by Kathy
"That's not funny."
"Only mildly amusing," Peggy conceded. "I guess you're not in the mood for bad jokes. I agree, I can't see any obvious motive. But it would be interesting to find out whether she's in the area."
She got up, glass in hand, and went to the phone.
After a brief conversation she hung up and turned to Karen. Obviously she was no longer in the mood for jokes either. "She's here, all right. At the motel. Checked in around noon."
Karen feared she would be too keyed up to sleep, but physical exhaustion won out over mental agitation. The persistent ringing of the telephone— Peggy's promised wake-up call—dragged her out of deep sleep and she had to rush in order to be ready when Peggy pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later. The trunk was open; she tossed the briefcase in, slammed the lid, and scrambled into the front seat.
"I still don't see why we have to get there so damned early," she grumbled.
"I told you. Some of these crooks move things from one box to another. We'll have to run a last-minute check to make sure the things we want are in the same place they were yesterday."
"Joan and Sharon are meeting us there?" Karen asked, not really caring.
"Uh-huh." Peggy looked infuriatingly bright and cheerful. She had tied a red ribbon around her head; the ends of the bow stuck up like miniature horns.
If Karen had not been so sleepy, the red ribbon might have warned her. The first person she saw in the auction room was Simon.
He looked out of place, like a Mittel-European count paying a duty visit to a social gathering of serfs. The man with whom he was conversing might have been the overseer—short and red-faced, in shirt sleeves and denim pants, with a cap perched atop a balding head. In fact he was the owner of the auction house; Karen had seen him the day before. He and Simon were chatting and laughing like old friends, but Simon broke off when he saw them and lifted a hand in greeting.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Karen demanded.
"Buying books, of course. Where do you think he finds them?"
"He hasn't had time to look at them."
"He's been in this business a long time, Karen. I think you can assume he knows what he's doing."
Simon came toward them. "Good morning, ladies. Ready for action, I see."
He bowed over the hand Peggy offered him and then put his arm around Karen's shoulders and gave her a brief, affectionate hug. Despite the perky red bow Peggy was in no mood to waste time in social activities. "Did you ask about the safe?" she demanded.
"Yes. He is willing to oblige us."
"Good. I'll go and get it. Give her some coffee, she's barely conscious."
She went trotting off and Simon led Karen toward the refreshment counter. Though the auction was not scheduled to begin for almost an hour, several early birds were already there.
"I didn't know you were coming," Karen said. "What else have you and Peggy arranged behind my back?"
His eyes narrowed in amusement, wrinkles fanning out at the corners. "You do need coffee," he said, proffering a cup. "From what I've heard you are in no position to be surly with your allies. A mensch you may be, but Superwoman you are not. No ill effects after your accident, I trust."
He indicated a chair. Karen sat down with a sigh. "Is there anything you don't know?"
"Very little." Simon deposited himself in a rocking chair next to hers. "Peggy has kept me up-to-date. I hope you don't object?"
"It wouldn't do me any good to object, would it?" She tucked her hand through his arm and smiled at him. "I'm so glad to see you, Simon. Bless you for coming."
"My dear, my motives were completely selfish. There are a number of items in which I am interested."
"I don't care what your motives are, I'm just happy you're here. I've missed you." She added, with a meaningful sidelong look, "So has Peggy. You know she has designs on you, don't you?"
Laughter transformed his face. "How delicately you express yourself. In deference to my old-fashioned sentiments, I suppose? Yes, I do know. I haven't enjoyed myself so much in years." Then his smile faded. "I'm not at all happy about the situation, though. Had I but known—"
"You wouldn't have told me about the manuscript? That's nonsense, Simon. You had to let me see it and I had to have it." She turned the cup in her hands, trying to find the right words. "I can't believe I am in physical danger, if that's what is worrying you. None of the people involved in this business are capable of violence."
"I would agree with you," Simon said, "if I had not received a telephone call the other day from Dr. Angelo. She sounded almost unbalanced."
"Oh, she does that all the time," Karen said reassuringly. Glad as she was of another ally, she didn't want Simon to worry about her. "Dorothea's threatening phone calls are notorious. And please don't mention menopause."
"That is not a subject I care to discuss," Simon said fastidiously.
Karen laughed. "In her case it's certainly not menopausal. She's always had a foul mouth and a nasty temper. What can she do to me except call me bad names?"
