

She stopped to catch her breath, and Cheryl caught up with her. "For God's sake, Karen, wait a minute. You don't know what the hell is out there."

Clinging to one another, they ventured cautiously out the door and onto the terrace. A faint, far-off rumble of thunder shivered in Karen's ears, and a gust of wind hot as a breath from an inferno stirred her hair. There was a storm brewing; but the stars overhead were still bright, and a sliver of moon hung low in the sky. The white forms crowding the garden shone faintly in the starlight, stirring feebly like victims of a massacre who had been thrown in broken, distorted attitudes across the bushes. A limp sleeve fluttered, as if in a last futile appeal for help.

They got the clothes in before the storm broke. Thunder crackled overhead as Cheryl made coffee, just in time; the electricity went out soon after the kettle had boiled. The telephone was also dead. They sat at the kitchen table with candlelight throwing gruesome shadows across their strained faces.

"I shouldn't have shut Alexander in with me," Karen reproached herself. "When I think what could have happened-"

Cheryl was equally angry with herself. "Lord knows how long he was in there rummaging around before I woke up. If only I hadn't had so damned much to drink!"

"Thank God you did. If you had screamed, or made a sudden move…" She couldn't finish the sentence, or decide what horrified her more-the thought of what the intruder might have done to Cheryl, or Cheryl's appalling nonchalance.

"Try the phone again, Karen," Cheryl urged. "The storm seems to be letting up."

"I'm not sure I want to call the police."

Cheryl's jaw dropped. "Why not? This is the second time-"

"That's just it. It isn't the second time I've complained to the police, it's the third; and it would be the fourth if I had reported what happened last night… Damn. I'm so shaken up I can't keep my mouth shut. I wasn't going to tell anyone about that."

"Well, you'd damned well better tell me. Honestly, Karen, I can't figure you out. You're too brave for your own good. What happened last night?"

Karen hoped Cheryl would laugh at the bed sheet incident. She didn't laugh. "There's something funny going on, all right," she said soberly. "All the more reason why you should notify the police."

"But don't you see, they're going to get sick of hearing from me! They get calls all the time from nervous women who think there are burglars under the bed-"

"Men, too," said Cheryl, loyal to her sex. "Tony told me about some screwball who is convinced aliens from outer space are tapping his phone. What does that have to do with you? You aren't imagining things. I saw what happened tonight-"

"You did have a lot to drink tonight. I could have crept into your room and cleaned out the wardrobe-done all the rest of it-before I went back upstairs and made noises to waken you."

Cheryl studied her gravely. "You're your own worst enemy, Karen. It's as if you were still blaming yourself for everything that happens to you. You can't just sit here wringing your hands and letting people hassle you."

"You think that's the motive behind all this?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I guess I don't have the right to boss you around, but…"

"You want me to call the police."

"I sure as hell do. After all," Cheryl said. "I've got a half interest in that merchandise."

It was late morning before an officer finally arrived in response to the call they made after the storm had ended and telephone service had been restored. The bad weather had produced flooding and innumerable minor traffic accidents, and he was obviously in no mood to sympathize with their complaint. One of the first things he did was scold them for disturbing the scene of the crime.

"What were we supposed to do, leave the door wide open with a thunderstorm going on?" Cheryl demanded, looking like an indignant hen with her ruffled yellow curls and bright eyes. "Let the clothes get soaked? They're our merchandise!"

The officer looked with polite incredulity at the limp blue negligee she was waving at him. "If you say so, ma'am. But there's not much I can do except file a report."

After he had gone, Karen could not resist. "What did I tell you?"

"We did the right thing, anyhow." Cheryl yawned.

"Why don't you go back to bed for a few hours?"

"Who, me? I'm going to Gaithersburg to see that realtor."

"What realtor?"

"Anyone I can find. We talked about it last night, remember? Or have you changed your mind?"

"About the shop? Of course not. I thought perhaps you might have had second thoughts."

"Me? Why?"

"I wouldn't blame you, after last night."

"Oh, that." Cheryl grinned, obviously relieved. "What's a partner for?"

"A partner isn't obliged to set herself up as a sitting duck."

"I'm no sitting duck," Cheryl stated, her jaw protruding. "I may not be big, but I'm tough. I've taken a few karate lessons, and I'm a dead shot."

"I fondly hope those skills won't be required."

"Back where I come from, every kid learns to handle a gun. Do you have one?"

"I think Pat did have a gun, once upon a time. He kept it in the drawer of his bedside table."

"There's no gun there now. Not if that's the room I slept in; I opened the drawer this morning, looking for tissues."

"Then it must be somewhere else-or he got rid of it. I know Ruth never liked having it around. Cheryl, what are you getting at?"

"Why, I'm going to move in with you," Cheryl said calmly. "Unless you object, that is."

"But-"

"I won't be any trouble. I'll do the cooking and the cleaning, and we're going to be so busy getting the shop started that I'd be here a lot of the time anyway." "You don't have to sell yourself. But-" "Mark doesn't really need me. He only asked me to move in as a favor to me, and now that the session is ending he's too busy to do much entertaining. Can I have a key?"

"There are extras on the hall table. But-" "But me no buts. You'd better get dressed. Didn't you say you had an appointment with a lawyer this morning? I'll feed Alexander and lock up before I leave. Hurry, you're going to be late."

Karen started up the stairs, feeling as if she had been adopted by some strong-minded female head of state who combined the motherly concern of a kindly old lady with the role of general in chief of the armed forces. On the whole, she thought she was going to like it.

