Houses of Stone, page 28
“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!”
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, som 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.
“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 laughingstock 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.”
