Shattered Silk

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MONDAY lived up to the forecast. They had breakfast on the terrace and lingered over a second cup of coffee, while Cheryl described the yard sales she had investigated the previous day.

"They all sound marvelous," she said, with the worldly-wise voice of experience. "But they usually aren't. You have to learn to read between the lines, and plan your route so you can cover as many as possible."

"We'll try again next week. If we split up, we could cover more of them."

"But it wouldn't be as much fun. Half the pleasure is making rude remarks about the tacky merchandise."

"I'd like to go to a few, just for the sake of curiosity. I've never been to a yard sale."

"Boy, have you led a sheltered life. It's fun if you don't have anything better to do. But the chance of coming across anything in our line is practically nonexistent these days."

There was a certain feeling of constraint in their camaraderie that morning. Neither had referred to the news broadcast. Cheryl had tried-"I was surprised to see how large that delegation-"

Karen had not let her finish the sentence. "That wasn't a delegation, that was a typical Washington boondoggle, complete with sisters, cousins, and aunts. Do you want orange juice or grapefruit?"

Cheryl had selected grapefruit, her lips pursed as if she were already tasting the fruit, without sugar. As Karen prepared it, she tried not to think about Mark, but did not succeed. She also tried to believe she was angry with herself and not with him. How fatuous and naive she had been to hope his preoccupation the other evening had been with her affairs and her safety. He had probably been looking forward to his weekend-thinking of Shreve, anticipating their time together…

The knife slipped, slicing into her thumb, and she reached for a paper towel to stanch the bleeding. Like all good cooks, Ruth kept her knives razor-sharp. It was my own fault, Karen told herself; I went at that grapefruit as if it were… She managed to cut that thought off, and concentrated on what she was doing.

By the time they reached the realtor's office, Karen had-she believed-forgotten her ill humor and the event that had caused it. The shop had possibilities; they added it to their list.

They also investigated a few antique shops-a good many were closed on Monday-but came away empty-handed.

"Honestly, the prices people want for their junk," Cheryl grumbled.

"Junk to you and me, bargains to some," Karen said philosophically. "I suppose it all depends on what you're looking for. Our requirements are a bit esoteric."

"Yeah, that's right. Let's head out into the country. Maybe we'll find some innocent little old lady who is cleaning out her attic and hasn't heard the word 'antiques.'"

They did not, however, and they soon became surfeited with costume jewelry, empty Avon bottles, and oak furniture. Finding a roadside market, they stocked up on tomatoes and melons, corn and peaches, and headed homeward.

It made Cheryl's day when they arrived to find they had missed Mrs. Grossmuller. They didn't need Mr. DeVoto to tell them she had been there, for she had left a bulging shopping bag on the doorstep. A note fluttered coyly from the string handle. "I will come next week to pick up the money."

"It's nice that she trusts us," Karen said, as Cheryl glared at the stained, crumpled mass of fabric protruding from the top of the bag.

When they took the bag in and inspected the contents, the filthy object on top turned out to be a cutwork tablecloth, with its matching napkins wadded up beneath. In addition, there were three pairs of ladies' gloves, a calico apron, and a 1920s bathing suit of black wool full of moth holes.

"We've got to make her stop doing this," Cheryl declared grim-faced, while Karen laughed over the bathing suit.

"How? We can't complain to the police; she isn't doing anything illegal. You're right, though," Karen said, sobering. "I certainly don't want her turning up on the doorstep with her dirty clothes after Ruth gets back. Can you see poor Ruth's face? Not to mention Pat's…It would almost be worth it to hear Pat explode. We'll tell Mrs. Grossmuller we're moving right away."

"But don't tell her where," Cheryl pleaded.

"If I don't, she'll come back here. Besides, I don't want to lose a source. We can use the tablecloth and napkins, and maybe the apron. She may have other things."

"I'm going to throw the whole lot in the washing machine," Cheryl announced, picking up the bag with the tips of her fingers. "Even the things we don't want. We can't leave them in this condition; the whole house will be infected. I keep feeling as if fleas are hopping on me."

"Don't put the bathing suit in with the tablecloth."

"Please! I know better than that."

Karen felt sure Cheryl's fears were exaggerated; she hadn't seen any sign of fleas or other vermin. The moths that had devoured the bathing suit had been dead and dust for decades.

