by Kathy
"No, thanks."
Karen sat unmoving, her hands limp in her lap. Peggy was one hundred percent right; the incident had been a tempest in a teapot. Even if Bill Meyer reported it to their colleagues, it would arouse mild amusement in some quarters, and enthusiastic commendation in others—the quarters whose approval meant most to her. So why did it bother her so much?
There had been no alien intrusion into her mind that day, no eerie sense of another voice speaking with her tongue. The voice had been her own, amplified ... by what? Anger, vast and uncontrolled. And hate. For an hour-long interval she had hated those poor silly people. And she had felt the hatred hidden behind their smiling masks, even before she started to speak.
She couldn't get the image out of her head—the image of a mob, out of control and bent on violence. Peggy was mistaken. Women—fallen women, prostitutes—had been tarred and feathered and run out of town as recently as a hundred years ago; Mark Twain mentioned it in Huck Finn. Huck had seen the King and the Duke being ridden out of town by such a mob. "They didn't look like nothing in the world that was human," he had said, adding, "Human beings can be awful cruel to one another."
Lisa's apartment was in a new development on the outskirts of town. The buildings looked like thousands of others in thousands of other towns across the country: rectangular blocks of brick, with minuscule balconies and neat conventional landscaping. Karen knew the style; she lived in a building very much like Lisa's. Even in this peaceful country town security had become a problem. They had to ring from the lobby before the inner door unlocked.
Neat and slim in well-cut pants, her hair tied at the nape of her neck with a bow, Lisa greeted them at the door of the apartment. A blast of cold air issued from the living room; she had the air-conditioning on full. The living room looked just about as Karen had expected: a few hanging plants, a few good prints, a conservative muted color scheme of oatmeal and brown. The only unexpected feature was an Oriental rug, its blend of peacock blues and greens exquisitely faded by time.
"That came from Amberley," Lisa explained. "It's not very attractive, but I needed something on the floor; it's in my lease. And carpeting is so expensive."
"It's Turkish or Kashan," Peggy said. "Antique."
"I haven't decided yet whether to put it in the sale," Lisa said. "I'm told it's rather valuable and it sure doesn't go with my other things. But I'm forgetting my manners. Please sit down. Could I offer you a cup of tea or a glass of wine?"
Peggy accepted the latter and Karen followed her lead. She wondered whether Lisa would mention her speech. She had no intention of introducing the subject herself.
After they had discussed the weather and admired the apartment, Lisa said politely, "I enjoyed your speech today."
"Thank you," said Karen politely.
Peggy's method of breaking the ice was to use a club. "I'll bet that reaction wasn't universal," she said with a laugh.
Lisa's faint social smile broadened. "Not hardly. The Colonel was fit to be tied. I heard him tell Miz Fowler she ought to evict you."
"That would be a nuisance," Karen said calmly. "But I can always find another place."
"Oh, she won't." Lisa's pretty lip curled. "She's like all the other old folks, always talking about honor and dignity, but when her principles come up against cold hard cash, guess which loses. She needs money. Like all the rest of us."
Peggy's methods seemed to be effective; Lisa was speaking more candidly than she ever had to Karen. "Including Cameron?" Peggy asked.
"Especially Cam. He's as anxious to get out of this hick town as I am. Why do you suppose he's dirtying his nice clean hands fixing up the house? The minute he gets enough money to stick his mama in a nursing home, he'll be gone."
"Oh, is his mother ill? I'm so sorry," Peggy exclaimed.
"She's not sick, she's just old and senile. The only places that will take people like that cost a bundle." Lisa dismissed the subject with a shrug. "But I'm boring you with all this gossip—"
"No, not at all," Peggy said sincerely. "I hope the auction is a great success and that you make lots of money."
"So do I," Lisa said with equal sincerity. She gestured. "There are the boxes of papers you wanted to see. Cam refused to put them in the auction and I didn't argue, because I didn't suppose they were worth much. Have a look if you like. I trust you to do what's fair."
