"Julie?" Karen exclaimed.
"It could have been her and Rob working together. She's the right type-malicious, neurotic."
"But why would Julie-"
"Motive is the last thing we worry about, Karen. People do the damnedest things for the damnedest reasons… Let's talk about something else, okay? I'm off duty-for a few hours-and I'd like to forget about crime. Tell me about your house-hunting."
"It's not very interesting," Karen began.
"It is to Tony," Mark said with a smile. "That's how the big tough cop spends his spare time-looking at houses."
"I don't know what's so damned funny about that," Tony said stiffly. "It's stupid to pay rent when you can be building up equity in a house. And our tax laws make investment property very attractive."
"Don't count on that continuing," Mark warned. "It's one of the loopholes I'm hoping to close."
"You fuzzy-minded liberals don't worry me, pal. There are too many special-interest groups fighting you. What's this one?"
Cheryl surrendered the sheet of paper, with a self-conscious glance at Karen. "It got mixed in with the others by mistake. We aren't really considering it."
"Why not?" Tony studied the fuzzy black-and-white photograph. After a moment he said quietly, "It looks like a house in one of those old-time books-Tom Sawyer, or Huckleberry Finn. Front porch, big shade trees, picket fence…"
"The photograph doesn't do it justice," Karen said. "It's a charming house. Needs work-"
"But nothing major," Cheryl said quickly. "Just painting and plastering and a little carpentry. They put in a new furnace five years ago-"
"How's the plumbing?" Tony asked.
"That was brought up-to-date at the same time. It needs new wiring-"
"That's not a major problem. The price isn't bad. You could probably talk them down a few thousand."
He and Cheryl went on talking. Karen listened in silence. Cheryl had really fallen in love with the house; it was a pity they couldn't get it, for the premises would have been ideal. If she had had the cash, or if she thought she could depend on a reasonable settlement from Jack, she might have been tempted to take a chance-a gamble, really, for it would be at least two years before they would know whether their business would turn a profit. Just as well I don't have it, she thought. I'm not going to risk Pat's money on something so chancy.
She glanced at Mark; she couldn't help it, he drew her gaze as irresistibly as a magnet attracts a nail. Whatever subject occupied his mind and furrowed his brow, it was not one that pleased him. His battered face was a silent reminder of how close they had come to death the night before. Random, coincidental, that attack? She had a feeling Mark was not convinced. She had a feeling she wasn't either.
Alexander shifted his weight across her feet, grumbling in his sleep. Across the table two heads, shining gold and dishevelled black, bent over the papers. Outside, darkness and mist pressed at the window, trying to come in-failed. Held back, not by a physical barrier of glass but by the opposing forces within-light, safety, companionship. They were more than four separate people, they were a group connected by complex, intertwining strands. It was nothing so simple as friendship, though that was an element; there were different levels of loyalty and frustration and old resentment and new caring.
Karen was reminded of the other occasions, so long ago, when four of them had sat around the same table. She and Mark, Pat and Ruth. Usually it was Mark and Pat who did most of the talking then, arguing about everything under the sun from the Shakespeare ciphers to pro wrestling; seldom agreeing, sometimes changing sides in mid-argument just for the fun of it. Occasionally Ruth would interject a comment in her quiet, ladylike voice, a commonsense, pointed remark that stopped the combatants in mid-shout and reduced them to foolish smiles. Karen had never said much. It was pleasure enough to listen and laugh, to feel herself part of such accepting warmth. Besides, it wasn't easy to get a word in edgewise when Pat was in full spate! At least that was what she thought at the time, if she thought about it at all. She had a feeling that when the group met again-if it ever met again-her voice would be heard more often, even if she had to yell to make it heard.
As if feeling her gaze, Mark looked up. Perhaps his thoughts had been running along a similar line, for he said, "Have you heard from Pat and Ruth?"
"Only a cable from Pat after Mrs. MacDougal arrived. He threatened me with nameless things for letting her get away."
"He couldn't have stopped her either. Mrs. Mac is a force of nature, like a hurricane."
"It was nice of you to visit her."
"Nice, hell. I didn't do it to be nice. I didn't keep in touch with Pat and Ruth to be nice. I don't do anything to be nice, for God's sake!"
Tony couldn't resist that. He interrupted his discussion with Cheryl long enough to remark, "You never said a truer word. Quit insulting the man, Karen."
Karen waited until the conversation across the table had resumed-Tony was asking about zoning regulations, a subject on which Cheryl was well informed-before she said quietly, "I didn't mean it to be insulting. 'Nice' is a rare quality. I wish there were more of it in the world."
"It's okay."
"Ruth was the one who told you where I was working, wasn't she?"
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "As a matter of fact, it was Mrs. Mac."
"I suspected Julie."
"Not her. She wouldn't do you any…" He checked himself. After a moment he muttered, half to himself, "She fits the profile. I just can't see… What has she got against you?"
"Nothing! Oh, there were a few little irritants; she had hoped to get some of Ruth's and Mrs. Mac's antiques for her shop and she was furious when I decided to keep the clothes for myself. But Julie blows her stack about everything, and then she cools off and forgets it. Besides, she has other ways of getting at people."
"Such as?"
"Oh…" Karen gestured helplessly and laughed a little. "I was tempted to say that, being a mere male, you wouldn't understand; but after reading some of the congressional transcripts I know men are just as good at it as women. The insults disguised as compliments, the constant pricks and jabs that hit the victim's weakest point. For instance, she kept telling me…" Karen stopped. I am strong, I am invincible, she told herself, but I am double-damned if I am going to tell Mark Brinckley about Julie's comments on my weight and my dowdiness. She went on, "For instance, she gave me that awful book about ghosts and murders and hinted that there was some terrible story about this house."
"Oh?" Mark's face showed a spark of interest. "That sounds as if she were setting you up for a scare."
"But there wasn't anything in the book about this house."
"House? What house?" Tony looked up alertly.
"You've got real estate on the brain," Karen said with a smile. "We were talking about another subject entirely."
"Then I don't want to hear about it," Tony said. "I'm trying to talk Cheryl into making an offer on this Leesburg house. You know, you could probably qualify for various loans-"
"We're so damned broke we could qualify for unemployment and welfare both," Cheryl said with a wry smile. "But that's not the problem, Tony. We just can't afford to get stuck with a huge mortgage, and taxes, and repairs, and all the rest. What do you think of the Poolesville property?"
They continued their discussion and this time Karen joined in. Mark relapsed into silence; he sat brooding, as animated as a mushroom, for some time and then suddenly got to his feet.