Shattered Silk

CHAPTER SEVEN

KAREN sat at the dining room table. On it lay an antique petticoat she was shortening and altering for a customer who had been visibly disconcerted when the waistband didn't begin to go around her purportedly twenty-five-inch waist. Since the petticoat was too long anyway, the solution was simple-take off the waistband and shorten the garment from the top-but the execution was not so easy, for the measurements had to be accurate and the fabric of the new waistband had to match the time-softened muslin of the original.

The scrap of material Karen held in her hand was not designed to be a new waistband. It was the wrong shape and size-roughly triangular, about three inches at the base. Nor, unless her recently acquired knowledge of fabrics misled her, was it old. A polyester-and-cotton blend, brand new and unstained except for a smear of rust from the nail on which it had been caught. It might have been torn from a bed sheet.

Karen had found it that morning, hanging from a nail on the back fence. It was the only visible evidence that someone had been in the yard the night before. As Tony had pointed out, the garden was too neatly tended to take footprints.

Pat and Ruth had a part-time gardener who came several times a week. Apparently his working hours coincided with Karen's, for she had never set eyes on him. Perhaps the gardener would know if there was any sign of disturbance, but it was hardly worthwhile trying to locate him. She had no intention of telling anyone of the incident, including the police. They had already heard from her twice in the last two days, assuming Mr. Bates had passed on the information about Horton. It wasn't exactly a case of the boy who cried "wolf," for there had definitely been a wolf of sorts in her hallway; but she had a feeling the police would get a trifle blase about her complaints if she called them every day. Anyway, the scrap of cloth wasn't evidence-the police would probably think it had been torn from one of her laundered garments-and the story sounded worse than silly, it sounded demented. A ghost in the garden, lady? Well, you know these old Georgetown legends.

Her lips tightly set, Karen put the scrap in an envelope and laid it aside. There was no doubt in her mind that the affair had been designed for one purpose only- to frighten her. After trying the door and discovering he could not get in, the unknown had roused Alexander- perhaps he had thrown gravel at the window-and lingered until the light in her bedroom went on, so that she would be sure to see him. The fog had been a helpful but not essential adjunct to his performance; and the weather forecast would have informed him that some such meteorological phenomenon could be expected that night.

Instead of reducing her to a state of quivering terror, the incident had had precisely the opposite effect. She was getting tired of people trying to intimidate her; and a clumsy, childish trick like that one added insult to injury.

Rob was late to work. She had to unlock the shop herself. Damn him, she thought, surveying the unemptied ashtray on the front desk and the tumbled folders scattered across the table. It wouldn't have taken him five minutes to tidy up. She straightened the folders, observing that a scant half dozen of the Georgetown book remained. It had been selling like hot cakes, all right; Julie's cynical assessment had been accurate. Maybe I'd better have another look at it, Karen thought. Maybe I can find a nasty scandal about someone else I know. Not mentioning any names… Wouldn't it be funny if Shreve were anxious to retrieve Granny's things because somewhere in the lot was evidence of an antique misdemeanor Granny had committed?

Rob finally sauntered in, magnificent in designer jeans and shirt, his hair newly styled. "Like it? There's the dearest little person in a new place on M Street; he could do wonders for you, duckie, you ought to give him a try."

He then retreated to the office and his paperback. Karen watched him go, lean hips swaying, muscles rippling, hair gleaming, and smiled ruefully as a familiar sensation rippled through some of her own muscles. No wonder women found Rob so devastating. He must work like a fiend to keep that body looking the way it did. Too bad he had such a feeble little mind to go with it.

During the next lull in business she opened her notebook, which she had decided to carry with her-as if it were a magic talisman promising success, or as if some variety of osmosis would magically transfer onto its blank pages the information she needed to put there. Lists, she thought. Why is it I can't make lists? Some people love to make them. Sometimes they even get around to doing the things on the lists.

She had accomplished one thing that morning; she had called one of the lawyers on the list Mr. Bates had given her, and she had an appointment for the following day. But her brief sense of accomplishment faded when she began listing her other chores. They weren't small chores, quickly done. Find a suitable building; see what work needs to be done; call contractors, plumbers, electricians; apply for a permit-permits, rather-heaven only knew how many she would need and for what…

Karen groaned and dropped her head into her hands. That was just the beginning. She ought to be attending auctions and flea markets and yard sales. Visiting museums. Reading her reference books. Washing, mending, finding sewing supplies.

And dealing with the most basic question of all: What was she going to use for money?

