That ended any hope of a sensible discussion. Even Tony got carried away; it was he who postulated a treasure map embroidered onto a tablecloth. Paste gems that weren't paste but genuine, diamonds disguised as buttons-they covered the gamut of absurd theories. They were laughing over Karen's suggestion-a lost Edgar Allan Poe manuscript cut up and used to line a lady's bodice-when a voice behind Karen said brightly, "I had to stop and say hello."
Tony was on his feet. Mark started to follow suit; Shreve put her hand on his shoulder and held him in his chair. "Don't get up; I wouldn't disturb such a pleasant group for the world. So nice to see that you're having an evening out, Karen."
"Like the maid, you mean?" Karen turned. "Have you met everyone?"
She performed the introductions. Shreve nodded slightly at Cheryl-"I've met Mrs. Reichardt"-but her eyes returned immediately to Cardoza. "Detective?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Tony, trying to look stolid.
"Charming," Shreve murmured. "What a pretty dress, Karen. Is it for sale?"
"I'm afraid it wouldn't suit you," Karen said. "But if you are interested in a dress, come by any time. All customers welcome. I'll even take your personal check."
"How adorable of you." Shreve's hand moved from Mark's shoulder to his cheek. She patted it gently. "Well, I'll say good night. Don't let this poor boy work too hard."
"I'd say the honors went to Karen," said Tony critically, as Shreve joined the rest of her party.
"Is that her husband?" Cheryl asked, staring unabashedly.
"No," Mark said. "Does anyone want coffee?"
"At three bucks a cup?" Tony shook his handsome head. "Now if someone were to offer me a cup later, after I had escorted her home…"
"Good idea," Cheryl said. "And then you guys can help us look for the missing treasure."
"I was just kidding about that," Tony protested.
"I wasn't." Mark reached for the check. "I tell you, he's looking for something. Don't forget what he said to Karen."
"'Where is it?'" Cheryl repeated. "I had forgotten that. I think you're on to something, Mark."
Tony was not so easily convinced. Pressed by Mark, Karen was forced to admit that the idea was not as farfetched as their joking discussion had made it sound. She had heard of dealers finding old letters and diaries, even jewelry, in a bag or a pocket. They argued back and forth most of the way home, and in the end Tony grudgingly conceded that there was a possibility Mark was right. Only a possibility, though.
"It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack," he grumbled. "If the purported missing object were something obvious, you'd have found it by now. You've looked in the pockets and in the toes of the shoes?"
"I never thought about the shoes," Karen said.
"Oh, hell," said Tony.
They had reached the house; Karen took out her key and inserted it in the lock. "Damn," she said, twisting. "It sticks."
"Let me." Mark unlocked the door.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Cheryl demanded.
Mark stepped back. "You go first."
"Our hero! What are you afraid of?"
"The dog," Mark said simply. "This is my best suit."
Tony seemed equally disinclined to volunteer. With a scornful sniff Cheryl opened the door and demonstrated her technique. After he had been tipped over, Alexander got to his feet and walked away with the abstracted air of a philosopher pondering one of the great universal questions.
"I've got to get out of this dress," Cheryl announced, leading the way into the house. "It's so tight I can hardly breathe."
"You ate too much," her brother said rudely.
"You ate my oysters."
"Oysters aren't fattening. What did it was that mountain of profiteroles."
"I shall ignore that," Cheryl said. "Shouldn't you change too, Karen? Remember our rule: Don't wrinkle the merchandise unnecessarily."
"I'll make the coffee," Mark said. "I take it the merchandise is upstairs? Yell when you're decent and we'll come up. This way, Tony."
Loosening his tie, he strolled toward the kitchen with the confidence of someone who knows his way around a house and feels at home there. Which of course he did, Karen thought. At one time he had been a frequent visitor, welcomed with the total hospitality Pat extended to people he liked. Memories warm as summer and clear as actual sight filled her mind-Mark and Pat sitting in the kitchen, elbows on the table, sleeves rolled up, scattering crumbs and leaving beer and coffee stains on the cloth; Ruth scolding both of them with affectionate impartiality as she mopped up the mess…
"Hey, Karen," Cheryl called from the top of the stairs. "I need help with this zipper."
"Oh, yes." Karen came back from ten years in the past. "Coming."
The search began with a certain amount of enthusiasm. Even Tony looked hopeful as he examined the shoes, most of which had belonged to Mrs. MacDougal. They had been neatly stuffed with tissue paper-but only with tissue paper. Mark seemed fascinated by the dresses. He kept repeating, "Five thousand dollars? Five thousand?"
Finally Karen lost patience. "They are like any other kind of antique or collectible, Mark; the price depends solely on what people are willing to pay. Here, give me that. You're going to loosen the crystals pulling at them."
"I can't believe they aren't diamonds," Mark said, giving up the dress-one of Mrs. MacDougal's more heavily beaded creations. "There's no place to hide anything in these dresses-no pockets, no collars, no sleeves."
Tony's interest had declined, but he stuck to the job, methodically examining handbags and purses, feeling the linings to make certain they were intact, turning them upside down and shaking them.
"What's this?" Mark reached into the wardrobe and took out a small cream-colored box.
Karen launched herself at him with a shriek and snatched the box from his hands.
Mark recoiled. "What the hell-"
"That's my Fortuny!"
"I don't know what a Fortuny is, but I can assure you I wasn't about to wipe the floor with it."
Karen peered cautiously into the box. "It's one of his Delphos dresses. Nobody knows to this day how he got those tiny pleats, covering the entire garment. They had to be returned to him to be re-pleated, and they were sold in boxes-like this one-rolled and twined around like a skein of yarn. I was afraid you were going to take it out. I haven't dared touch it, because I know I'd never get it back the way it was."
"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.