Houses of Stone (42 page)

The boys were losing their enthusiasm. Karen could hardly blame them;
they had been hard at it for over six hours and the air was stifling, without the slightest hint of a breeze. They had all removed their shirts, against Peggy's advice; their movements increasingly slow, their bodies streaked with muddy sweat, they kept at it until the irregular top of a narrow opening could be seen by the watchers.

"Could be a tunnel," Jimmy Joe or Bucky reported, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "Or just a kind of hollow place. Can't tell. It's filled up with dirt. Want we should go on?"

"No, that's enough for today. It's after five, and you guys must be exhausted. You're really hard workers. I hope you're not too worn out to come back tomorrow."

Shoulders straightened and chests expanded. The spokesman, whoever he was, cleared his throat. "Hell, no, ma'am, we're not tired. We'll be partyin' tonight and back on the job first thing tomorrow."

Still showing off, they bounded up the path ahead of the others, who trailed wearily behind. "Rotten little bastards," Bill wheezed.

"Don't be so pompous. I'll bet you flexed your youthful muscles at the old folks when you were eighteen," Peggy retorted.

"Huh. Well, ladies, I'll be on the job tomorrow but I sure as hell ain't partyin' tonight."

"Me neither," Karen admitted. "I'm about to die, and I didn't work the way you did, Bill. If you don't feel like coming tomorrow I wouldn't blame you."

Bill was too far gone to straighten his shoulders or any other part of his body, but his face relaxed into a smile. "Wild horses ... I said that before, didn't I? See you in the morning. Sleep well."

"So, you've decided to be nicer," Peggy said, as they followed his car along the drive. "Was that calculated, or are you willing to admit he's not such a bad guy?"

"He's not such a bad guy. I wonder what happened to Cameron. If he hasn't shown up by this time he probably isn't coming back today. Should we close the gate, do you think?"

Peggy considered the suggestion, and then shook her head decisively. "He's made it clear that he thinks we're a pair of nosy busybodies; in his present mood he'd probably interpret anything we did as unwarranted interference."

Bill's car was already out of sight when they reached the road. Peggy
put her foot down. "We'll have a quiet evening," she said, with a glance at her companion. "You do look tired."

"Not really. It's mostly the heat—and the tension."

"I kept expecting it too," Peggy confessed. "Nothing happened, though. Or did it? Something was bothering you—something about that tunnel. I didn't want to press the point in front of the others; is it mentioned in the manuscript?"

"No." The air-conditioning was having its effect; Karen was beginning to feel chilly as perspiration evaporated. "It had nothing to do with Ismene. I was remembering what Mrs. Madison said, about the slaves being shut up in there, and then I happened to recall a grisly story Simon read to me once, called 'The Torture of Hope.' The Grand Inquisitor let the poor guy think he had escaped from the dungeon; after he had crawled through the dark on his hands and knees, he finally reached the garden— and they were waiting for him."

"My God," Peggy breathed, "I never realized you had such a morbid imagination! That's sick, Karen. And," she added firmly, "far too subtle for an eighteenth-century slave owner. Forget it."

"I wish I could. Oh, you're right, the tunnel is only a morbid fancy of mine—if it's there at all. But I can't get that story of Mrs. Madison's out of my mind. Burial alive; a long, slow, agonizing death from hunger and thirst, in the dark, all alone ..."

She shivered. Peggy reached across and switched off the air-conditioning. "That's enough of that. We'll dig out the damned thing tomorrow and find it is only a natural hollow, as Bucky said. Or was it Jimmy Joe? Damned if I can tell those kids apart."

"Neither can I." Karen was glad to accept the change of subject. "We ought to be ashamed, though; we sound like those supercilious bigots who swear the 'natives' all look alike."

"Have you got energy enough to go out for dinner?" Peggy asked, after they had reached their room. "I'm getting awfully tired of the menu here."

"Just let me shower and change into my other pair of pants, and I'll be good as new. You can go first," she added generously.

"I will have a drink first. And see what that blinking red light on the phone portends."

When Karen came out of the bathroom toweling her wet hair Peggy
was still on the telephone. With a final "Fine, see you there," she hung up and started to undress. Karen noticed her glass was empty and that she looked unusually grave.

"That was Tanya," Peggy said. "I asked her to join us for dinner. Hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. Is something wrong?"

