Shattered Silk (22 page)

Yet who would have supposed that beneath the other woman's smooth, bright facade there was a layer of sensibility as fragile, and as damaged, as the shattered silk lining of an antique garment?

She ought to have known, or at least suspected. Friendship deserved more than she had given.

FALLS CHURCH
was, as Cheryl put it, a bust. The buildings they inspected were too expensive, too rundown, or in the wrong area. They left their names with a realtor who promised to notify them if anything turned up and headed for home, feeling somewhat deflated.

"We've just begun," Cheryl said consolingly. "Shall we have a quick look at Alexandria? You never know…"

Karen consulted her watch. "I'm afraid there's not time. Rob is totally unreliable, and I'm going to be late as it is."

As matters turned out, she was even later than she had expected. They finally found a parking place several blocks from the house; and as they approached it they saw something on the doorstep. It resembled a pile of rags rather than a human being, and Cheryl said pitifully, "Oh, it's one of those poor old bag ladies, shopping bags and all. I feel so sorry for them."

"That's no bag lady." Karen came to a stop and clutched Cheryl. "That's Mrs. Grossmuller!"

"My God, it is!" Cheryl clutched back. They stood huddled together, staring, until Karen let out a nervous laugh.

"What are we going to do? We can't stand here like a couple of Victorian damsels in distress."

"Let's walk around the block. Maybe she'll go away."

But Mrs. Grossmuller had seen them. Rising with monolithic dignity, she beckoned. She wore what must have been her "town" clothes-a rumpled, tarnished black suit of decidedly antique vintage, and the most incredible hat Karen had ever seen. It measured a good two feet across and was heaped with limp pink moire bows, with an almost naked ostrich feather crowning the pile.

"Don't laugh," Karen said out of the corner of her mouth, as they obeyed the summons.

"Laugh? I'm more likely to howl like Alexander. Why, hello there-Mrs. Grossmuller, isn't it?"

"I have been waiting a considerable time." Mrs. Grossmuller brushed at her dusty skirt. "You are very late."

Her dignity was so extreme it was difficult not to apologize; but Karen managed to refrain from doing so. Being at a loss for words, she fell back on the formula she used with customers. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Brought you some stuff," said Mrs. Grossmuller, in one of her sudden descents from formal English to western Maryland accent and colloquialism. "You gonna ask me to come in or do you want I should dump it out on the sidewalk like a common vendor?"

She pushed past Karen as soon as the latter had unlocked the door, and Karen's cry of warning came too late. "Watch out for the dog!"

Mrs. Grossmuller stood looking down at Alexander, who was squirming at her feet in unbecoming admiration. "Homely, ain't he? I guess that's the homeliest dog I ever seen."

The insult did not affect Alexander in the least. He continued to grovel and Mrs. Grossmuller added grudgingly, "Nice little feller, though. Friendly."

"He likes you," Karen exclaimed incredulously.

"Most dogs do. Well? Where's the sitting room? I could be persuaded to partake of a glass of sherry if it is not too sweet."

Mrs. Grossmuller got her sherry. She then spread her wares out across the furniture. They weren't quite as bad as Karen had feared, but they ran the gamut from a pair of pretty Victorian petticoats to faded calico aprons and sunbonnets. Some could never have fit Mrs. Grossmuller, at any stage in her life; Karen deduced that she had been looting her neighbors' attics, spurred on by her successful sale, and only hoped she had had their permission to do so. Being a receiver of stolen goods had a certain piratical ring to it when the stolen goods were gems and precious metals, but it would be demeaning to be arrested over a calico sunbonnet.

For once it was she who had to put her foot down on the outlandish prices Mrs. Grossmuller asked. Cheryl, who had not spoken a word since Alexander's astonishing performance, seemed absolutely hypnotized.

Her worst fears were uncalled for; after a reasonable amount of dickering Mrs. Grossmuller accepted her offers and repacked the merchandise that had been rejected. "You're smarter than I thought," she remarked. "Couldn't take you in. Figured it was worth trying, though."

She settled back with a pleased smile and thumbed through the money Karen had given her.

"How did you find me?" Karen asked.

The answer was the one she expected. "Your address was on your check. I'll bring you some more stuff another time."

"No, don't do that," Karen exclaimed. "I mean- I'll be moving soon."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet. Why don't you give me your address and phone number and I'll call you."

