Shattered Silk, page 20
"How much?" Tony asked, as Mark contemplated the small box with a mixture of disbelief and respect.
"A couple of thousand-but that's just a guess. As I told you, the price depends on the market at any given time."
"Holy Geez." Tony shook his head.
"All right," Mark said. "We won't unwind your Fortunato"
"Fortuny."
"Whatever. I trust this isn't another sacrosanct item?" He took out a black velvet evening cloak and ran his hands over the fabric. "Hey-there's a lump under here-"
"That's a shoulder pad, you oaf." Cheryl snatched the cloak from him. "You'd better leave this to us, Mark.
You're getting everything all wrinkled, and you don't know anything about clothes. We're more likely to notice something unusual than you."
"I'm running out of steam," Mark admitted. "And out of ideas." He ran his hands through his rumpled hair. "What about that jewelry of Mrs. Mac's, Karen?"
"How did you hear about that?" Karen asked.
"She told me she was going to give it to you," Mark said readily.
Apparently this was one piece of information he had not passed on to Tony; the latter demanded to know what they were talking about, so Karen explained, and brought out Dolley's necklace and earrings. The gleam in Tony's eyes faded when he saw them, however. He shook his head. "No."
Karen was beginning to feel protective about poor Dolley's jewels. "What do you mean, no? They are historic treasures."
"Maybe so, but they aren't worth much to your common garden-variety thief. I was expecting big shiny diamonds."
"I thought you were going to let Bates take charge of them," Mark said.
Karen repeated what she had told the lawyer. Her tone was aggressive; she rather expected Mark would tell her she was wrong, and demand that she put the jewelry in safekeeping. However, he nodded and said agreeably, "Right. It's not a question of whether you have it, but whether someone thinks you have it. Why don't you give me the case? I'll carry it conspicuously out of the house- drop it and take my time finding it-"
Tony hooted. "Drop-kick it into the street, maybe. Or I could go out for a pass."
Cheryl didn't smile. Karen could see that she too was disturbed by the suggestion that someone might be watching the house. She said sharply, "If you think we're under surveillance, you had better take a couple of shopping bags too. We don't know what this character wants."
"If anything," Tony agreed. He yawned widely. "We'll leave you ladies to your well-earned rest. I don't admire your bedtime reading, though, Karen. Guaranteed nightmares."
He picked up the Georgetown legends book. Karen explained its presence, adding, "You know about it?"
"Oh, yeah." Tony's eyes twinkled. "The local precinct got a couple of calls from irate citizens. They wanted the author arrested."
"I wouldn't mind giving him or her a few swift kicks," Mark said. "Resurrecting those old scandals can only hurt people. The one involving Mrs. Mac…" His thin lips curved in a reluctant smile. "She thought it was funny. Laughed till I was afraid she'd choke."
"Can I read the book?" Cheryl asked.
"Help yourself. It's only on my bedside table because I've been too lazy to put it away. Maybe I had better get rid of it before Pat comes home; he's likely to go after the author with a horsewhip when he reads that libel about. his mother."
"It's not libel," Tony said. "That's why the author is safe from the heavy hand of the law. Most of the information comes from old newspaper stories and other published sources; the rest is innuendo, and the author was smart enough to skirt the edge of the actionable. Besides, nobody seems to know who he is."
"Pat is just as likely to consider it the best joke since Watergate," Mark added. Rising, he stretched and yawned. "Feel free to call at any hour, girls, if you find the diamonds."
"Don't worry," Cheryl said. "We will."
"Is someone going to escort us to the door?" Mark inquired.
Cheryl flatly refused, with a few pointed remarks about big strong men and little helpless dogs. Karen offered to do guard duty. Tony lingered; she heard him say something to Cheryl, who replied with a peal of laughter and a comment whose tone was decidedly caustic.
As they descended the stairs Karen said, "I'm sorry you were dragged into this, Mark. It wasn't my idea."
"I'm sure it wasn't."
"If you could persuade Cheryl to leave-"
"No one can talk Cheryl out of, or into, anything. She's a grown woman; she makes her own decisions." They had reached the door; Mark turned to face her. "Are you seriously suggesting that I remove Cheryl and walk away, leaving you to the tender mercies of some wandering lunatic-or that muscle-bound chauffeur whose pretty face you admire so much? What kind of cold-blooded bastard do you take me for?"
His voice cut like a knife. Before Karen could reply, Tony came running down the stairs, and Mark turned away.
Tony took Karen's hand. "Thanks for an interesting evening. It isn't often I get a chance to search for lost diamonds and literary manuscripts."