"She said she had a few tidbits of news for us." Peggy headed for the bathroom, shedding garments right and left. "Gossip," she added. "The stuff of which great novels are made."

"The Hungry Hog?" Karen exclaimed. "Why here?"

"Any objection?" Peggy pulled into a parking space. "It was Tanya's idea."

"It's popular with the haut monde. We might see some familiar faces."

"If you're referring to Mrs. F., I hope we do. There are a few things I'd like to say to her."

However, the only familiar face was Tanya's. They joined her at the table. Peggy insisted they all have a drink, and Tanya did not demur.

"It was nice of you to ask me," she said politely. "We could have talked over the phone."

"We owe you one," Peggy said. "Anyhow, I like food and drink and talk, especially in combination. Kitchen things."

Tanya's eyes lit up. "You know 'A Jury of Her Peers'? It's a great story."

"Karen introduced me to it. She's been broadening my mind and trying to improve my manners—though that's an uphill fight."

"And vice versa," Karen murmured.

"I hope we didn't get your mother in trouble with Cameron," Peggy went on. "She told you what happened, I suppose."

"Oh, that. Don't worry about it. He apologized to her later."

"He didn't apologize to us," Karen said.

An unexpected dimple made a brief appearance in Tanya's cheek. "In a way he did," she said cryptically.

The advent of the waiter and the business of ordering postponed further discussion; after he had gone Tanya said seriously, "It's Cameron I wanted to talk to you about. I guess you don't know what happened about the
fire? Well, you knew it was his company that insured Mrs. Fowler's place? You didn't? You ladies sure don't get around."

"Tell," Peggy urged, leaning forward.

"She filed a claim the day after the fire," Tanya said. "And Cameron refused to pay it. The company's sent for an expert from Richmond to look for evidences of arson."

"Have they any reason to think it was?" Karen asked.

"I guess they must. There's some talk around town that it could have been Bobby set the fire, for the insurance. He's always after the old lady for money. I can't believe he'd take a chance on somebody being hurt, though."

"He might not have known anyone was there," Karen said, struck by a sudden revelation. "My car wasn't in the garage and I went to bed early."

"That's an interesting idea," Tanya said thoughtfully. "Bobby wouldn't deliberately set out to endanger you—he's too much of a cautious coward to risk a charge that serious—but he's so stupid he'd never think of checking to make absolutely sure the place was empty.

"Anyhow, he heard the talk and he blamed Cameron for it—and for turning down the claim. But I heard from somebody else, who was there, that it was what he said about you that started the fight."

"Fight?" Karen's jaw dropped unbecomingly.

"Wait a minute, you're leaving out all the interesting parts," Peggy exclaimed. "When did it happen? Where did it happen? Who said what to whom and who hit who first?"

Egged on by Peggy, Tanya let herself go. The encounter had taken place at high noon in front of Cameron's office on Main Street—as public a spot as anyone could hope to find. Accompanied by two of his "scruffy friends," Bobby had been lying in wait; he had prudently waited until after the prospective client had got in his car and driven away before accosting Cameron. He had begun by demanding that Cameron "stop effing around and hand over the insurance money," to quote Tanya. Cameron had tried at first to back off, but it had been he who struck the first blow.

"Bobby started calling you names and implying it was you who put Cameron up to denying the claim, out of spite against Mrs. Fowler,"

Tanya reported. "Then he said he'd found you two out there at the house—uh—making—um—"

"Never mind, we get the idea," Peggy said, lips twitching. Though what she found amusing Karen could not imagine. "Was that when Cameron hit him?"

"Uh-huh. Knocked him flat, too. Cameron started walking away, and then all three of them jumped him. A couple of people who'd been standing around watching intervened at that point; when somebody mentioned the police, Bobby and his pals took off."

"Was Cameron hurt?" Peggy asked.

"He left under his own steam, anyhow," Tanya replied. "Mama said he showed up at the house about two, and sent her home. He told her he'd fallen off a ladder, but he was okay. Nobody's seen him since."

"He must have known she'd learn the truth eventually," Peggy mused.

"Yes, well ... He keeps things to himself. I wouldn't have told you," Tanya said apologetically, "except I thought you ought to know what that miserable kid and his aunt are saying about you. Mrs. Fowler's never forgiven you for that speech and she'll do you an injury if she can."

