Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

"Is this cretinous midget a friend of yours, Holloway?" Dorothea demanded. "I might have known."

Meyer reached out and caught hold of the tire iron. "Let me have it, Peggy. Dorothea loves to sue people."

Peggy relinquished her hold. "If anybody sues anybody, it will be me suing her. Look at the lock!"

"Just try it," Dorothea sneered. "It'll be your word against mine. With the rest of you backing her up, no doubt."

"Do try to control yourself, Dr. Angelo," Simon said frostily. "No one is going to sue anyone. You surely don't mean to imply that I would perjure myself on behalf of Dr. Finneyfrock here. I may have my suspicions, but I didn't see anything."

"You're all against me," Dorothea muttered. "But I don't give a damn. I can take care of myself. I'll take on the lot of you."

She stalked away. The others stared after the monolithic form.

"She's really lost it," Peggy said. "Thanks for playing peacemaker, Bill. I thought for a few minutes she was going to jump me."

"She's never actually struck anyone," Bill said doubtfully. "At least I never heard of her doing so."

"She doesn't have to," Karen said. "She looms over people and screams at them. It's a fairly effective technique."

Simon nodded agreement. "Most people are reluctant to make a scene in public. That was a most distasteful exhibition. And I must say, Peggy, your behavior—"

"She called me a cretinous dwarf!"

"Not until after you had waved the tire iron at her." Simon laughed and took her by the arm. "Come along. You can revenge yourself by getting her to spend more money on useless junk."

Karen followed them, Meyer falling in step with her. "If I'd realized Peggy was such a firebrand I wouldn't have told her about Dorothea," he said ruefully. "Sorry about that."

"Don't you start apologizing, Bill. It doesn't suit you."

The roughly plowed ground was uneven. She stumbled over a clump of weeds. Meyer caught her by the shoulder and swung her around to face him.

"What does it take to get you to lower those barriers?" he demanded. "I've done my damnedest to prove I can be trusted—"

"I said I was grateful," Karen began.

"Oh, that. I don't expect gratitude for that; it was sheer instinct, anyone would have acted the same. What you should appreciate is the strenuous self-control I've displayed over the past couple of weeks. At this precise moment I am fighting the urge to kiss you till your stubborn head swims."

His fingers bit into her shoulder. She cried out, more in anger than in pain; with an incoherent mumble of apology he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. One of the scratches on his cheek had broken open; a bright drop of blood shone against the tanned skin. She leaned against him, off balance in several ways, and tried to steady her voice. "That would not be a good idea, Bill."

"Don't you think I know it?" After a moment the hard muscles of his arm relaxed; he set her politely on her feet before he stepped back and put his hands in his pockets, as if imprisoning them. "I can wait."

Karen tried to think of an appropriate response. No doubt something witty would occur to her about two in the morning. At the moment her head was as empty as a sieve. She turned away.

He fell in step with her, hands still in his pockets. "If you really want to get rid of me you might try a little reverse psychology," he suggested amiably. "Try throwing yourself into my arms and see what happens."

"Some other time. Just what the hell are you up to, Bill?"

"Falling in love with you, I suspect." His voice was so gloomy she glanced at him in surprise, and again stumbled over the rough ground. He let her recover herself unaided this time. "Or maybe I'm hopelessly attracted to women who despise me. Damned if I know. I never felt this way before."

"Oh, really? What way is that?"

He pondered the question, his brow furrowed. "Worrying about you. Maybe I've just turned philanthropist in my middle age. Whatever it is, it's keeping me awake at night. What harm would it do you to let me hang around and help out? For God's sake, Karen, you've already got everybody in on the deal but the Marx Brothers. Why not me?"

They stopped at the edge of the road. Karen looked carefully in both directions before crossing. "I trust them," she said over her shoulder. "They're helping me, not competing."

"If you let me collaborate I won't be competing," Bill said patiently. "With all due respect to your friends they aren't the stoutest of champions. Simon is an old man, Peggy is—er—"

"Don't call her old. Or short."

"I think she's terrific. Let's say she is no longer young and not extraordinarily tall. Wait a minute before you go rushing off. I've one more thing to throw into the pot. You saw the portrait."

An unpleasant sinking sensation seized Karen. "There were a number of portraits," she said warily.

"Oh, come off it. You know the one I mean; I know Peggy saw it because I saw her pull it out and take it into the light."

"So that's why you left me alone all day Friday. You were trailing Peggy!"

Bill was unrepentant. "Of course. She's the historian. I'd already spotted the painting, actually. The resemblance to the Bronte portrait was coincidental but eye-catching. I didn't bid on it."

"How do I know that's true?"

"Give me a break, will you? You should know no other interested party was bidding, you got it damned cheap. At least I assume it was one of your agents that acquired it. You and Peggy weren't bidding on anything interesting, so you must have had someone else doing it for you. A smart move."

"Peggy is a smart lady."

"But not very tall."

Karen tried not to laugh, but failed. He was wearing her down, not with his absurd declaration of love—it was much more likely that, as he himself had suggested, he was