Without turning, Mark opened the door. "If you're going to start quoting, keep it short and snappy," he said, and went out, leaving them alone.
"I want to hear the key turn and a lot of clattering of chains and bolts," Tony said softly. "Not that I think there's anything to worry about-"
"I know. Thanks, Tony."
Abruptly he bent his head and touched her lips with his. Brief though it was, the kiss had nothing tentative about it; the brush of his mustache along her upper lip sent a tingle through her body. Then he was gone, closing the door after him. She heard a soft voice say, "Locks."
Karen did as she was asked. There was no further comment from Tony. Peering through the spy-hole, she saw only his broad back, retreating.
Mark was waiting for him on the sidewalk, strategically situated in the light of a street lamp. Karen's view was limited and distorted, but as she watched she realized Mark was putting on the promised performance with the jewelry case. He did everything but drop-kick it, and although his gyrations were exaggerated to the point of farce, Karen was not particularly amused.
She made a detour into the kitchen and prepared a pot of tea. The rumble of Alexander's snores followed her up the stairs; really, she thought, there must be something wrong with his sinuses. Considering that his entire face was wildly out of sync, it would not be surprising.
Cheryl looked up from the ledger she was inspecting and smiled. "I was just thinking a cup of tea would hit the spot. Are you tired? Want me to get out of here so you can go to bed?"
"I'm still keyed up. I need to unwind. But if you're sleepy-"
"We've got to stop being so damned polite," Cheryl said. "To tell the truth, I'm dying to go over your records. Unless you mind-"
"Who's being overly polite now? I'd be delighted to have you take over the damned books. I'm absolutely hopeless about keeping records; I keep forgetting to write things down." Karen curled up in the chair Mark had occupied. "What I really want to do is sit here and watch you work."
"That's right. You're the artistic half of the team and I'm the business end." Cheryl frowned at one of the entries. "Did you itemize Mrs. MacDougal's dresses? All I can find is an entry that says, 'Misc. clothes, Mrs. Mac.'"
"Oh, dear. I meant to do it right, only…"
"You've been distracted," Cheryl said, with a wry smile. "Let's start with the two dresses you sold that friend of yours."
After she had made the entry she asked, "When did you tell her you'd have them ready?"
"I didn't. But we must get at it right away. Some of the beads are loose, and then they have to go to the cleaners'."
"I'll do that tomorrow afternoon. What cleaner do you use?"
"It's someone Mrs. Mac recommended. What's more," Karen added, "I had to be recommended to him. He is not, if you please, taking new customers. But he knows how to handle delicate things. Be sure you explain to him-"
"I get it. Throw Mrs. MacDougal's name around and insist he handle these items personally."
"While you're at it, you could pick up the things I took in a few days ago. I think the ticket is here somewhere." Karen rummaged in her purse and finally came up with the receipt. "Be sure you keep track of the cost. And speaking of money-"
"Why talk about something we don't have?" Cheryl grinned. "This is a hand-to-mouth operation, Karen. Sooner or later we'll get a proper accounting system set up, but right now it's grab it while you can."
Karen refused to be amused. "It's going to be touch and go for a while, I know that. It looks as if I may have to take advantage of Pat's offer and borrow from him until- and if-I can get a settlement from Jack."
"That's right, you saw the lawyer today. I'm sorry, Karen, I didn't even ask how it went. There was so much to talk about."
"He was nice. He's just starting out, that must be why Mr. Bates recommended him. I'm sure his fees are a lot less than Bates, Bates, and Whoever. But he wasn't terribly encouraging. These things take time, said he profoundly-especially when, as seems evident, Jack is not inclined to be generous. Well, damn it, I don't want generosity, I just want what's fair. Lord knows I earned it."
"It's definite, is it? You aren't going to change your mind?"
"About the divorce? Not on your life. Even if I were dumb enough to stick my head back in the noose, Jack wouldn't take me back. It was his idea in the first place."
Cheryl studied her earnestly. "I'm sorry if you are; I'm not sorry if you're not. Don't get me wrong; I just wouldn't like to be left without a partner before we even get this show on the road."
"No fear of that. Even if both of us had complete changes of heart I'd still go on with the shop. I have to do it. It means a lot to me. Actually, I was about to ask you the same question. You'll marry again one day-"
"No."
"You may feel that way now, but-"
"No. I'm never going to get married again."
Her head was bent over the book, and her tumbled hair hid her face. After a moment Karen said gently, "How long has it been?"