Alexander displayed an inordinate amount of interest in the clothes; Cheryl had to fight him off while she loaded the washing machine. Perhaps he scented his beloved Mrs. Grossmuller. Karen had never seen him react to anyone with such doting admiration. That said something about Mrs. Grossmuller, or Alexander-or both- but she wasn't sure she wanted to know what.

Cheryl's temper improved after she had put everything in the machine, or-in the case of the bathing suit- in the basin they used for hand-washing. Wiping her wet hands, she watched Karen unload the vegetables and fruit they had bought.

"What's for supper? Those tomatoes look nice; we could have a salad."

"I'm going out for dinner," Karen said.

"Heavy date?"

"I guess I forgot to tell you."

"No reason why you should. Did you pick up a new boyfriend, or is it Tony?"

Her tone made it sound like "good old Tony." When Karen said yes, it was Tony, she smiled placidly. "I hope he makes it this time. Poor boy, he needs some amusement."

"So I'm to be the good-conduct prize?"

"Hey, Karen, don't start that again."

"I won't. I think he deserves something too, and I'm fully prepared to deliver. Not only is he incredibly good-looking, he's nice and kind and considerate and sensitive and intelligent-"

"You really like him, huh?"

"One might reasonably draw that conclusion from what I just said."

"Good." Cheryl picked up a tomato and examined it with the concentration a scientist might devote to a specimen. "Sometimes I could kill that brother of mine."

"Now don't you start, Cheryl."

"Honest, Karen, he hasn't seen that woman for over a year. She's trying to make it look like more than it was, to hurt you. She always was the one who was chasing him, not the other way around." The words bubbled out as if she had held a cap on them too long, and they could no longer be repressed. "He never talks about people- women-not to me-but I told him all the nasty things she did to you, coming here and insulting you and all that, and I could tell he didn't-"

"I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to arrange my emotional life for me," Karen said between her teeth. "I could make a few pertinent comments about your hang-ups too, if I chose."

This time Cheryl's temper did not spark when rubbed the wrong way. She lowered her head, her mouth drooping. "I know. I've heard them."

"From Mark."

"Among others. I didn't mind so much from Mark. He knew Joe, they were buddies."

"And I'm sure he pointed out that Joe wouldn't want you to cut yourself off from love the rest of your life. What kind of tribute is that to him or to your marriage? Oh, all right, I'll shut up. You let me settle my own affairs and I'll let you sit there and-petrify."

Fortunately the telephone rang, or another quarrel might have developed. At first Karen could not identify the caller.

"Miss Everley? I don't believe… Oh, at Mrs. MacDougal's. Yes, of course; I thought your voice was familiar. Oh, you do? Worth? Yes, I'm very interested. No, I'm afraid I can't tomorrow afternoon. Would Wednesday… I see. Yes, Cannes should be delightful at this time of year. Just a minute…"

Cheryl's head had snapped up like that of a hunting hound at the sound of the name Worth. She began making frantic gestures.

"I can go tomorrow," she said, while Karen covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Where does she live?"

"Clear out on the Eastern Shore. She's going abroad on Wednesday and she wants to get these things out of the way first."

"Let me talk to her." Cheryl reached for the phone.

She was beaming broadly when she hung up. "Sounds like a hot lead."

"Cheryl, are you sure? Maybe I could put Shreve off."

"You have to trust me sometime. I've got a pretty good idea of what to pay for things."

"It isn't that. But it's a long drive, and didn't you say you had to study for your finals?"

"I'll study tonight. We can't pass up a potential source-you're the one who keeps telling me that. And the old lady doesn't sound as if she would last much longer."

"All Mrs. Mac's friends sound like that."

"So we better strike while the iron is hot. What time are you going out tonight?"

"He said he'd pick me up at seven-thirty."

Karen dressed with care, pleased by the fact that the gradual decrease in her girth had produced a corresponding increase in her wardrobe. She was no longer self-conscious about wearing her vintage clothes. They were a good deal more stylish and far better made than anything else she owned.