She sat watching, ankles crossed and hands primly folded, while the other two inspected the contents of the two cartons. It was a dirty job; the envelopes and albums had been given a superficial dusting, but they were encrusted with the mold and grime of decades. Karen didn't doubt that Lisa had already inspected them thoroughly.
It took Peggy less than half an hour to reach a conclusion. She sat back on her heels and shook her head.
"Nothing that interests you?" Lisa asked.
"I'm afraid not. There doesn't seem to be anything earlier than the turn of the century. This century. There's no reason why you should take my word for it—"
"There's no reason why I shouldn't." Lisa uncrossed her ankles and put her feet primly together. "I could see by your expression that nothing hit you. Mr. Meyer's reaction was the same."
Peggy began returning the dusty bundles and old photo albums to the cartons. "The old boy was certainly a pack rat, wasn't he? He even kept newspaper clippings and advertisements. Some people collect those things, I believe. And old photo albums."
Lisa nodded, but did not reply. When the cartons had been repacked, Peggy rose stiffly to her feet. "Damned arthritis," she muttered.
"I'm sorry you didn't find anything," Lisa said. "Would you like another glass of wine?"
"No, thanks, we've taken up enough of your time."
Karen had remained silent, feeling it was better to let Peggy handle the matter. She wasn't as good as Peggy at hiding her feelings, and at the moment her feelings for Lisa were not especially friendly.
Lisa escorted them to the door. "Will I see you at the auction?" she asked.
Peggy nodded. "I don't suppose there was a family Bible?"
They were like a pair of duelists, Karen thought, thrusting and parrying.
Lisa pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. "I don't remember offhand. It might be among the books. They'll be sold Saturday."
As soon as they were outside, Peggy let out a crow of triumph. "One up for me. She's a tricky little devil, though. By this time she must have a pretty good idea of what we're after, and she's going to milk us for all she can get. And I doubt she'll share with Cousin Cameron."
"You think there is a Bible?"
"Yes. And I don't think it is among the books that will be sold."
They got in the car, and Peggy looked distastefully at her grubby hands. "I need to wash. I'd have asked Lisa if I could use her bathroom, but somehow I got the impression she wasn't crazy about having us hang around."
"Maybe she's got a date tonight—with another prospective customer. I still think she and Bill are in cahoots."
"But she doesn't trust him, so she's getting a second opinion from us? Could be. She didn't expect us to find anything in that lot. I'll bet she's got more enticing material squirreled away."
"Those boxes were full," Karen said. "There wouldn't have been room in them for much else."
"But how many boxes were there?"
After a moment Karen said, "There's one way to find out."
"Cameron."
"Right." She turned onto Main Street. It was lined with handsome, carefully restored old houses. Some were antebellum, with the classical porticoes and white columns of that era; others displayed the sprawling extravagance of Victoriana, with towers and verandas and yards of gingerbread trim.
Karen brought the car to a stop at a traffic light. Peggy wiped the perspiration off her face with the back of her hand. "Haven't you got air-conditioning?"
"There's no point in turning it on. We're almost there."
Peggy grunted critically but did not pursue the point. "Is that
the main library?"
"The one and only. And that," Karen said, "is the librarian."
The light changed and traffic began to move, but not before Tanya had seen them. She bared all her teeth in a broad grin and raised a clenched fist. Karen waved.
"One supporter," Peggy said. "Do you know her?"
"Slightly. I checked out the library first thing. There's nothing there."
"You sure you don't want to go to my place?" Peggy inquired delicately.
"No. I want to change out of this ladylike ensemble. And I'm not going to sneak in after dark."
Mrs. Fowler was sitting on the porch. She held a piece of embroidery, but when they caught sight of her, her eyes were fixed on the street. Karen had slowed to make the turn into the driveway; moved by an irresistible impulse, she put her arm out the window and waved vigorously. She slowed even more, waiting for a response, but there was none; Mrs. Fowler sat like a statue and glared like Medusa.
"That is not a happy person," said Peggy, chuckling. "But I guess she doesn't intend to confront you directly. Maybe she's left you one of her little notes."
