The scrap of material Karen held in her hand was not designed to be a new waistband. It was the wrong shape and size-roughly triangular, about three inches at the base. Nor, unless her recently acquired knowledge of fabrics misled her, was it old. A polyester-and-cotton blend, brand new and unstained except for a smear of rust from the nail on which it had been caught. It might have been torn from a bed sheet.
Karen had found it that morning, hanging from a nail on the back fence. It was the only visible evidence that someone had been in the yard the night before. As Tony had pointed out, the garden was too neatly tended to take footprints.
Pat and Ruth had a part-time gardener who came several times a week. Apparently his working hours coincided with Karen's, for she had never set eyes on him. Perhaps the gardener would know if there was any sign of disturbance, but it was hardly worthwhile trying to locate him. She had no intention of telling anyone of the incident, including the police. They had already heard from her twice in the last two days, assuming Mr. Bates had passed on the information about Horton. It wasn't exactly a case of the boy who cried "wolf," for there had definitely been a wolf of sorts in her hallway; but she had a feeling the police would get a trifle blase about her complaints if she called them every day. Anyway, the scrap of cloth wasn't evidence-the police would probably think it had been torn from one of her laundered garments-and the story sounded worse than silly, it sounded demented. A ghost in the garden, lady? Well, you know these old Georgetown legends.
Her lips tightly set, Karen put the scrap in an envelope and laid it aside. There was no doubt in her mind that the affair had been designed for one purpose only- to frighten her. After trying the door and discovering he could not get in, the unknown had roused Alexander- perhaps he had thrown gravel at the window-and lingered until the light in her bedroom went on, so that she would be sure to see him. The fog had been a helpful but not essential adjunct to his performance; and the weather forecast would have informed him that some such meteorological phenomenon could be expected that night.
Instead of reducing her to a state of quivering terror, the incident had had precisely the opposite effect. She was getting tired of people trying to intimidate her; and a clumsy, childish trick like that one added insult to injury.
Rob was late to work. She had to unlock the shop herself. Damn him, she thought, surveying the unemptied ashtray on the front desk and the tumbled folders scattered across the table. It wouldn't have taken him five minutes to tidy up. She straightened the folders, observing that a scant half dozen of the Georgetown book remained. It had been selling like hot cakes, all right; Julie's cynical assessment had been accurate. Maybe I'd better have another look at it, Karen thought. Maybe I can find a nasty scandal about someone else I know. Not mentioning any names… Wouldn't it be funny if Shreve were anxious to retrieve Granny's things because somewhere in the lot was evidence of an antique misdemeanor Granny had committed?
Rob finally sauntered in, magnificent in designer jeans and shirt, his hair newly styled. "Like it? There's the dearest little person in a new place on M Street; he could do wonders for you, duckie, you ought to give him a try."
He then retreated to the office and his paperback. Karen watched him go, lean hips swaying, muscles rippling, hair gleaming, and smiled ruefully as a familiar sensation rippled through some of her own muscles. No wonder women found Rob so devastating. He must work like a fiend to keep that body looking the way it did. Too bad he had such a feeble little mind to go with it.
During the next lull in business she opened her notebook, which she had decided to carry with her-as if it were a magic talisman promising success, or as if some variety of osmosis would magically transfer onto its blank pages the information she needed to put there. Lists, she thought. Why is it I can't make lists? Some people love to make them. Sometimes they even get around to doing the things on the lists.
She had accomplished one thing that morning; she had called one of the lawyers on the list Mr. Bates had given her, and she had an appointment for the following day. But her brief sense of accomplishment faded when she began listing her other chores. They weren't small chores, quickly done. Find a suitable building; see what work needs to be done; call contractors, plumbers, electricians; apply for a permit-permits, rather-heaven only knew how many she would need and for what…
Karen groaned and dropped her head into her hands. That was just the beginning. She ought to be attending auctions and flea markets and yard sales. Visiting museums. Reading her reference books. Washing, mending, finding sewing supplies.
And dealing with the most basic question of alclass="underline" What was she going to use for money?
The solution slipped into her mind so smoothly and gently that she knew it must have been there all along. What she needed was a partner. Any business enterprise-including marriage, she told herself wryly-requires two people if it is to succeed. Two bodies, since one person can't be in two places at the same time; two pairs of hands to lighten burdens and carry twice the number of loads.
Cheryl's talents complemented her own. Cheryl had, or would soon have, the business training she lacked. Cheryl didn't wince when the word "computer" was mentioned. She was fascinated by the old garments, good with a needle, intelligent. She was easy to get along with. She had a sense of humor. (After dealing with Julie, Karen appreciated the importance of the last two attributes.) Cheryl had even mentioned that she had a little money saved and that eventually she hoped to invest it in her own business.
It was the perfect solution. In fact, as she remembered some of the things Cheryl had said, Karen realized that she had dropped several broad hints. So why had it taken her so long to recognize it?
She knew the answer. One word. A name.
It was high time she got the name and the complex, difficult emotions it aroused, out of her system. She could now admit that Mark also had some right to feel injured. If he could forgive and forget, she could do no less. There was no reason why they couldn't be friends. "Friendly" was the word for his behavior the other night. Strange that a word so warm and comforting when applied to one person should sound so cold when applied to another…
Men seemed to prefer the kind of life he was presently leading, without commitments, flitting from woman to woman as the King of Siam had advised, having casual extramarital flings with the wives of colleagues and associates.
There's plenty of that going on, Karen reminded herself with a sour smile. Men weren't the only ones who had no qualms about the Seventh Commandment.
She decided she would talk to Cheryl that evening. Of course she might be mistaken; Cheryl might not be interested. But even the possibility lifted Karen's spirits. She gathered up her despised lists with new determination and carried them back to the office, ordering Rob to man the shop.
She was at Julie's desk scribbling busily when she heard the doorbells tinkle, and Rob's saccharine coo, which he reserved for old customers. "Darling, how divine to see you. I do hope you want to buy lots and lots of expensive goodies."
Rob had a lot in common with anchovies-either you adored him or he made you slightly nauseous. Karen decided she had better go out and see which category the customer belonged to.
Judging by her expression, she belonged to the second category. Her frown smoothed out when she saw Karen, and then Karen recognized her. The old school ties were strengthening; it was Miriam Montgomery, who had been with Shreve on an earlier visit to the shop, and who had snubbed her almost as thoroughly as Shreve. Though she wore a well-cut linen dress, she didn't have Shreve's style; the garment hung from her slumped shoulders like any cheap copy from a department-store rack. Her flat, rather doughy features showed the same combination of expensive equipment improperly employed; her mascara was too dark for her pale-blue eyes and her lipstick was smeared.