From one of Mrs. MacDougal's sources-not old Mrs. Ferris-she had acquired a dress she was longing to wear. It had been just a trifle too tight when she sent it to the cleaner-a pale-yellow linen A-line from the late fifties, simply and flatteringly cut, with a subtly generous flare at the hips. It was no designer model, but it had a label from Debenham and Freebody, one of the better London stores. Karen was pleased to find that the dress went on without a wrinkle. The clear, bright shade was becoming to her dark hair and her new tan. Tony wouldn't be ashamed to be seen in public with her, at any rate. Good old Tony… He did deserve something better than the condescending affection that was all Cheryl had to give. Fond as she was of Cheryl, there were times when Karen could have shaken her partner, and this was one of them.

She was thoroughly out of temper with both brother and sister. Good old Tony and good old Karen could get along very well without them.

"MY God, you're ready," Tony said. "I thought I'd have to sit in the parlor for half an hour with my toes turned out, making polite conversation with Cheryl and the dog."

"Don't tell me the ladies you date these days live with parents who put you through that old routine."

"No, I was just trying to be funny." He opened the car door for her and then turned to make a rude gesture at Cheryl, who was waving at them from the doorway and beaming in a way that made Karen want to repeat Tony's gesture more emphatically.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier," he went on apologetically.

"For heaven's sake, don't be so humble. You're out there laying your life on the line for us defenseless citizens every day; the least we can do is accommodate ourselves to your schedules."

"I'm glad you feel that way about it. Not all my- I mean, not all women do."

From his expression Karen suspected he was thinking of one woman in particular. A present lover or a former lover? Cheryl? She couldn't help saying "It needn't be selfish vanity that causes that attitude, Tony. What you do is unpleasant and dangerous. I can understand how a woman might find that fear too hard to live with."

"I won't be doing it all my life. I'm not one of your dedicated TV cops; my big ambition in life is to become a small-town sheriff, where my biggest problems are Saturday-night drunks and harvesting the yearly marijuana crop out of the cornfields."

The discussion had taken a more serious turn than Karen expected or was ready for. Tony didn't seem to expect an answer. He changed the subject. They made casual conversation until he pulled into a vacant space at the curb. "This is about as close as I can get," he said lightly. "Do you mind walking a couple of blocks?"

"No, of course not. It's a lovely evening."

"Actually, I could have found a parking lot nearer the place," Tony admitted. "But this way I get a chance to show you off. That is one pretty dress."

Karen was pleasantly conscious of the way people looked at them. We're a handsome couple, she thought, amused at the cliche. At least Tony is; he's handsome enough for two.

The restaurant was small and quiet, with a country decor. The headwaiter greeted Tony by name. "I hope you're impressed," he said, after they had been seated. "This is the only place in town where they know my name."

"I doubt that."

"I meant in a social capacity."

He smiled as he spoke, but Karen was sorry she had reminded him of that other capacity. Yet the subject was bound to come up, sooner or later; she decided it would be better to face it and get it over with.

"There's something I feel I ought to tell you, Tony. I hate to talk about it, and I hate even more to spoil your evening off-"

Tony's smiled broadened, and he reached for her hand. "That's one of the things I like about you, lady. You don't back away from unpleasantness."

"Little do you know," Karen said wryly. "But I'm trying."

The warm, firm clasp of his hand on hers made it easier for her to repeat what she had learned from Julie, and to mention some of the ideas the information had suggested to her.

"Interesting," he said, when she had finished. "Like you, I feel as if I ought to have known. I guess I never gave much thought to that stupid little book."

"I gather you've read it."

"Parts of it. Mark has a copy; I think he got it from Mrs. MacDougal. The blackmail angle is certainly an idea."

"You're just being polite," Karen said, laughing. "You don't really believe it."

"It's too complicated for my simple cop's brain- more in Mark's line; he loves unlikely theories. I wonder if that's what he was referring to…He left a cryptic message for me-something about old and new murders. I called him back, but there was no answer. Guess he'd already left town."

"You don't take it seriously, do you, Tony? Be honest; my ego isn't involved. I've no aspirations toward being a great detective."

Tony's fingers moved caressingly across the back of her hand, around her wrist. "Thank God for that. To be honest, then, I don't. The simplest solutions are usually the right ones. I only wish we could find solid proof that Rob was the joker in the bed sheet; it would be a load off your mind to be absolutely certain. That's the way these things usually work out, though. It's a rare day in court when we can produce conclusive evidence."

"I know. We won't talk about it anymore."