"She can't," Peggy said briskly. "And let us know if she tries anything on you." Her voice deepened into a growling drawl. "Ah won't leave this here town till I've cleaned out that nest of vermin and made it safe for honest folks."

This was too much for Karen, who had been fuming with speechless embarrassment. "God damn it, Peggy, I don't see anything funny about this!"

"It is funny. It's also very romantic," Peggy said with an unrepentant grin. "What's wrong with you? I used to dream of having a handsome hero fight for my honor at high noon on Main Street."

Karen looked from her to Tanya, who had retreated behind her napkin. "Oh, hell," she said. "I guess it is funny. Sort of. But it certainly isn't romantic."

"That's the right attitude." Peggy sobered. "I'm sorry for Cameron, though. He's too thin-skinned for his own good. I'll bet he's a lot more embarrassed about this than you are."

"I'll bet he's not," Karen muttered.

They had finished their meal and were waiting for coffee when Peggy, who sat facing the tables at the front of the restaurant, said under her
breath, "Brace yourself. Here comes one of those familiar faces, and she looks as if she's bursting with gossip."

Karen was glad she had been warned. Lisa did look pleased with herself, and that was usually a bad sign. She refused Peggy's invitation to join them for coffee. "I'm dining with a gentleman friend. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of what's being said around town. I expect Tanya's already given you her version."

"She told us what happened," Karen said, seeing Tanya's lips compress. "I hope that repulsive young man and his degenerate friends are in jail."

Lisa was momentarily taken aback, but she quickly rallied. "It wasn't Bobby's fault. Cam accused him—"

"That's not true, Lisa." Tanya was perfectly capable of defending herself. "All Cameron said was that there was some doubt as to how the fire started. Until the experts come to a definite conclusion, he's got no choice but to hold back on paying."

"If somebody set that fire, it wasn't Bobby," Lisa snapped. "He's got an alibi."

"From his buddies?" Peggy snorted.

"I didn't come over here to argue with you." Lisa was losing her temper; two bright, symmetrical patches of red showed on her cheeks. "I just thought you ought to know. And you can tell Cam he'd better stop playing the pious fool and hand over that money."

Karen was even closer to losing her temper. Lisa had looked directly at her. "Good gracious me, that sounds like a threat," she said, with a sneer as fine as any Peggy could have produced. "You can go back and tell Mrs. Fowler that she'd better stop playing the little dictator. I wouldn't advise Cameron to pay up on a claim as dubious as hers even if I had the slightest influence over him. Which I don't."

"That's not what I hear," Lisa snapped. She turned on her heel and stamped off before Karen could reply.

"Bitch," Tanya said clearly.

"One-hundred carat." Peggy didn't trouble to lower her voice either. "We can assume she hasn't anything else to sell, can't we? She wouldn't be so rude to a prospective buyer. Well, this has been a fun evening. I told you there's nothing like gossip to liven things up."

They had to pass Lisa's table on the way out. She ostentatiously ignored them, breaking into bright chatter and leaning toward her companion.

Karen remembered seeing him at the luncheon. He was a good thirty years older than Lisa, but he looked prosperous.

Not until they were on their way back to the hotel did she raise the question that had been troubling her. "It might not have been Bobby who set that fire after all."

"I don't think it was," Peggy said.

"Do you think we ought to tell the police about . . . about the manuscript?"

"About Dorothea Angelo, you mean."

"I suppose I did. It sounded so outrageous ... I can't believe she'd do such a thing."

"I see no reason to say anything just now," Peggy said thoughtfully. "It is an inadequate motive, as you yourself pointed out. We'll see what the investigation turns up. Could be the fire was accidental after all."

After they reached their room Peggy retreated into the bathroom with the telephone and Karen went to work on the manuscript. She was still at it when Peggy went to bed, so absorbed that she only mumbled unintelligibly in response to the other woman's "Good night."

It was after one before she stood up and stretched creaking muscles. Unaccustomed exercise followed by long hours of sitting had awakened aches in areas that had never ached before, but she was too excited by what she had discovered to sleep.

Tiptoeing to the bed, she bent over the motionless form. "Peggy," she whispered. "Peggy, are you asleep?"

"I was," said a gruff voice. "What do you want?"

"I've found out what the Deadly Secret is!"

Peggy opened one eye. "And you woke me up to tell me that? Frankly, my dear, right now I don't give a damn."

She rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket up over her head.