"Two years. I know what you're going to say." Cheryl turned to face her, tossing her hair from her forehead. Her face bore an expression Karen had never seen on it before, a blend of dedicated exultation and of pain. "Everybody says the same thing. You'll get over it, time heals all wounds… But I won't. My life isn't ruined or anything like that. I'm a very happy person, really. But I'll never love anyone but Joe."
The flat finality of her voice would have forestalled argument, even if Karen could have thought of anything to say. She was astounded. To think that Cheryl, outwardly so cheerful and matter-of-fact, nourished this unrealistic, sentimental delusion…
Karen had no doubt that it was a delusion. Love was not eternal, grief did not endure. "Men (and women) have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love." She was as convinced of those cliches as she was sure the sun would rise next morning. All the same, she felt a dull ache of envy.
"I'm so sorry," she began. "I shouldn't have raised the subject-"
"Oh, it's just as well we got it out in the open," Cheryl said calmly. "People are always trying to fix me up with other guys. It's a waste of time; you might as well know that from the start."
"So that's why Tony…" Karen stopped and bit her Up.
"Tony is a good friend."
"He is also the best-looking man I've ever seen. A real hunk, as they say. I wondered why you hadn't mentioned that little detail."
"I guess he is handsome," Cheryl said indifferently. "Joe wasn't. I mean, most people wouldn't consider him good-looking. Tony likes you, Karen. I could tell."
"I'm not so sure," Karen murmured. She was seeing several things in a new light.
"You're the one who is likely to remarry. A beautiful, educated person like you-"
"I doubt it. I didn't like being married."
The statement surprised her almost as much as it did Cheryl. "Really? Wasn't there anything-"
"No. Now that I think about it, there wasn't much about being married that I liked. I didn't own anything. Everything I had was a gracious, patronizing gift-money, clothes, food, the house, even my time. Jack's work came first, and I got what was left over."
"Not all men are like that," Cheryl said earnestly.
"And there must have been something--I mean, don't you miss…"
Cheryl's delicacy amused Karen. In her new role as partner she was trying to be more refined. "Sex? Yes, I do miss it. But, to put it as nicely as possible, there wasn't much to miss."
"That's putting it nicely, all right. But I get the picture. You mean he…"
"I think the word would be competent," Karen said musingly. "Marginally competent. It came as a shock too, I can tell you. He was very amorous before we got married. Once it was legal, he seemed to lose interest."
Cheryl let out a gurgle of laughter. "You're funny, Karen. You say things so elegantly, but they sound much more insulting than if you'd cut loose and used a lot of four-letter words."
"I should be ashamed of myself," Karen said with a smile. "We're always complaining about men thinking of women as sexual objects, and here I am doing the same thing."
"Was Mark…" Cheryl stopped with a gasp, and turned away. Karen had a glimpse of a beet-red, horrified face before Cheryl's hair swung down to hide her features.
"I'm sorry," said a muffled voice from behind the hair. "Me and my big mouth. I should have it amputated."
"Forget it." Karen laughed and put an affectionate arm around Cheryl's hunched shoulders. "This is like those old college bull sessions, where we all sat around and let our hair down."
"I never went to college," Cheryl muttered.
"I never finished. So what?"
Cheryl looked up. Her face was still crimson. "Pretend I never said that, okay? I don't want to know anyway. I mean, my own brother… He never told me any personal things, Karen. Honest."
"I said it's all right." Karen had no intention of answering the implied question. It had set off a sharp stab of memory that was humiliatingly physical in its intensity. "Was Mark…" Oh, he was, she thought. He certainly was.
"We'd better get to bed," she said lightly. "We should be bright and sharp tomorrow for our session with the realtor."
"Right. Listen, how would you feel about a place with living quarters upstairs or at the back? For us, I mean. I'd pay a bigger share of the rent-"
"Why should you pay more if we share…" Karen's breath caught. "I'm a selfish, thoughtless jerk. I keep forgetting about your little boy."
"I don't talk about him much. But I think about him all the time."
The words were quiet and unemotional, but they struck a chord that vibrated deep down in Karen's very bones. Her fingers closed over Cheryl's shoulder. "We'll do it. Come hell or high water, burglars or bankruptcy, you'll have him with you in time for kindergarten this fall."
It was an extravagant promise, a promise she had no right to make; factors over which neither of them had any control could make it impossible to keep. But she was filled with shame at her selfishness. Preoccupied with her own emotional problems, she had failed to consider Cheryl's.
Yet who would have supposed that beneath the other woman's smooth, bright facade there was a layer of sensibility as fragile, and as damaged, as the shattered silk lining of an antique garment?
She ought to have known, or at least suspected. Friendship deserved more than she had given.
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."