ROB
was late to work again. When Karen spoke to him about it, he replied with poorly concealed insolence and retreated to the office.

Could Rob be the one responsible for what appeared to be a deliberate campaign of petty persecution? He had the right personality traits; he was eccentric, small-minded, and capable of harboring a grudge for fancied wrongs. He had pretended to be airily amused by Julie's refusal to leave him in charge, but perhaps he resented the person who had, as he believed, replaced him in Julie's trust.

Karen dealt with a minor flurry of customers and then sat down with the petticoat she was altering. Rob's temper had improved; she could hear him crooning to himself from the office, where he was supposedly unpacking china. He only hummed when he was in a good mood. Was he looking forward to another conquest that night or congratulating himself on another trick successfully carried out?

She was holding the petticoat up to make sure she had not missed any rents when Rob came out of the office.

"Mmm, yummy," he remarked. "I know a little lady who'd look gorgeous in that. Want me to steer her in? For the usual commission, of course."

"It's already spoken for," Karen said. "That's why I brought it in; I told the buyer it would be ready today."

"How much?"

There was no reason why she shouldn't tell him, so she did. Rob clucked appreciatively. "You're really making a killing at this, aren't you, duckie?"

"I'll be happy if I can make a modest living."

"'Twill be more than modest if you go on as you began. Who's the buyer, one of your rich friends from Middleburg?"

"I don't have any rich friends," Karen said shortly. "If you are referring to Mrs. Montgomery, she's only an acquaintance and-I hope-a good customer." Realizing that her tone had been repressive, she tried to make amends. There was no sense in irritating people needlessly. "She wouldn't buy anything like this. It's the young girls who go for the Victorian whites."

"Well, I'm sure it's just terribly fascinating, but I'm glad I don't have to worry about pin tucks and edging and all that. I'm going to run next door for a snack. Can I bring you anything?"

Karen declined with thanks and a pleasant smile. Her customer came while Rob was out; the remodeled petticoat was a perfect fit, and after the girl left, Karen studied the check with a satisfaction she had not felt even with Miriam's extravagant purchase. This money represented almost pure profit, for the petticoat was one she had found in old Mrs. Ferris' motley collection, and its pristine perfection was due to her own labors. Few people would have given it a second glance in its original condition.

Rob returned with an ice cream cone wrapped in a paper doily, which he presented with a bow. "Champagne ice," he announced. "Just the thing for you."

"Why?" Karen asked in surprise.

Rob's blue eyes widened. "To celebrate your sale, duckie. What else? I'm too poor to go for the bottled bubbly."

Karen laughed and thanked him and reminded herself she must not be paranoid, seeing sly hints in innocent remarks. But her annoyance revived when Rob appeared shortly thereafter wearing a blue silk shirt that set off his eyes. "You don't mind if I leave a bit early," he announced breezily. "Heavy date tonight-and I do mean, my dear, hea-vy!"

The chimes above the door tinkled mockingly as he opened it. "I may be late getting in tomorrow," Karen said. "Will you be sure-"

"But of course, darling." Rob's teeth shone like ivory. "That's fine with me. Be as late as you like."

He really is a maddening little bastard, Karen thought. Neither the adjective nor-as far as she knew- the noun was strictly accurate; but one tended to think of Rob as little, despite his inches. It was descriptive of his personality, anyway. But she could hardly scold him for taking time off just before she announced she intended to do the same. She wasn't paying his salary.

She hoped to join Cheryl next morning in her search for a suitable location. Cheryl was right, that was really the first order of business upon which everything else depended, and the sooner they got at it, the better. When Cheryl called later that afternoon it was to announce that she had found several likely prospects, but that she thought they ought to look farther. "I'll tell you about them tonight. I'm at home now, packing my things; okay if I go right to the house?"

"Yes, fine."

"Are you very tired?"

"Why? Are there some places we could inspect this evening?"

"Well, not exactly. We've been invited to dinner. I said I'd let him know. That maybe you were too tired after last night."

"Him," Karen repeated. "You told Mark what happened?"

"Wasn't I supposed to?" Cheryl asked innocently.

"Oh, it doesn't matter."

Cheryl appeared not to notice her ungracious tone. "He's really pleased about the partnership. That's why he's taking us to dinner, to celebrate."

"It's very nice of him," Karen said dryly.

"Would you mind if Tony joined us?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I'll tell him. See you later."

She hung up before Karen could answer.

So Cheryl had barely waited till her back was turned before running to her brother for help and sympathy. The fact that Karen felt a sneaking, cowardly sense of relief at Mark's involvement only made her angrier, not with Cheryl but with herself. She should never have agreed to letting Cheryl move in with her. It was tantamount to inviting a friend to join you in a cage of lions. Or perhaps a cage of rats-the attacks thus far had been more frightening than physically dangerous, but part of the terror was not knowing precisely what threatened her, or why.

Naturally Mark was concerned about his sister. The talk of celebrating the partnership was only an excuse; including Tony Cardoza in the party gave Mark's true motive away. She and Cheryl were about to attend another meeting of the Murder Club. Only this time, instead of idly arguing about classic crimes, the two men would be discussing a real case.

It was probably the sort of case Mark would relish if Cheryl were not involved. He had undoubtedly tried to talk her out of staying in a house where so many peculiar, possibly threatening, things had happened. He had failed, of course. Cheryl was as stubborn as she was loyal. What else could Mark do but take all possible steps to protect his sister?

I shouldn't let her do it, Karen thought. But how can I prevent her? Especially when I don't want to prevent her.