"Makes sense," said Mrs. Grossmuller agreeably. She reached into her capacious purse. "My card."

It really was a calling card, yellow with age and frayed around the edges, but handsomely engraved.

"Thank you," Karen said. "Well. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, I'm not leaving yet," said Mrs. Grossmuller, settling herself more comfortably. "You still got my wedding dress?"

"Uh-no. It's not here. It's-it's at the cleaners'."

"Oh. Too bad. I'd have liked to look at it again."

Karen glanced at Cheryl, who was staring at Mrs. Grossmuller with the dumb fascination of a chicken under the cold, hypnotic gaze of a snake. She herself was conscious of a desire to burst into wild, uncontrolled shrieks of laughter.

"I'm sorry we can't ask you to stay, Mrs. Grossmuller. We are going out."

"When?"

"Right now," Karen said firmly.

"Oh. Well, I guess you couldn't ask me to stay to lunch then. Were that not the case I might be offended by the omission." Mrs. Grossmuller gathered up her shopping bags and rose, stepping carefully over Alexander, who was sprawled at her feet, licking her shoe. "I guess I'll just hike down Wisconsin and look in the windows. Maybe have lunch out, seeing as I'm so rich. Is there a McDonald's around?"

Karen showed her out and then ran into the parlor, where she and Cheryl stood watching out the window, as Mrs. Grossmuller walked to a car parked-illegally-across the street, and got in. The vehicle swung abruptly out into the traffic, ignoring a Camaro that had to slam on its brakes to avoid a collision, and wove erratically away.

"Are you all right?" Karen asked, nudging her paralyzed partner.

"Pinch me," Cheryl gasped. "I don't believe it. Did you see that car? It was a Mercedes. And Alexander… She put a spell on him!"

"Cheryl, get hold of yourself. She's a poor, senile old woman. Why does she affect you that way?"

"Listen, I know a lot of senile old ladies. None of them acts like that. I can't help it. She gives me the creeps. Be honest, Karen; what would you think if you woke up in the middle of the night and saw that face looking in your window?"

"I'd think I was dreaming. She couldn't get up to a second-story window without a ladder-"

"Or a broomstick," Cheryl muttered.

"I'm sorry I can't stay and protect you from witches, but I'm horribly late already. I haven't even time to change. Are you sure you won't be nervous?"

Cheryl gave herself a shake. "Don't be silly. I've got plenty to keep me busy. But I'm going to lock all the doors."

"You do that. I wish I could stay and help you. Oh, well, it won't be long; Julie will be back in a few days."

Julie was back sooner than that. Karen was not unduly surprised, though she was angry, to see that the shop was dark and that the grille across the door was still in place. Not until she started to unlock the padlock did she realize that although the hasp had been inserted into the hole, it had not been pushed home.

"THIS
is getting monotonous," said Tony Cardoza.

Hands on his narrow hips, he looked down at Karen, seated at Julie's desk.

"It's not my fault," Karen growled. "And if you've called Mark…"

"I have not called Mark." Tony sat down on the corner of the desk.

"Then don't. I won't have him dashing to the rescue everytime something happens."

Tony grinned and pushed his hat back on his head; then he remembered and whipped it off. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, who gives a damn about formality? Just tell those idiots to stop spraying powder on the merchandise. It will take me all day to clean it up."

"They are looking for fingerprints," Tony said mildly.

"I know. I'll never get the damned ink off my hands."

"If you're through yelling, maybe I can ask you some questions. I have a few other things to do this afternoon, little unimportant things like investigating some murders."

"Okay, okay." After a moment Karen added, "I'm sorry, Tony. I appreciate your coming so quickly."

"Oh, listen, I've developed a conditioned reflex. I've seen your name on so many call sheets lately I automatically jump into action. Did you call what's-er-name- the owner?"

"She was out. I left a message for her at the hotel."

"The name of which is…"

"I told the officers."

"Then tell me."

"What are you up to?" Karen asked curiously. "Cheryl said you're Homicide, so this isn't even your case."

"I'm on my lunch hour," Tony said. "What I do in my spare time is none of the Department's business. Now, then, you were about to give me the name of that hotel."

Karen leaned back in her chair. She was recovering from her evil humor; Tony's calm, friendly professionalism was comforting to overstrained nerves.