"I'll tell you everything I can. The press already has most of this information, I'm not violating official security by telling you-and what the hell, I'd probably do it anyway if I thought it would help you. I guess you're the kind who'd rather know the facts, however unpleasant. Not," he added quickly, "that there's much to report. We did locate his car. It had been left in the parking lot of a hamburger joint a couple of miles from the place where he was found. His suitcase was in the truck. He had a sizable stash of odds and ends-pot, coke, pills-under the seat, but I think it was his private supply. There were fingerprints all over the interior-his, Julie's, and some we can't identify. The killer's fingerprints may be among them, but unless he has a record and his prints are on file, we'll never trace him that way. This may turn out to be one of the ones we don't solve."

After that Karen was content to let him change the subject. Delicately exploring new terrain, they discovered mutual interests-jazz, Monty Python, and the Impressionist painters. Tony laughed good-naturedly when she let her surprise show. "You think we're all uncultured slobs? I'm pretty high on the fifteenth-century Tuscan painters, too. Go on, ask me something."

By the end of the meal they were talking easily. When the coffee arrived, Tony started to tighten up, and Karen wondered if there was some other ugly development he had been afraid to mention. Instead he said suddenly, "I bought a house."

"You-you what?" His sheepish grin told her the rest. "Tony! Not-"

"Yes, the one in Leesburg. Actually, I haven't bought it yet, just signed the contract. But I think the owner will accept my offer."

Karen got her breath back. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"Not when I know what I'm doing. The reason I mention it is, I wondered if you want to rent from me."

Karen lost her breath again. While she stared speechlessly, Tony elaborated. "I told you I was looking for an investment. I hesitated about rental property, because there are so many drawbacks when you don't have the time to supervise your tenants closely. Renters can wreck a place, move out owing you money… I figure you and Cheryl aren't about to throw wild parties or skip out on the rent. From your point of view it might not be such a bad deal either. I'm not going to do you any favors- this is business, pure and simple-but if you add up what you and Cheryl would each pay for an apartment, plus the rent on a small commercial property-"

Karen held up her hands. "Stop a minute and give me time to think! You don't have to tell me about the advantages of combining living and business quarters; Cheryl has already calculated the relative costs."

"Then why not take me up on it? You liked the place, didn't you? Cheryl said you were as crazy about it as she was, only you didn't want to admit it because you knew it was out of the question."

Karen said in exasperation, "Cheryl is… Oh, she's right. I did like the house, it's perfect. It wouldn't even need any structural changes; I could use the parlors, add portable racks and stands, curtain off an area for a dressing room…"

"Tracks for movable floodlights? They're easy to install."

"Some kind of floor covering," Karen said eagerly. "You wouldn't want people tracking mud all over those beautiful yellow pine boards…Tony! Don't tempt me. I can't let you do this."

"You don't understand," Tony said, and all at once his face was remote and a little sad and very vulnerable. "It would be an escape for me. A chance to get away from all the dirt and filth and sick tragedies that are my job."

"I do understand. Better than you realize."

"Then why won't you let me enjoy myself?" He grinned at her, and she felt a wave of pure affection sweep over her.

"I'll think about it," she said.

"That's all I'm asking. I'll let you know as soon as it's definite. Uh-maybe you'd better not say anything to Cheryl until I'm sure."

"Okay."

But he couldn't stop talking about the house. "I think we could close in thirty days; the owner is anxious to sell and there won't be any trouble about getting a loan; my credit's good. Say another month to get things set up- you could do a lot of the preliminary work beforehand, couldn't you-permits and promotion and buying furniture, making curtains, that sort of thing. Say you have your grand opening the first of October. The kid could start school on time-maybe a few days late. That doesn't matter so much in nursery school or kindergarten, does it? Being a few days late?"

"No, I'm sure it wouldn't matter," Karen said gently.

It wasn't until the yawning waiters began stacking the chairs that Karen realized they were the only patrons left in the restaurant.

"Good heavens, it's almost midnight," she exclaimed.

"So? Do you get grounded if you're late coming home?"

"I was thinking about you. What time do you have to be at work?"

"Two a.m." He smiled at her look of consternation. "I'm on the late shift this week-or maybe it's the early shift."

"You could get a couple of hours' sleep if you went home right now."

