Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

consent, but she has as much right as I to have them in her possession. They aren't even listed in the inventory."

"Damn. You know what she's going to do with them, don't you?"

"I could offer a reasonably good guess. I've met your friend Meyer."

"He's no friend of mine," Karen protested. "Damn, damn, damn! When did he contact you?"

"Sunday. He spoke highly of you," Cameron said. "In fact, he was very civilized and aboveboard. Called to make an appointment, showed me his credentials, explained what he wanted and why he wanted it."

"Strictly business," Karen murmured.

"He indicated he would be willing to make me an offer. Depending, naturally, on whether the materials included anything of interest to him."

"What did you say?"

Cameron's smile didn't reach his eyes. "What any practical businessman would say. That I'd think about it. I didn't know then that Lisa had made off with the cartons. I suppose by now he's talked to her about them."

"Once he gets his hands on those papers he won't make either of you an offer. He'll take what he wants or copy it."

"I doubt Lisa would be gullible enough to hand the material over to him."

"But you were willing—"

"To go through the material with you. No offense, Dr. Holloway, but as you said, this is strictly business."

"Right." Karen thought furiously. It required all the self-discipline she possessed to make herself relax and give him a rueful, charming smile. "No offense taken, Mr. Hayes. I can only hope your cousin is as canny a businesswoman as you believe. I'd prefer to deal with you, though. I'll . . . I'll buy those papers, sight unseen. You set the price. I trust you."

He studied her thoughtfully. "You aren't a stupid woman, Dr. Holloway. Why do you—"

"Please call me Karen."

"Thank you." He wasn't stupid either. His expression indicated he was well aware of her reason for establishing a friendlier, more casual relationship, but there was no way short of rudeness that he could avoid responding in kind. "Some of my so-called friends call me Ron, or Cam, but I'm not fond of nicknames."

"Neither am I. I can't explain why this is so important to me, Cameron; only another crazy academic would understand. Bill Meyer's motives are the same as mine, except that he'd derive additional satisfaction from getting the better of me. It's a personal vendetta."

"Personal? Do you mean ..."

Karen was tempted to confirm his assumption and spin a pathetic story that would arouse the old-fashioned chivalry she ordinarily scorned. Not that she had any scruples about using underhanded female tricks to gain her ends; fluttering lashes and quivering lips only worked with men who underestimated women to begin with. But the idea of claiming Bill Meyer as a rejected lover was too repulsive. Ludicrous, too. Some of her colleagues claimed he had made passes at them, but he'd never indicated the slightest interest in her.

"No," she said. "It's just basic antipathy, I guess. He's such a sneering, supercilious son of a gun. He doesn't like competition, especially from women. Look, I'm not asking you to take sides. Just give me a fair chance." "Certainly." He looked at her untouched plate. "Is the food that bad or were you too distracted to eat? Don't worry; all other things being equal, I'd prefer to deal with you. I didn't much care for Professor Meyer myself."

He dropped her at the apartment after promising to speak with Lisa and let her know what had transpired. Karen's first act was to find a safe hiding place for the manuscript—or try to. It didn't take long to decide that the only options—under the mattress, in the oven, behind the books—were far from secure. She would simply have to take it with her when she left the apartment.

After putting away a few odds and ends, she stood looking around the small living room, uncertain as to what to do next. There were too damned many things to do, and as she thought of Bill Meyer doing them, one step ahead of her all the way, she couldn't settle down. Damn Peggy, she thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had not exactly encouraged Peggy to participate. Why did she have to go rushing off on some meaningless social visit? She could be doing some of the research.

The most urgent matter was to find out all she could about the family that had inhabited the house during the years between 1775 and 1850. In fact, she was fairly certain the book had not been written before 1790 or after 1830, but even that was a broad time span. If only she could narrow it down! So far she had found no reference in the manuscript to a specific date or a specific event. Some such clue might yet turn up, but she couldn't count on it, and in the meantime Bill the Bastard was hot on the trail of the alternative sources. He knew how to go about it as well as she did, and she wouldn't put it past him to remove relevant material to prevent her from seeing it.

At this point she couldn't even be certain that Ismene was one of Cameron's progenitors. According to him the house had been in his family—one branch or another of it—from the beginning. According to Peggy, who knew her Tidewater history well, that claim was questionable. Many of the old families had died out. She'd have to trace the ownership of the property and construct a genealogy before she could make even an educated guess as to the identity of the woman who called herself Ismene. That was almost certainly a nom de plume; it wouldn't be mentioned in family records.

At least Karen hoped it wouldn't. Meyer was probably looking through those papers at this very moment. Cursing, she picked up the briefcase and headed for the door.

Her best and nearest hope lay in the local Historical Society. Cameron had pointed out its headquarters—a handsome antebellum mansion on Main Street, which also served as