The solution slipped into her mind so smoothly and gently that she knew it must have been there all along. What she needed was a partner. Any business enterprise-including marriage, she told herself wryly-requires two people if it is to succeed. Two bodies, since one person can't be in two places at the same time; two pairs of hands to lighten burdens and carry twice the number of loads.

Cheryl's talents complemented her own. Cheryl had, or would soon have, the business training she lacked. Cheryl didn't wince when the word "computer" was mentioned. She was fascinated by the old garments, good with a needle, intelligent. She was easy to get along with. She had a sense of humor. (After dealing with Julie, Karen appreciated the importance of the last two attributes.) Cheryl had even mentioned that she had a little money saved and that eventually she hoped to invest it in her own business.

It was the perfect solution. In fact, as she remembered some of the things Cheryl had said, Karen realized that she had dropped several broad hints. So why had it taken her so long to recognize it?

She knew the answer. One word. A name.

It was high time she got the name and the complex, difficult emotions it aroused, out of her system. She could now admit that Mark also had some right to feel injured. If he could forgive and forget, she could do no less. There was no reason why they couldn't be friends. "Friendly" was the word for his behavior the other night. Strange that a word so warm and comforting when applied to one person should sound so cold when applied to another…

Men seemed to prefer the kind of life he was presently leading, without commitments, flitting from woman to woman as the King of Siam had advised, having casual extramarital flings with the wives of colleagues and associates.

There's plenty of that going on, Karen reminded herself with a sour smile. Men weren't the only ones who had no qualms about the Seventh Commandment.

She decided she would talk to Cheryl that evening. Of course she might be mistaken; Cheryl might not be interested. But even the possibility lifted Karen's spirits. She gathered up her despised lists with new determination and carried them back to the office, ordering Rob to man the shop.

She was at Julie's desk scribbling busily when she heard the doorbells tinkle, and Rob's saccharine coo, which he reserved for old customers. "Darling, how divine to see you. I do hope you want to buy lots and lots of expensive goodies."

Rob had a lot in common with anchovies-either you adored him or he made you slightly nauseous. Karen decided she had better go out and see which category the customer belonged to.

Judging by her expression, she belonged to the second category. Her frown smoothed out when she saw Karen, and then Karen recognized her. The old school ties were strengthening; it was Miriam Montgomery, who had been with Shreve on an earlier visit to the shop, and who had snubbed her almost as thoroughly as Shreve. Though she wore a well-cut linen dress, she didn't have Shreve's style; the garment hung from her slumped shoulders like any cheap copy from a department-store rack. Her flat, rather doughy features showed the same combination of expensive equipment improperly employed; her mascara was too dark for her pale-blue eyes and her lipstick was smeared.

She returned Karen's cautious greeting and then gave Rob a casual, dismissive glance as definitive as a royal "We give you leave to go." Rob winked at Karen and discreetly faded away.

"How can you stand working with that man?" Miriam asked. Her voice was high-pitched and rather whiny. "He's such a poseur."

"Oh, Rob's not so bad," Karen said, knowing full well that the office door had been left open a crack. "Are you looking for something in particular, Miriam, or would you rather browse in peace?"

"I came to talk to you." Miriam frowned at an almost invisible spot on her white handbag. "I hope you don't think I was rude the other day."

"Why, no."

"I'm afraid I was. I didn't mean to be. It's Shreve's fault. Of course she's an old friend and I'm terribly fond of her, but she is awfully bossy. And tactless. You'd think that after all these years in Washington she would have learned a little discretion. But no, she just charges straight ahead like a bull in a china shop, without realizing that she antagonizes people."

Nothing like an old friend who is terribly fond of you to cut you down, Karen thought. Aloud she said carefully, "Shreve always had a-a strong personality."

"Anyway, I thought I ought to explain why I behaved so rudely."

"You weren't rude. Don't give it another thought."

"I don't like people to think badly of me," Miriam murmured.

Karen reassured her again. Miriam seemed to require a lot of reassurance. Who would have supposed that a woman so richly endowed with worldly goods could be so insecure? According to Julie, Mr. Montgomery was one of the wealthiest men in the Southeast.

"I'm so glad you understand," Miriam said. "Now I hope you can help me. I'm thinking of giving a little party next month. Everyone seems to be into nostalgia these days-though I can't imagine why…"

Her voice trailed off indecisively.

"The good old days," Karen said.

"What was so good about them? I wouldn't want to live my high school years over-would you?"

"No," Karen said, with an involuntary grimace. "I guess not. So you want a theme for your party, is that it?"

"How clever of you! And I suppose I'll need a dress, won't I?"

"From the seventies?" Karen asked doubtfully. She was getting used to customers who took forever to tell her what they wanted, possibly because they didn't know themselves.