"I don't want to sleep. It's your civic duty to keep me company until I go back to the job of protecting you defenseless citizens at the risk of life and limb."

"How can I resist an appeal like that?"

"You can't. I guess we'd better leave, though. Do you get the impression that the waiters are dropping subtle hints?"

Once outside, they debated how to spend the next two hours. Karen refused Tony's suggestion of a nightclub, sensing that he was no more attracted by the idea than she was. "Why don't we take a walk? It's such a beautiful evening."

"Every man's dream-a cheap date." Tony gave her arm a squeeze. "Let's go back to Georgetown, then. Downtown D.C. is no place for a peaceful stroll."

"From what I've heard about Georgetown, it isn't overly safe either."

"I wasn't talking safe, honey. Without wishing to brag too blatantly, I can assure you there aren't many people you'd be safer with."

"If anybody bothers us, you scream 'Hiya!' and leap?"

"Something like that. Georgetown has nicer walks than downtown."

"Fine with me. Would you mind if we swung by the house? We needn't stop, just drive past."

"Are you having a premonition of impending disaster?"

"No, of course not. But Cheryl is alone…" He helped her into the car. After he had settled himself behind the wheel she went on, "No more shop talk. I promise."

"It isn't shop talk when it concerns you and Cheryl."

"I guess I'm being silly."

"No. It's a normal reaction after what you've been through. And it's healthy to be afraid, so long as you don't let it get out of hand." They drove for a while in silence. Then Tony said, "Here we are. I see Mama has left the lights burning for you."

The outside lights were on, but the windows were dark. Karen let out a sound of exasperation. "I told her to leave all the lights on. I suppose she's upstairs, sewing or making more of her endless lists. The bedroom is at the back, so the lights wouldn't be visible from here."

Tony slowed the car to a crawl. "Do you want to check?"

"No, that's not necessary. Everything looks just as it should."

"Okay."

Tony finally found a legal parking place, several blocks from the house and some distance from the commercial area. Instead of getting out of the car, he turned to Karen and took her in his arms. There was no hesitation this time, and she yielded willingly. After a time his lips slid away from hers, tracing the curves of her cheek and earlobe with a skill that sent trickles of electricity along every vein.

"Do you really want to go for a walk?" he asked softly.

"No. But this isn't going to work, Tony. You know it isn't."

He was silent for a time, his warm breath stirring her hair, his mouth absently exploring the soft skin of her face and throat. "Is it that obvious?" he asked finally.

"You give yourself away with every word and every look," she told him, half laughing, and more than half regretful.

"You don't. Is it Mark?"

"What a gentleman you are, Tony." Karen freed herself and settled into the curve of his arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder. "Don't tell me you didn't notice what a fool I am."

"Men are notoriously obtuse about things like that."

"I hope Mark is."

"That's dumb," Tony said, his cheek against her hair. "How's he supposed to know unless you tell him?"

Karen could think of no sensible answer. "It doesn't work that way," she mumbled.

"He's very concerned about you-"

"Sure I know. He's so concerned that he's gone off for the weekend with one of his floozies."

Tony's breath erupted in a sputter of laughter, and his arm tightened around her. "Floozies? The only other person I've ever heard use that word was Mrs. MacDougal. It may not be what you think, Karen. Give the guy a break."

"He doesn't want a break. Tony, are you sure you didn't suspect that I-how I felt?"

"I wondered once or twice. But I hoped I was wrong."

"No, you didn't. You don't really want to settle for second best."

"You aren't second best. Karen, don't think I deliberately set out to use you-"

"To make Cheryl jealous? You wouldn't be so naive. I think you're trying to talk yourself out of a situation you consider hopeless. Give her a little more time."

"She's had a year. I haven't pushed, Karen."

"Maybe you should have."

"Swept her off her feet? I don't buy that. Maybe it works in romantic novels, but any woman who's dumb enough to fall for the caveman technique is too dumb for me. I've tried everything else, God knows."

"You could get wounded and stagger in dripping blood and faint at her feet."

She felt the muscles of his cheek contract as if he were smiling, but there was no amusement in his voice. "Thanks, but no thanks. That's another conventional fictional device, but I've got my doubts about its effectiveness. Besides, I don't want to get wounded. It hurts."