"Aside from the fact that she would make two of you . . . Ach, never mind, I am being a nervous old man. Here is Peggy coming. It was her idea, not mine, that the manuscript should be in a safe place today, but I am in complete agreement with her. It would be too easy to break into a car parked in the lot, with so many people coming and going."
After they had seen the briefcase placed in the safe in the auctioneer's office, they separated for final inspections.
"Simon saved three seats for us," Peggy said, indicating the tent, which was now filled with rows of wooden chairs.
"What about Joan and Sharon?"
"They'll have to fend for themselves. Joan's an old hand, she's probably brought folding chairs. Let's register and get our numbers. Remember, you are not to bid on anything, and I mean anything, without asking me."
Karen realized her heart was beating faster than usual. As they stood in the line waiting to register, she scanned the thickening crowd. It was beginning to look like a high school reunion—everyone seemed to know everybody else, and she saw several familiar faces. Lisa Fairweather, clipboard in hand—to keep track of how much money she was going to make; Mrs. Fowler, complete with violets and with the Colonel in devoted attendance; a squat, pasty-faced man whom, for a heart-stopping moment, she took for Joe Cropsey; Bill Meyer . . . She gasped aloud.
The square inches of skin he had lost were on his face. The left side of it, from cheekbone to jaw, looked like raw meat. A single patch of white was visible on the same side of his forehead, near the temple.
Peggy had seen him too. "Wow," she said, impressed. "He must have hit a patch of gravel on his way to a final landing. He was so coated with mud, I didn't realize how extensive the damage was. Don't you think a polite thanks might be in order?"
Karen was forced to agree. She was able to postpone the gesture, however, for by the time she had finished registering, Meyer had disappeared and it was time for them to take their seats.
As they crossed the room they found themselves face-to-face with Mrs. Fowler. Her smile froze. She acknowledged Peggy's cheerful "Good morning" with a nod, and then proceeded to cut Karen dead. It was the first time it had ever happened to Karen, but she had read about it. When someone looks straight through you and then deliberately turns her back, the point is hard to miss.
Peggy took Karen's arm and drew her away. She was shaking with silent laughter. "You're supposed to shiver and say, 'Brrrrr,' " she pointed out.
"If she weren't an old lady and I were not . . . well ... a lady, I'd slap her silly face," Karen muttered.
"She's a welcome touch of comic relief. Now remember what I said. If you raise your arm without permission, I'll break it."
They took their seats. Peggy arranged herself comfortably, clipboard and auction list on her knee, pen in her hand. Karen turned, looking for Simon. She couldn't see him; the chairs were all filled and people were roaming around.
"Peggy!"
<
br /> Peggy jumped. "What?"
"I forgot. The papers Simon told us about—when he called the other night—"
"Oh." Peggy relaxed. "Don't hiss at me like that, I thought you'd seen something important. The auctioneer showed me the papers yesterday. They aren't important, just a lot of late account books and miscellaneous junk. I may bid on that box, though; there were a couple of elegant lace-trimmed petticoats—"
"You're as bad as Uncle Josiah," Karen said critically. "Is there anything you don't collect?"
"Lots of things. License plates and antique Coke bottles, among others. Shhh, he's about to start."
Things didn't get interesting until late morning. It took that long to sell the miscellaneous box lots and what Peggy described contemptuously as "collectibles." Most of them went cheap, except for the license plates and one box of books. Karen was allowed to bid on it, but dropped out after the price reached twenty dollars. It was finally knocked down at two hundred, and Karen turned to stare at Peggy. "What in heaven's name was in that lot?"
"God knows. And Simon."
"You mean he ... I didn't see him bidding."
Simon was wandering back and forth, sometimes sitting with them, sometimes strolling around the room.
"You're not supposed to. There are a lot of book people here. They're all watching him and each other." Peggy chuckled and hugged herself. "Wheels within wheels within wheels. Are you having fun? I am."
She had bought two boxes of old clothes and the painting of the dog. Karen stiffened as one of the auctioneer's helpers carried in another painting. "There's the old lady. Are you—"
"No. And neither are you."
"But—"
"Hush up." Peggy reached up and straightened her hair bow.
The bidding was brisk. When the painting was finally knocked down, Peggy let out a satisfied sigh. "Got it," she whispered.
"You didn't even . . . You mean someone else is—"
"Shhh." Peggy relaxed. "They're starting on the lamps and fixtures. That'll take a while. Let's get some coffee."
They squeezed past knees and bundles, and Peggy said warningly, "I told you to leave this to me. If you've got rivals who might bid against you, you get someone else to bid for you. Simon and I made arrangements last night."
