Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

drawn to women who resisted his charms— but by his sense of humor and his intelligence. Whatever his motives, he was trying hard, and humility wasn't easy for a man of his arrogance. Or was pride a more accurate word? Karen smothered a smile. Bill's pride and her prejudice against him—another classic plot! Bill had a better sense of humor than Darcy, though.

"All right," she said. "I'll discuss your offer with Peggy. But not until after the auction."

"Fair enough. See you later."

By the end of the second day Karen's head was spinning and she was so tired she could have gone to sleep in the hard wooden chair. Anxious to finish, the auctioneer picked up the pace as the day wore on; objects were knocked down so quickly she had a hard time keeping track of what was up for sale. Somehow or other she had acquired a pile of things she had not intended to buy, including a box of crocheted doilies and a lamp made out of an old whiskey jug. When Peggy nudged her she started and turned a dazed face on her companion.

"We can go now," Peggy announced. She looked better than Karen felt, but the red bow hung limp over one ear and her face was gray with dust and fatigue.

"Thank God," Karen said sincerely. "Where's Simon?"

"He left an hour ago. We're meeting him for drinks, so get a move on."

Sharon had abandoned ship much earlier, but Joan refused to leave. "This is when you get the bargains," she muttered, glazed eyes fixed on the auctioneer. "Go away, you're distracting me."

Simon was waiting in the bar when they got there. "I know I look terrible," Karen declared, dropping onto the sofa beside him. "But I'm too tired to care. I did wash my hands."

She held them out. Simon took them in his, turned them over, and gravely inspected her palms. "They'll do. It is a tiring procedure. I'm a little weary myself."

"How'd you do?" Peggy asked. As a kindly gesture to her bedraggled companion she hadn't changed either, but the red bow rose triumphant and she had put on fresh makeup.

"Very well," Simon said.

Karen knew that guarded tone. "What did I miss?" she asked. "I swear I looked at every book in the place."

"You didn't miss anything. We weren't looking for the same things. What will you have, ladies? Champagne would be appropriate but not perhaps at this hour."

"That well, huh?" Peggy beamed at him. "Congratulations. I think I'll have Scotch, though."

"Is anyone else joining us?" Simon asked.

"I don't know where Sharon's got to, and Joan is still hanging in at the auction," Peggy said. "The way things were going they may not finish till late." She glanced at Karen. "I invited Bill Meyer, but he said he wouldn't come unless you asked him."

"How touching." Simon was visibly amused.

"Childish, you mean," Karen retorted.

"No, no, you misinterpret his intent. He is not sulking, he is allowing you to decide when and if you wish to see him. It is a most delicate attention," Simon added approvingly.

"Why not let him come to the cemetery?" Peggy suggested. "There's nothing to stop him from investigating the place anyhow; we could use a little muscle."

"Well ... All right. When?"

"Tomorrow. Want to join us, Simon?"

"I had planned to return to Baltimore," Simon said slowly.

"How can you resist such a treat? Crawling around in the weeds, nose-to-nose with snakes and other critters, getting scratched and covered with poison ivy."

"It does sound enticing. I'll think about it." He glanced toward the doorway. "There's Geoffrey. He has your purchases, I presume?"

"Right. I'll have to settle with him." Peggy finished her drink and stood up. "Want to come along and see the goodies?"

Karen had already helped Peggy carry her other purchases to her room. After the amiable Geoffrey had brought the rest upstairs Peggy scribbled a check and sent him on his way. Then they surveyed the loot. It covered both of the twin beds and several square feet of the floor.

"Good God," Karen breathed. "I didn't realize you'd bought so much."

"Neither did I," Peggy admitted. "I tend to get carried away."

"You certainly do. Why did you buy this trunk?" Karen wrestled with the tight-fitting lid and finally managed to lift it. A pervasive, pungent odor rose from the interior. She turned her head aside. "It's full of old rags!

"Those aren't rags, those are vintage clothes. Very collectible, unfortunately; I had to pay a stiff price for this." Peggy lifted a mass of dark fabric from the pile and shook it out. Dark sparks shimmered in the lamplight. Peggy swung the black, jet-beaded cape around her shoulders and pirouetted in front of the mirror, wrinkling her nose against the strong stench of mothballs. Or was it camphor? Some preservative, Karen supposed.

"Very becoming," Simon said with a smile.

"I might actually wear it someday," Peggy said, studying her reflection complacently. "After it's been aired, that is. Whew, what a smell! We can thank whatever that stuff is for the survival of the manuscript, though."

Under a pile of old clothes in a trunk in the attic . . . "You mean this is that trunk?" Karen exclaimed, digging both hands into the remaining fabric. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't I think—"

"You've had a lot on your mind," Peggy said. "Don't bother excavating it now, there are no more papers there. I bought it for purely sentimental reasons."

"I'm glad you thought of it." Karen held up a strange construction of tape and wire. "What on earth is this?"

"A bustle," Peggy said, laughing. "That I won't wear. But some of the dresses are in good shape. Want to try them on? I think they're all too long for me."

Karen tossed the other clothes back into the trunk and closed the lid. "Not now. Where's the portrait?"

She exclaimed in outrage when Peggy dragged it out from under a collection of tarnished silver pieces. "Be careful! You'll scratch it."

"Honey, one more scratch won't even show. Have a look, Simon. What