"Or sent an emissary?" Someone was sitting on the bottom step, his head bent over a book. Hearing the car he looked up and rose to his feet. Karen went on, "He arranged for me to rent the place; if she wants me out, she'd likely get him to do the dirty work."
Cameron didn't look like the bearer of bad news. After greeting Karen he hurried to open the car door for Peggy, who had remained in her seat looking particularly demure. "I hope you haven't been waiting long," she murmured, accepting the hand he offered and stepping more or less gracefully out of the car.
"Only a few minutes. I was just about to leave a note." He flourished the object he had been reading—not a book, a thick sheaf of papers. "I thought you might like to see the auction catalog. I just got a copy myself."
"And you brought it straight to us? How sweet!"
"I do appreciate it," Karen said. Cameron seemed to be enjoying the byplay, but Peggy was inclined to overdo her performance. "Come in, if you have time."
He accepted readily. As she preceded the other two up the stairs, Karen wondered if it was the presence of a chaperone that had made him agree to an invitation he had been reluctant to accept before. Peggy would love that idea. She'd probably go all out for the role of duenna, nodding and smiling in a rocking chair, with a wad of knitting on her lap.
Propped against the door was a large white box. For one insane moment Karen thought Mrs. Fowler had been there to leave, not a note, but a bomb or some less theatrical demonstration of disapproval. Peggy identified it at once. "Someone's sent you flowers," she exclaimed, lifting the top to display a bouquet of tulips, daffodils and ferns nestled in green tissue paper.
"Not I," Cameron said, frowning. "I didn't even come up the stairs."
Leaving Peggy to carry the flowers, Karen got her key out and opened the door. She had a strong suspicion as to the identity of the sender, so she let Peggy lift the container out of the box and search for a card. "Well, well," said Peggy. "Guess who."
"Bill Meyer, I suppose."
"Right on the mark. He says, 'With heartfelt admiration and deep respect.' "
"I take it," said Cameron, "that you and Dr. Meyer are no longer at odds?"
Wooden and stiff as a cigar-store Indian, he stood in the doorway.
"We are certainly not collaborating," Karen said. "I don't know what he hopes to gain by ... Oh, never mind. Come in, Cameron, and sit down. Please."
"How about a drink?" Peggy asked. "All we've got to offer is Scotch, I'm afraid; Karen's no drinker. It's one of the few flaws in her character. Oh, come on, you wouldn't let a lady drink alone, would you?"
Cameron lowered himself cautiously into a chair and Karen excused herself. When she returned, cleaner and cooler in loose shirt and slacks, the others were looking over the auction list. She was in time to hear Peggy exclaim in tones of deep disgust, "Silver dollars, Indian-head pennies, stamp collection, Meissen figurines . . . Was there anything he didn't collect?"
"Not if it was cheap. You should have seen the place; every room was crammed with junk. There were stacks of old magazines and newspapers, from the present time all the way back to the twenties. Most worthless, unfortunately, because they are in such poor condition." Absently Cameron rubbed a patch of red, roughened skin on his cheek. It looked like poison ivy. "On the other hand, he kept everything he'd inherited, which included some good things. The Meissen was his mother's, and there's a lot of old silver."
"Some wheat among the chaff," Peggy muttered, scanning the list.
"A lot more chaff than wheat. That's why I handed the whole mess over to Jack Wickett. He's reputed to be honest, and it required more expertise than I possess to weed out the junk. I was surprised he kept so much of it, but he tells me some people collect anything."
"Correct. Barbed wire, soft-drink bottles, license plates . . . Yep, here they are on the list, along with old clothes, linens, paintings, books." Peggy turned over the last sheet. "I want to have a look at this stuff, Cameron. At my leisure, before the public viewing."
"I could arrange that, I guess. Jack is giving other people the same privilege."
"Including Bill Meyer?" Karen asked.
"If he requests it, there's no reason why I should refuse, is there? It's to my advantage to have you two bidding against each other."
So that was why he had appeared annoyed at the suggestion that she and Bill were on good terms. "You're right," she said, in a voice as cool as his had been.