"Oh, Tony, what are we going to do?" She pressed closer to him. "She must be out of her mind. You're so nice-I like you so much…"

His arm tightened. "Me too. That's not such a bad beginning, is it?"

"No…"

"We could work at it. Give it our best shot."

"You already have. Not that I didn't enjoy every minute of it."

Again his laughter stirred the hair on her temple. "I appreciate the testimonial, and return the compliment. Friends?"

"Friends," Karen agreed, and settled more comfortably into an embrace that promised and demanded nothing more than either of them was willing to give.

"Just one thing, Karen."

"Mmm?"

"You're not doing this just because you feel it would be disloyal to Cheryl… My God. What a conceited thing to say. I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant. Lucky for you," Karen added, smiling to herself. "No, my friend-that wasn't the reason. I made one big mistake. Not that you aren't about a million percent better than Jack; but I learned that there's no substitute for the genuine article. It's better to do without than settle for less."

They did go for a walk eventually, strolling slowly along the silent streets, arms entwined. They talked in spurts, with long periods of comfortable silence in between: about the weather, about politics-and about the house in Leesburg. When Karen finally admitted her feet were beginning to hurt, Tony said he'd walk her to the house; they were as close to it as to the car.

There was no one on the street. If she had been alone, Karen would have hurried, casting uneasy glances into the shadows. She felt more at ease than she had for days. It wasn't only Tony's size or the feel of hard muscle against her arm, or the even harder bulge of the gun under his coat; it was his air of competence and of confidence. She would feel safe with this man anywhere.

As they approached the house, whose front lights still burned, she began, "I hope you aren't-"

"Ssss." Tony pulled her to a standstill.

"What-"

"Quiet. Listen."

Karen could hear nothing except the normal night noises. After a moment Tony said in a low voice, "Walk on. Past the house."

His hand moved her forward. The sound of their footsteps echoed with abnormal loudness. Karen was afraid to speak. Not until they had gone some distance at the same leisurely pace did she venture to whisper, "What is it?"

"Probably nothing." Tony's voice was equally inaudible. "I thought I heard something-a muffled thump- from the back of the house. Probably a shutter or a door banging. Turn the corner… Okay. There's no alley behind the house, is there? How do you get into the back yard?"

"A side gate." Karen explained its location.

"Right. You stay here. I'll double back and have a look."

"I'm not staying here alone!"

"Quiet. Okay, come on, but don't make a sound."

He moved with a speed that left Karen hard-pressed to obey his orders. When they reached the wooden gate opening onto the passage toward the back, his hands were quick to find the bolt that held it closed, even in the dark. Karen crouched behind him, dry-mouthed and tense.

Tony started to ease the gate open. Despite his care the rusted hinges gave a squawk of protest that shattered the silence as loudly as a scream. Tony swore. "That's done it. Stay here."

He plunged into the darkness of the passage. Karen only hesitated for a moment; there were cobwebs lacing the narrow place from side to side, they felt like ghostly fingers on her face. The gate at the far end burst open under Tony's charge; for a moment she saw him, silhouetted against the lighter shape of the opening. Then he shouted and ran forward.

Karen ran too, but by the time she reached the garden it was all over. She caught only a glimpse of something moving among the tangled limbs of the maple overhanging the wall. Inside the house Alexander was barking madly. Lights flashed on in the kitchen.

All other impressions faded into insignificance under the impact of the white form thrashing and writhing on the ground not far from the garden shed. The muffled, breathless voice that came from it was Tony's.

THERE was a nightmarish feeling of deja vu as they ministered to another injured man. Tony's language was hot enough to blister their ears, but most of his concern was for his suit. The jacket was certainly a total loss, not only bloodstained but slashed in parallel cuts.

"You've got to go to the emergency room," Cheryl said. "I think I've got the bleeding stopped, but-"

"I should hope to God you've stopped it, you've used enough bandages to wrap a mummy," Tony snarled, contemplating his arm with disgust. "Goddamn that son of a bitch! This suit cost me-"

"Oh, who cares about your suit?" There was blood on Cheryl's nightgown too. Most of it had come from a single deep cut in the arm Tony had thrown up to protect his face; the others were superficial.

Cheryl had rushed downstairs when she heard the racket in the back yard, without stopping to put on a robe. The thin fabric of her gown clung to her body in a way that would have distracted a man much closer to death than Tony. When Cheryl repeated, "You've got to go to the hospital," he let out a roar.