"I need something really smashing. I guess the seventies aren't really 'in,' are they?"

"Not in terms of vintage clothing, no. I have a few fifties and sixties dresses, but I wouldn't call them smashing. Some of the younger girls like those styles, but they aren't old enough to be vintage or quaint."

"What do you recommend?" The spot on Miriam's handbag seemed to bother her; she picked at it with a manicured nail.

"What about the twenties? I have some gorgeous dresses from that period. And you have the right figure for them."

Miriam smoothed her flat stomach complacently. "I try to keep in shape. The twenties? Yes, that could be fun. Jazz and prohibition and-and that sort of thing."

Like bootleggers and gang wars, Karen thought. Oh well, nostalgia is in the eye of the beholder.

"I have several beautiful flapper dresses," she said. "But they aren't here; they are designer originals and very expensive."

"I assumed they would be," said Miriam.

She wanted to see the dresses and she wanted to see them right away. She was perfectly pleasant about it; her excuse for insisting on immediate service-that she lived in Middleburg and did not get into the city often- was eminently reasonable. Karen did not hesitate long. She suspected Miriam was trying to do her a favor, as a way of apologizing for her rudeness the week before. If she didn't strike while the iron was hot, Miriam might change her mind, and she would lose a sale. Besides, Rob owed her for several long lunches and early departures.

At Karen's suggestion they walked to the house. This time she remembered Alexander and managed to collar him before he could sink his teeth into Miriam's leg. Miriam did not care for Alexander. She was rude enough to refer to him as a "hideous creature," and Alexander, resenting the insult, growled and struggled to free himself as Karen bore him away.

Miriam's attitude was now much more that of customer to shopkeeper; she seated herself regally in the parlor and let Karen trot up and down stairs with the dresses. They had to be carried one at a time, for the weight of the crystal drops and beads was so great that they cast a strain on the fragile fabric. Miriam seemed pleased and a little surprised at the beauty of the gowns; she wavered for some time between two that bore the names of famous designers. Both were the standard straight chemises with slit skirts. One was covered from neckline to hem with white crystal beads, on white silk. The other had iridescent Venetian glass beads on pale-aqua crepe de chine; the slightest movement bathed the wearer in a soft shimmer, like a mermaid in the moonlight. The color was flattering to Miriam's washed-out complexion, but she seemed loath to give up the white.

Finally she shrugged. "I may as well take both. How much?"

"Don't you want to try them on?" Karen asked in surprise.

"No, there's no need. You'll pack them for me, I assume."

"Oh, I can't let you have them today," Karen exclaimed. "Some of the beads are loose, and you can see they need cleaning-"

"Oh." Miriam thought for a moment. "When will they be ready?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to ask the cleaners how long it will take. Shall I let you know?"

"All right." Miriam reached for her checkbook. "How much?"

Karen took a deep breath. "The Hattie Carnegie is nine hundred and fifty." There was no reaction from Miriam except a slight movement of impatience as she sat with her pen poised. Karen went on, "The white one is- is thirteen hundred. That comes to two thousand, two hundred and fifty. Plus tax."

Miriam stared at her. "You've got to be kidding."

"I know it seems like a lot, but the white one was handmade by Callot Soeurs."

Miriam's face was as blank as a doll's. Karen said firmly, "I could probably get more from someone else, Miriam. I'm giving you a break because I hope you will want other things-and recommend me to your friends. You don't have to pay me now. Or you can give me a deposit, if you like."

Miriam bent her head over the checkbook and began to write.

AFTER Miriam had left, Karen stood admiring the check she held. Two thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, plus tax. The full amount. That had been really decent of Miriam. One couldn't blame her for her initial protest. A woman who could casually dash off a check for over two thousand dollars might not be expected to balk at such a sum, but Karen knew from experience that the richer the customer, the more likely she was to haggle.

Of course a third of the money belonged to Mrs. MacDougal, and today's sale was an unusual event, one that wouldn't happen often. All the same, it deserved a celebration. Karen decided she would not go back to work. It was four-thirty and she felt sure Rob had already closed up.

She went flying down the hall to release Alexander from the kitchen. He almost fainted with surprise when she snatched him up and hugged him. "Steak for you tonight, my boy. And champagne for me!"

Alexander's ears pricked up. He had an extensive vocabulary, and "steak" was a word he knew.

Karen put a bottle of champagne into the refrigerator and reached for the telephone.

Cheryl was almost as excited as she was, but she reluctantly refused Karen's invitation to supper. "I've got a class. I don't dare skip it, there's a test tonight. Unless- would it be all right if I came over afterwards? I could be there by nine, unless you're set on getting drunk right this minute."

