Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

told Joan the driver was a woman. She's convinced herself she really saw her, but she couldn't possibly have gotten a good look."

"Could he?"

"He's the only one who might have. Joan and I were walking away, he was watching you. He said the car just appeared around that sharp curve, coming much too fast."

"I didn't even see it. Or hear it."

"You wouldn't have heard anything. There were too many other cars revving up and driving out. If he hadn't pushed you out of the way ..."

Karen rubbed her sore shoulder—her only souvenir of that potentially fatal incident. "So I have to be grateful to him for saving my life?"

"Tsk, tsk," said Peggy, lips pursed in a wicked imitation of Sharon. "Don't let other people hear you say things like that, they might misunderstand. 'Saving your life at the risk of his own,' is how Joan would probably put it. She's such a damned romantic." Her face grew sober. "But she could be right. What he did took not only guts but very quick reflexes. That's not to say that it wasn't an accident. The road was wet; if the driver hit the brakes too hard, he—or she—could lose control."

Karen's nerves were not at their best. "Of course it was an accident! I know what you're thinking, and it's ridiculous. Dorothea Angelo may not be Miss Congeniality but she wouldn't try to run me down for the sheer fun of it. What would she gain by killing or maiming me?"

"Hmmm." Peggy rubbed her chin. "If this were a Gothic novel she'd turn out to be your birth mother and nearest heir."

"That's not funny."

"Only mildly amusing," Peggy conceded. "I guess you're not in the mood for bad jokes. I agree, I can't see any obvious motive. But it would be interesting to find out whether she's in the area."

She got up, glass in hand, and went to the phone.

After a brief conversation she hung up and turned to Karen. Obviously she was no longer in the mood for jokes either. "She's here, all right. At the motel. Checked in around noon."

Karen feared she would be too keyed up to sleep, but physical exhaustion won out over mental agitation. The persistent ringing of the telephone— Peggy's promised wake-up call—dragged her out of deep sleep and she had to rush in order to be ready when Peggy pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later. The trunk was open; she tossed the briefcase in, slammed the lid, and scrambled into the front seat.

"I still don't see why we have to get there so damned early," she grumbled.

"I told you. Some of these crooks move things from one box to another. We'll have to run a last-minute check to make sure the things we want are in the same place they were yesterday."

"Joan and Sharon are meeting us there?" Karen asked, not really caring.

"Uh-huh." Peggy looked infuriatingly bright and cheerful. She had tied a red ribbon around her head; the ends of the bow stuck up like miniature horns.

If Karen had not been so sleepy, the red ribbon might have warned her. The first person she saw in the auction room was Simon.

He looked out of place, like a Mittel-European count paying a duty visit to a social gathering of serfs. The man with whom he was conversing might have been the overseer—short and red-faced, in shirt sleeves and denim pants, with a cap perched atop a balding head. In fact he was the owner of the auction house; Karen had seen him the day before. He and Simon were chatting and laughing like old friends, but Simon broke off when he saw them and lifted a hand in greeting.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Karen demanded.

"Buying books, of course. Where do you think he finds them?"

"He hasn't had time to look at them."

"He's been in this business a long time, Karen. I think you can assume he knows what he's doing."

Simon came toward them. "Good morning, ladies. Ready for action, I see."

He bowed over the hand Peggy offered him and then put his arm around Karen's shoulders and gave her a brief, affectionate hug. Despite the perky red bow Peggy was in no mood to waste time in social activities. "Did you ask about the safe?" she demanded.

"Yes. He is willing to oblige us."

"Good. I'll go and get it. Give her some coffee, she's barely conscious."

She went trotting off and Simon led Karen toward the refreshment counter. Though the auction was not scheduled to begin for almost an hour, several early birds were already there.

"I didn't know you were coming," Karen said. "What else have you and Peggy arranged behind my back?"

His eyes narrowed in amusement, wrinkles fanning out at the corners. "You do need coffee," he said, proffering a cup. "From what I've heard you are in no position to be surly with your allies. A mensch you may be, but Superwoman you are not. No ill effects after your accident, I trust."

He indicated a chair. Karen sat down with a sigh. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Very little." Simon deposited himself in a rocking chair next to hers. "Peggy has kept me up-to-date. I hope you don't object?"

"It wouldn't do me any good to object, would it?" She tucked her hand through his arm and smiled at him. "I'm so glad to see you, Simon. Bless you for coming."

"My dear, my motives were completely selfish. There are a number of items in which I am interested."

"I don't care what your motives are, I'm just happy you're here. I've missed you." She added, with a meaningful sidelong look, "So has Peggy. You know she has designs on you, don't you?"

Laughter transformed his face. "How delicately you express yourself. In deference to my old-fashioned sentiments, I suppose? Yes, I do know. I haven't enjoyed myself so much in years." Then his smile faded. "I'm not at all happy about the situation, though. Had I but known—"

"You wouldn't have told me about the manuscript? That's