"I'll call Jack and let you know." Cameron got up. "Keep the list if you like; I can get another. Oh—I almost forgot. I've found a couple of guys who will dig out that ruin in the woods if you're still interested."
"I'm interested," Peggy said. "Not before next week, though."
"Let me know the day and I'll have them there."
"What's your hurry?" Peggy asked amiably. "We're going out to dinner before long; care to join us?"
"I'm afraid I can't. Thanks anyway."
"Scared to be seen in public with the person who scandalized the haut monde today?"
Again Peggy's sledgehammer tactics had the desired effect. Cameron's face registered shock and then reluctant amusement. He leaned against the door, hands in his pockets. "I hope you don't think I'm that much of a social coward."
"You heard about the speech, then," Karen said.
"Miz Fowler was on the phone as soon as she got home," Cameron admitted. "I found three messages on my answering machine."
"So you rushed over here to defuse the situation," Peggy said. "How gallant."
Cameron shifted his shoulders and looked uncomfortable. "I was going to bring the list over anyhow. Miz Fowler was lying in wait for me. She gave me an earful, all right. But she never had any intention of kicking you out, if that's what you're afraid of."
" 'Afraid' is hardly the word," Karen said sharply.
"I beg your pardon." He straightened and took his hands out of his pockets. "It was the wrong word. As I pointed out to her, you can easily find another apartment, and I have a feeling that her disapproval isn't going to worry you much. That's all she can do—disapprove."
"I know."
"Good. I'll let you know about the viewing."
He closed the door very quietly behind him.
"Why do you have to do that?" Peggy demanded.
"Do what?"
"Just when I've got him nice and relaxed and making friendly gestures, you respond with a verbal slap in the face."
"I'm tired of people reassuring me and protecting me. I'm a grown person, who is perfectly capable—"
Peggy interrupted with an emphatic Anglo-Saxon expletive. "Why don't you drop-kick those flowers across the room while you're at it? I don't give a damn how you feel about men in general and those two in particular; but from a practical point of view your behavior is, to say the least, counterproductive. What's the sense of antagonizing people—male or female—who could b
e useful to you?"
"I don't dislike men in general! Simon—"
"Is old enough to be your grandfather. Safe, in other words. What are you afraid of?"
"The conventional answer is, 'Of being hurt again.' " Karen's lips curved in a self-derisory smile. "That's what Sharon thinks; that the failure of my marriage made me wary of 'intimate relationships.' "
"She could be right."
"That's too simplistic," Karen said, sighing. "Norman didn't hurt me. He honestly believed, and believes to this day, that treating me like an adorable dim-witted child was what I needed and wanted. That didn't hurt me; it just drove me crazy! Compared to many women who have been abused physically, mentally and emotionally, I got off easy, but I'm not ready to jump into another potential disaster. Why the hell should I be in a hurry? But you are absolutely right, it's stupid to antagonize Cameron and even stupider to let Bill get to me. I'm sorry. This has not been one of my better days."
Peggy's sour face relaxed. "It's been quite a day, all right. Have a drink and then we'll go someplace for dinner. Someplace far, far away."
Before they left, Karen had a chance to practice what she had promised. When the telephone rang she went reluctantly to answer it; she had braced herself for reproaches from her landlady, but she wasn't looking forward to the conversation. It was almost a relief to hear Bill Meyer's voice.
"Thank you for the flowers," she said, in a sugary-sweet voice, making a face at Peggy. "They're lovely."
"You got them? I just wanted to be certain. And to reiterate my admiration. I wouldn't have had the guts to stand up in front of that crowd and stick to my guns."
"Yes, you would have," Karen said. "You're an inspiration to us all, Bill."
Peggy frowned and shook her head, but Meyer wasn't annoyed by the sarcasm. He laughed. "I don't suppose you'd let me take you out to dinner."
"Sorry, we've made plans. Some other time?"
After she had hung up she turned to Peggy. "How was that?"
"Not bad. I take it he asked you out tonight?"
"Uh-huh. I suppose you'll say I should have accepted, but I just couldn't face it. Not tonight."