"Brought you some stuff," said Mrs. Grossmuller, in one of her sudden descents from formal English to western Maryland accent and colloquialism. "You gonna ask me to come in or do you want I should dump it out on the sidewalk like a common vendor?"
She pushed past Karen as soon as the latter had unlocked the door, and Karen's cry of warning came too late. "Watch out for the dog!"
Mrs. Grossmuller stood looking down at Alexander, who was squirming at her feet in unbecoming admiration. "Homely, ain't he? I guess that's the homeliest dog I ever seen."
The insult did not affect Alexander in the least. He continued to grovel and Mrs. Grossmuller added grudgingly, "Nice little feller, though. Friendly."
"He likes you," Karen exclaimed incredulously.
"Most dogs do. Well? Where's the sitting room? I could be persuaded to partake of a glass of sherry if it is not too sweet."
Mrs. Grossmuller got her sherry. She then spread her wares out across the furniture. They weren't quite as bad as Karen had feared, but they ran the gamut from a pair of pretty Victorian petticoats to faded calico aprons and sunbonnets. Some could never have fit Mrs. Grossmuller, at any stage in her life; Karen deduced that she had been looting her neighbors' attics, spurred on by her successful sale, and only hoped she had had their permission to do so. Being a receiver of stolen goods had a certain piratical ring to it when the stolen goods were gems and precious metals, but it would be demeaning to be arrested over a calico sunbonnet.
For once it was she who had to put her foot down on the outlandish prices Mrs. Grossmuller asked. Cheryl, who had not spoken a word since Alexander's astonishing performance, seemed absolutely hypnotized.
Her worst fears were uncalled for; after a reasonable amount of dickering Mrs. Grossmuller accepted her offers and repacked the merchandise that had been rejected. "You're smarter than I thought," she remarked. "Couldn't take you in. Figured it was worth trying, though."
She settled back with a pleased smile and thumbed through the money Karen had given her.
"How did you find me?" Karen asked.
The answer was the one she expected. "Your address was on your check. I'll bring you some more stuff another time."
"No, don't do that," Karen exclaimed. "I mean- I'll be moving soon."
"Where?"
"I don't know yet. Why don't you give me your address and phone number and I'll call you."
"Makes sense," said Mrs. Grossmuller agreeably. She reached into her capacious purse. "My card."
It really was a calling card, yellow with age and frayed around the edges, but handsomely engraved.
"Thank you," Karen said. "Well. I'll be in touch."
"Oh, I'm not leaving yet," said Mrs. Grossmuller, settling herself more comfortably. "You still got my wedding dress?"
"Uh-no. It's not here. It's-it's at the cleaners'."
"Oh. Too bad. I'd have liked to look at it again."
Karen glanced at Cheryl, who was staring at Mrs. Grossmuller with the dumb fascination of a chicken under the cold, hypnotic gaze of a snake. She herself was conscious of a desire to burst into wild, uncontrolled shrieks of laughter.
"I'm sorry we can't ask you to stay, Mrs. Grossmuller. We are going out."
"When?"
"Right now," Karen said firmly.
"Oh. Well, I guess you couldn't ask me to stay to lunch then. Were that not the case I might be offended by the omission." Mrs. Grossmuller gathered up her shopping bags and rose, stepping carefully over Alexander, who was sprawled at her feet, licking her shoe. "I guess I'll just hike down Wisconsin and look in the windows. Maybe have lunch out, seeing as I'm so rich. Is there a McDonald's around?"
Karen showed her out and then ran into the parlor, where she and Cheryl stood watching out the window, as Mrs. Grossmuller walked to a car parked-illegally-across the street, and got in. The vehicle swung abruptly out into the traffic, ignoring a Camaro that had to slam on its brakes to avoid a collision, and wove erratically away.
"Are you all right?" Karen asked, nudging her paralyzed partner.
"Pinch me," Cheryl gasped. "I don't believe it. Did you see that car? It was a Mercedes. And Alexander… She put a spell on him!"
"Cheryl, get hold of yourself. She's a poor, senile old woman. Why does she affect you that way?"
"Listen, I know a lot of senile old ladies. None of them acts like that. I can't help it. She gives me the creeps. Be honest, Karen; what would you think if you woke up in the middle of the night and saw that face looking in your window?"
"I'd think I was dreaming. She couldn't get up to a second-story window without a ladder-"
"Or a broomstick," Cheryl muttered.
"I'm sorry I can't stay and protect you from witches, but I'm horribly late already. I haven't even time to change. Are you sure you won't be nervous?"
Cheryl gave herself a shake. "Don't be silly. I've got plenty to keep me busy. But I'm going to lock all the doors."
"You do that. I wish I could stay and help you. Oh, well, it won't be long; Julie will be back in a few days."
Julie was back sooner than that. Karen was not unduly surprised, though she was angry, to see that the shop was dark and that the grille across the door was still in place. Not until she started to unlock the padlock did she realize that although the hasp had been inserted into the hole, it had not been pushed home.
"THIS is getting monotonous," said Tony Cardoza.
Hands on his narrow hips, he looked down at Karen, seated at Julie's desk.
"It's not my fault," Karen growled. "And if you've called Mark…"
"I have not called Mark." Tony sat down on the corner of the desk.
"Then don't. I won't have him dashing to the rescue everytime something happens."
Tony grinned and pushed his hat back on his head; then he remembered and whipped it off. "Sorry about that."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, who gives a damn about formality? Just tell those idiots to stop spraying powder on the merchandise. It will take me all day to clean it up."
"They are looking for fingerprints," Tony said mildly.
"I know. I'll never get the damned ink off my hands."
"If you're through yelling, maybe I can ask you some questions. I have a few other things to do this afternoon, little unimportant things like investigating some murders."
"Okay, okay." After a moment Karen added, "I'm sorry, Tony. I appreciate your coming so quickly."
"Oh, listen, I've developed a conditioned reflex. I've seen your name on so many call sheets lately I automatically jump into action. Did you call what's-er-name- the owner?"
"She was out. I left a message for her at the hotel."
"The name of which is…"
"I told the officers."
"Then tell me."
"What are you up to?" Karen asked curiously. "Cheryl said you're Homicide, so this isn't even your case."
"I'm on my lunch hour," Tony said. "What I do in my spare time is none of the Department's business. Now, then, you were about to give me the name of that hotel."
Karen leaned back in her chair. She was recovering from her evil humor; Tony's calm, friendly professionalism was comforting to overstrained nerves.
"I thought of Julie when you asked me if someone had a grudge against me," she admitted. "She was furious when I refused to let her have the clothes for her own shop. I gather you know all about that; you seem to know everything else about me."
"Cheryl talks a lot," Tony said. "Look, Karen, I'm doing this because I want to-okay? Nobody's forcing me. So why don't you relax and let me do it?"
"Well…"
"Here comes one of the boys in blue to ask you what is missing. Talk nice to him."
"I don't know what's missing. The place is so torn up… Oh, damn! Julie is going to blow her stack."
Julie did. It was late afternoon before she telephoned, and it was clear that she had already heard the bad news, for she burst into a scream of vituperation as soon as Karen picked up the telephone. Karen had been prepared to sympathize, but the unreasonable accusations of negligence and worse made her angry; after trying unsuccessfully to get a word in, she finally hung up. Then she closed the shop and went home.