"I think I can hold off for a few hours," Karen admitted.

After inspecting the larder, she decided there was nothing on hand worthy of the occasion. Snatching her purse, she ran out to shop, treating herself to veal chops (two very small chops) from the Georgetown Market. She did not buy Alexander's steak at the Georgetown Market. She hoped he couldn't tell the difference between supermarket fare and that of a French butcher, but she did not count on it.

Cheryl arrived at 9:10, brandishing a bottle. "I figured one bottle of champagne wasn't enough for your first big sale. Let's open it right this minute."

They drank with simulated solemnity-"to Miriam and her millions." Karen filled the glasses again. "I'd like to propose another toast. Feel free to throw the wine and the glass out the window if you hate the idea, but… How about drinking to our new partnership?"

Cheryl stopped with her glass halfway to her lips. She stared at Karen; then her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "I thought you'd never ask," she said.

AT midnight they were halfway through the second bottle and neither one of them had stopped talking.

"Might as well finish it," Cheryl said seriously, pouring the wine. "It'd be a shame to let it go flat. Here's another toast. To the greatest business brains in the state-"

"This isn't a state," Karen said, with only the slightest difficulty over the sibilants.

"And a damn shame, too," Cheryl cried. "Here's to self-gov'ment for the District of Columbia!"

"Right on!"

"No, but I mean we are the best business brains in whatever it is," Cheryl insisted. "Do you realize that in the last three hours we've figured out everything we're gonna do, even the way we're gonna decorate the shop?"

"We haven't got the shop yet."

"But I'm gonna start looking tomorrow. In all those places we talked about. You know, this town closes down and dies in August, after Congress lets out. My classes are over the end of July, and soon as your friend gets back you can give her your notice and work at this full-time."

"I think we can do it," Karen agreed. They looked at one another, at once sobered and exhilarated by the prospect. "I really think we can do it, Cheryl."

"Sure we can do it. You know, Karen, you don't know what this means t'me. I can't tell you-"

"You did tell me. About ten times."

"An' I'll say it ten more times," Cheryl declared. "Can't say it too often."

For some reason this struck both of them as hilariously funny, and they laughed until they were breathless.

"We're drunk," Karen said, in surprise.

"Maybe you are, but I'm not. I'm just a little tipsy. Here we go-this is the last. A final toast?"

"To us," Karen said.

"Couldn't've said it better myself."

They had retired to Karen's room to inspect the merchandise and go over the books. "I tell you what," Karen said, trying to collect her wits. "You better not go home in that condition. Oh, I know you aren't drunk. But neither of us is exactly sober, now are we? Why don't you spend the night?"

"Okay," Cheryl agreed. "I better call Mark. Ask him if I can spend the night."

"What do you mean, ask him?"

"You're right, you're right. Don't ask him-tell him. Only…" Cheryl's mouth drooped. "Only I don't have my toothbrush or my nightie."

"No problem. Ruth is one of those perfect hostesses who always has extra toothbrushes for guests. And if you want a nightgown-" Karen walked, none too steadily, to the wardrobe and threw open the door. "Take your pick. Victorian with handmade eyelet ruffles, Edwardian with pin tucks and tatting, bias-cut peach satin-"

"What, wrinkle the merchandise?" Cheryl's eyes widened in horror. "I'll sleep in my skin. First, better call ol' Mark."

Cheryl pulled herself together enough to sound relatively coherent when she announced to her brother that she would not be home that night. Karen, preparing Ruth and Pat's room for a guest, overheard enough to deduce that Mark had been properly congratulatory about the partnership and rather pleased than otherwise that he would not have to deal with a giggling, tipsy sister.

After she had tucked her new partner into bed, Karen went downstairs to let Alexander out. It was not until she looked into the darkened garden that she remembered her ghost. "Nothing like cash in hand to scare away spooks," she thought with a smile as she called Alexander in, checked the doors and windows, and went up to bed.

"Karen! Karen!"

Muzzy with sleep and champagne, it took her a while to recognize the voice. She struggled to sit up, muttering, "Whazzamatter?"

Cheryl stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the hall. She had been persuaded to wear one of the older, more tattered nightgowns; it was too big for her and puddled around her bare feet.

"What's the matter?" Karen repeated.

"There was somebody in my room."

The only body in Cheryl's room belonged to Alexander, who was engaged in a thorough sniff of every corner. Someone had certainly been there, however, or else Cheryl was guilty of walking in her sleep. The wardrobe doors were flung wide, and most of the clothes had been removed from the hangers.