But the sight of Cheryl's stricken face and quivering lips didn't make her regret what she had said.
Tony came back into the kitchen. "Someone will be here in a minute," he said curtly. He looked at Cheryl. "Go and get some clothes on. Now."
Cheryl fled without another word.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE only one who had a good night was Alexander. He managed to bite not one but both policemen. Cheryl and Karen didn't get to bed until after four. Karen expected she would lie awake, but she was so exhausted she was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
Cheryl claimed she had slept too, but there were purple shadows under her eyes and lines around her mouth next morning. It was almost eleven before they sat down to breakfast, a meal in name only, for neither of them ate.
"Looks like rain," Cheryl said, breaking a long silence.
Karen said, "Uh-huh."
"Am I still in the doghouse?"
"What?"
"I've been thinking about what you said last night."
"I said a lot of things last night." Karen sipped her coffee, hoping a healthy dose of caffeine would clear her head. "I suppose I should apologize, but I'm not going to. I guess I owe you one," she added, with a futile attempt at a smile. "Five minutes of criticism, at your convenience."
Cheryl did not return her smile. "I'm tempted to take you up on it. You're so smart about most things and so incredibly dumb about others."
"Let's not fight now," Karen said. "I'm too tired."
"Okay."
"Cheryl."
"What?"
"I want you to move out. Go back to Mark's."
"I figured you were going to say that. Did you figure out what I'd say back?"
"I figured, yes. And I also figured what I'd say after you said what you said."
"Don't bother. Look at it this way, Karen-would you walk out on me if the situation were the other way around?"
"I certainly would."
"You're a damned liar."
Karen's lips quivered. She wasn't sure whether she was going to laugh or cry until laughter finally won out. "You're hopeless. Maybe I can hire someone to kidnap you."
"That's the only way you'll get me out of here." Cheryl's smile was almost back to normal. "They'll catch the guy, Karen. They're bound to. Tony said someone would be watching the house every night from now on. And if I know Tony, he'll be sticking pretty close too. Not to mention my only brother. I wonder what he's going to say about the latest developments. Looks as if his far-out theory was right after all."
"What theory? He never said what it was, just sat there poking holes in Tony's theories." Karen's jaw set. "If he gloats-if he says one word that can be interpreted as rubbing it in-I'll kill him. Tony feels rotten enough without that."
"Yeah." Cheryl didn't enlarge on the subject. After another silence she said, "So what are we going to do today?"
"Go bravely forward, like good soldiers, I guess. What else is there to do? We can't huddle in the house all the time. I'll take those dresses to Shreve."
"And I'll go see Mrs. MacDougal's friend. I don't know, though, Karen. Maybe you shouldn't go."
"Are you suggesting Shreve is the sheeted specter? Shreve, of all people? Climbing fences and waving butcher knives? In her Moygashel linen and her white gloves?"
Cheryl did not share her sour amusement. "She hates you."
"She has subtler methods of cutting me down. She doesn't need knives." Karen pushed her chair back and stood up. "Besides-in case you've forgotten-Shreve has the perfect alibi for last night. Vouched for by no less a personage than Congressman Brinckley, a.k.a. your only brother."
SHREVE'S directions had been clear and explicit. That didn't prevent Karen from getting lost. Stopping at a crossroads store, she discovered she was heading in precisely the wrong direction-a classic example of a Freudian slip in motion, she surmised. She was only fifteen minutes behind time, but she found Shreve pacing up and down the drive waiting for her.
"You're late," she snapped.
"I got lost. It's a long drive."
"How true. Come in, then."
"Can someone give me a hand with these?" Karen asked, opening the back door of the car. "They have to be carried carefully."
Shreve's eyebrows soared. "I'm afraid there's not a soul around, darling. I assumed you wouldn't want a witness."
"I beg your pardon?" Karen straightened, holding one of the boxes.
"And well you should. Oh, well, I'll take the other one, if you insist. This way."
Karen followed her into a room that might have been called a library if there had been any books on the shelves. It was furnished expensively and with a striking lack of originality. Shreve tossed the box carelessly onto a long leather sofa. "Is it in this one?"
Karen hesitated, not knowing what to say. She was completely bewildered by Shreve's remarks, and a faint but growing sense of uneasiness added to her confusion.
Before she could reply, there was the sound of an automobile horn-not a simple hoot, but a strident rendering of the first bar of "Dixie." Shreve scowled. "Damn. I might have known he'd turn up, just when… Stay here. I'll get rid of him. Don't leave this room."
Karen sat down to wait. The time stretched on; apparently Shreve was finding it difficult to dismiss her visitor. Karen shifted impatiently.
On a low table near her chair a number of glossy magazines were arranged in order, neat as an illustration out of a copy of House Beautiful. Karen went through them, taking a petty and malicious enjoyment out of the disorder she created. They were of the type she had expected to find on Shreve's table-Vogue and Vanity Fair, Washingtonian, the New Yorker.
One thin magazine differed from the rest. On the cover was a black-and-white photograph of a young girl dressed in white lace and pearls standing under a blossoming tree. Above the photo was a name Karen recognized-that of a prestigious private girls' school. Idly she picked it up and flipped through the pages. It appeared to be the commencement issue of the alumnae bulletin. Photos of beaming girls hugging one another and waving their diplomas; photos of commencement speakers and prominent parents. Karen was mildly entertained to learn that people actually did give children names like Muffin, Taffy, and Lolly.
Half the book was devoted to pictures of, and news about, alumnae-understandably, since the unspoken thrust of the publication was to extract money from same. There were photos of children and grandchildren and old graduation pictures. Among the latter was one of Shreve. Smirking as usual, Karen thought, studying the picture. It showed three girls, their arms around each other, with Shreve in the middle. They were wearing identical fluffy dresses with demure puffed sleeves and ruffled necklines. Karen had heard that some of the posh schools insisted all the girls wear the same dress for graduation, thus ostentatiously avoiding ostentation.
The truth didn't hit her all at once. It started as a tiny trickle of suspicion; then it widened, breaking down the walls of disbelief like a flood of evil-smelling, rancid water. The room darkened for a moment, and she had to hold tight to the arms of the chair; it seemed to be swaying under her like a swing.
She was on her feet when Shreve returned. After one quick glance at her face, the other woman turned back to the door. There was an ominous little click, which registered vaguely in Karen's mind as something she ought to worry about, but which made only a minor impression compared to the staggering knowledge she was trying to assimilate.
"It's a little late to get cold feet now," Shreve said. "You've been enjoying your little game of cat and mouse, haven't you? I must admire the way you handled it. Not a word, even in private, that could incriminate you. Everything innocent and straightforward. But I knew you'd slip up eventually. You were so damned pleased with your cleverness you got careless. Coming here alone was a big mistake. I don't suppose you were foolish enough to bring it with you, though…"