"I thought of Julie when you asked me if someone had a grudge against me," she admitted. "She was furious when I refused to let her have the clothes for her own shop. I gather you know all about that; you seem to know everything else about me."

"Cheryl talks a lot," Tony said. "Look, Karen, I'm doing this because I want to-okay? Nobody's forcing me. So why don't you relax and let me do it?"

"Well…"

"Here comes one of the boys in blue to ask you what is missing. Talk nice to him."

"I don't know what's missing. The place is so torn up… Oh, damn! Julie is going to blow her stack."

Julie did. It was late afternoon before she telephoned, and it was clear that she had already heard the bad news, for she burst into a scream of vituperation as soon as Karen picked up the telephone. Karen had been prepared to sympathize, but the unreasonable accusations of negligence and worse made her angry; after trying unsuccessfully to get a word in, she finally hung up. Then she closed the shop and went home.

Cheryl administered iced tea and sympathy, and Karen expounded her own theory. "Rob has to be the guilty party. He never showed up, and when I called his number nobody answered. I told Tony, but that man just smiled mysteriously and wouldn't say a thing."

"I could call him," Cheryl began.

"No. And don't call Mark, either. Tell me about your day. I'm sick to death of Julie and her problems. One good thing-I'm through with her. After the things she said to me I don't feel any obligation about staying on."

"You should have told her you quit," Cheryl said loyally.

"I did. Three times. But I don't think she heard me. She'll probably show up here later; don't be polite and leave us alone, I'll need your moral support."

"I'll slug her if she gives you a hard time," Cheryl promised.

"Oh, damn," Karen said, hearing the telephone. "I'll bet that's her now."

It was Mark. He asked to speak to Cheryl, and Karen handed over the phone. Cheryl covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Can I-"

"Oh, sure, go ahead. Tony has probably talked to him already."

She stamped out to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes. Cheryl followed her a few minutes later. "Mark was wondering," she began, "if we'd like to go-"

"He'll have to settle for hamburgers and potato salad." Karen gestured with her paring knife at the pile of vegetables. "And tell him to bring that closemouthed friend of his. Maybe when Tony is off duty and full of food he'll be more communicative."

TONY
was perfectly willing to talk. "It's not a secret. You didn't have to bribe me. But I'm glad you did," he added, accepting a second serving of potato salad.

They were sitting around the kitchen table. It was still too hot for an outdoor picnic, and Ruth's formal dining room didn't seem appropriate for hamburgers and the beer Mark had brought. He and Tony were in their shirt sleeves and the latter was very obviously off duty. He paid Karen outrageous compliments on her cooking; when she accused him of looking unusually pleased with himself, he was prompt to admit it.

"I think we've solved the identity of your ghost, Karen. Since he's probably well on his way to parts unknown, you shouldn't have any more trouble."

"Rob?" Karen asked.

"You don't sound surprised."

"I am-and I'm not. I knew he didn't like me, but I can't believe he would be so vicious."

"You're jumping to conclusions," Mark said, tugging absently at a lock of hair. "What makes you think it was Rob?"

"This was found on the floor of the office, where it might have fallen out of someone's pocket, and been kicked into a corner. I persuaded the boys to let me have a copy."

He handed the paper to Karen. Mark reached for her hand and moved it into a position from which he could see too. His fingers tightened over hers, and he muttered something under his breath.

The original had been a group photograph. Karen recognized it immediately. "It's from my college yearbook," she said in a strained voice. "I made the tennis team the first year-by a fluke, really, everybody got sick or broke an ankle or something. That's Anne-I forget her last name… Susan Reeder… and (strange how hard it was for her to pronounce the name)… and Shreve."

"And the hole in the middle is you?" Mark asked. He snatched the paper from her numbed fingers and examined it closely.

"The names are printed underneath," Tony said. "That's how I knew. The face has been obliterated. Slashed with a knife or a pair of scissors."

"How do you suppose Rob got hold of this?" Cheryl asked. Some of the pretty color had faded from her cheeks.

"Julie brought the yearbook in one day," Karen said. She had to clear her throat before she went on. "She was pretending to play 'do you remember?' games; but I think she wanted to rub it in-how much I had changed. She showed it to Rob and-and to other people. He made a few of his cute little cutting remarks… I thought she had taken it home after the joke wore thin."