"I've got to call in, that's what I've got to do, and I can tell you I'm not looking forward to hearing what the lieutenant is going to say. Falling for a stunt like that! 'Sorry, Lieutenant, I got tangled in a bed sheet!' Oh, Christ!"

"He threw it over you," Karen said. "You couldn't help it."

"He did throw it over me and I could have helped it. Mark was right, damn his eyes; not only was the sheet a perfect disguise but it was so damned weird it got me off base for a second or two, just long enough… Cheryl, I told you to cut that out. Where's the goddamned phone?"

"If it makes you feel better to swear every other word," Cheryl began.

"It does make me feel better. Not much better, but some." Tony pushed her hand away and stood up. Then he sat down, more suddenly than he had intended, almost missing the chair. Cheryl swooped on him and steadied him. "There, you see, you shouldn't go jumping around like that. Just sit still and let me-"

Tony took a deep breath. His lips moved; Karen imagined he was counting under his breath. At "ten," some of the color came back to his face. "I am going to use the telephone," he said quietly. "I am going to use the extension in the hall, not this one, because I do not want you to hear what I am going to say. Stay here. Both of you."

This time he stayed on his feet. Swaying slightly, he walked to the door. Then he turned.

"See?" he said to Karen. "I told you it wouldn't work."

"What is he talking about?" Cheryl demanded, as the door closed behind him.

Karen looked at her. Her hair was aureoled by the light, and the rounded curves of her body pushed distractingly at her thin garment. She was pale with concern-the same concern she had demonstrated a few days earlier when it was her brother who required her care. All at once Karen wanted to stamp her foot and yell at the top of her lungs-anything to penetrate the shell of sacrificial celibacy in which Cheryl had swathed herself. It wasn't Cheryl's fault. A woman is not obliged to love a man just because he wants her to. But Tony was so worthy of love. A half-step more and Karen would have been over the brink herself.

And the reason that she couldn't take that half-step was as hopelessly sentimental and absurd as Cheryl's reasons. Pots and kettles, she thought wryly. Not to mention people who live in glass houses.

Her eyes kept returning to the objects on the table-ordinary household items, harmless in their origin and function, now ominously suggestive-a crumpled, bloodstained sheet and a knife, its blade dulled and sticky. The sheet was double-sized, a polyester-and-cotton blend; at a rough guess, several hundred thousand of its duplicates presently existed in linen closets and on store shelves throughout the area. It had been roughly tailored-the trailing corners hacked off, a narrow slit ripped away so the wearer could see where he was going. The knife was almost as undistinguished-a Solingen steel-bladed carving knife, eight inches long. There was one almost like it in the rack next to the sink.

Cheryl dismissed her own question with a grumble. "Men act so silly. Here's Tony worrying about what his boss will say to him, like some kid whose mother forgot to write him an excuse, when he ought to go to the-"

Karen's resolution about staying out of other people's business vanished in a puff of smoke. "Damn it, Cheryl, are you really that insensitive? Can't you see how he feels? He went rushing out there to rescue us poor defenseless females from a maniac, and ended with us untangling him from a sheet. He feels like a fool."

Cheryl's jaw dropped. "He did not! Look like a fool, I mean."

"You may not think so and I certainly don't think so, but I have a nasty feeling the lieutenant will think so. His friends will never let Tony hear the end of this one. His theories have been knocked into a cocked hat; he'll be hearing oblique references to bed sheets for months to come; and worst of all, he has to sit here and be interviewed by the police, like any other helpless victim of crime. For a cop, a professional, that's the crowning humiliation. Compared to all that, a knife wound doesn't even hurt!"

"I never thought-"

"Maybe it's time you did, then. He's just as vulnerable as anyone else under that tough exterior, and you're ripping him to shreds emotionally. Give the guy a break."

Someone else had said that recently, Karen remembered. Tony-to her. About Mark. "Oh, Lord," she said wearily, "what's the use? I'm a fine one to talk."

But the sight of Cheryl's stricken face and quivering lips didn't make her regret what she had said.

Tony came back into the kitchen. "Someone will be here in a minute," he said curtly. He looked at Cheryl. "Go and get some clothes on. Now."

Cheryl fled without another word.