"Oh. You didn't believe Bill either?"
"Bill is not the one I'm worried about. You haven't spotted her, I take it."
Only Karen's interest in the proceedings would have prevented her from seeing someone so conspicuous. Dorothea stood at the back of the tent, her arms folded. Penciled brows raised, lips tight, she did not attempt to disguise the fact that she was watching Karen. Catching the latter's eye, she nodded brusquely but did not smile or wave.
"See any scratches?" Karen muttered.
"Hard to tell from here, she's got so much makeup plastered on her face. Is she wearing gloves?"
"I can't tell . . . Yes, by golly, I think she is! That's suspicious, isn't it?"
"Not necessarily. She may not want to dirty her elegant hands. She bid on everything either of us did," Peggy went on, drawing Karen away.
"Even the dog?" Karen asked incredulously.
"Yep. Ran it up fifty bucks extra." A look of evil anticipation transformed Peggy's face. "I'll get back at her before the day is over. That's encouraging, actually; it means she doesn't have the faintest idea what she's looking for."
Karen was not surprised to find Joan at the refreshment stand devouring pie. "Sharon is getting bored," she announced. "She'll probably leave pretty soon. Have you seen Bill? Poor baby, doesn't he look terrible? I hope you told him how noble he is."
"I haven't had a chance," Karen said defensively. "Anyhow, he's probably gotten enough gushing admiration from you."
"He wants it from you," Joan said. "Not that he actually said so; it was my sensitive feminine intuition that enabled me to discern his shy yearnings."
"You do have a way with words," Karen said with a reluctant grin. " 'Shy' is not the one I'd apply to Bill, but maybe I have been unfair to him; I have to give him credit, he hasn't swaggered up demanding appreciation. I'll work up a good gush, I promise. Peggy, shouldn't we be getting back?"
"Everything is under control." Peggy dumped sugar into her coffee. "I haven't seen Cameron, have you?"
"I haven't been looking for him."
"I have," Peggy said calmly. "I expected he'd be here to see how prices were running."
"If he shows up I want to meet him," Joan announced. "Since I don't seem to be making any progress with Bill."
They left her still eating pie.
It was late in the afternoon before Cameron made his appearance. Karen spotted him first; the auctioneer had been selling furniture for well over an hour and her interest had flagged. She nudged Peggy, who was chortling because she had conned Dorothea into buying a box of old National Geographic magazines for an outrageous price.
"There's Cameron."
"Oh, good." Peggy gathered up her belongings. "I'm ready to take a break. Let's go talk to him."
When they arrived Simon was talking to Cameron. Simon's elegantly casual attire and aristocratic features made Cameron's rolled shirt sleeves, faded denim pants and heavy work shoes look even shabbier. He had shaved that morning, however, and made some attempt to clean the ingrained grime from his hands. They were raw and red and crisscrossed with angry scratches.
That didn't mean anything, Karen thought. Cameron's hands always looked that way.
Simon said, "I was telling Mr. Hayes that prices seem to be running high. He should do well."
"Thanks in part to us," Peggy said, grinning at Cameron. "I squeezed an extra twenty bucks out of Angelo for that awful flower painting." Her smile fading, she added gloomily, "She's run me up on a few things too."
"I'm sorry to hear it," Cameron said politely.
"You shouldn't be. Where've you been? Your cousin has been here since dawn, adding up prices. Aren't you anxious to find out how rich you're going to be?"
Simon rolled his eyes and exclaimed, "Really, Peggy, you have the manners of a battering ram."
"That's all right." Cameron's face relaxed into a smile. "I'm accustomed to Peggy's—er—candor. Lisa has more leisure than I, Peggy. As you can probably tell from my appearance, I was working. I think I have a buyer for the house. That won't affect your plans," he added, anticipating her reply. "The deal won't be finalized for several weeks, so you'll have time to finish what you want to do at Amberley."
"I'm glad to hear it, for your sake." Peggy's brow furrowed. "It could affect our plans, though, if the buyer intends to make extensive alterations. Is he going to develop the land, or—"
"For pity's sake, Peggy, this is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion," Simon said, scandalized at her bluntness. "We'd better get back to the bidding. Nice to have seen you, Mr. Hayes."
Amused and unashamed, Peggy let him draw her away. Karen was about to follow when Cameron said, "If you have a few minutes, Karen, I'd like to talk to you."
"All right. Let's go outside; it's stifling in here, and I could use a breath of fresh air."
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.