Houses of Stone, KATHY [classic literature books TXT] 📗

Gothic atmosphere, it looked like any other unattractive tumbledown old mansion.

After she had returned to the hotel the preceding afternoon, she followed Lisa's advice, wrapping her ankle in an ice-wrapped towel before she nerved herself to reach for the telephone. She wasn't looking forward to telling Cameron Hayes that she had trespassed on his property and been caught in the act by his cousin. But if she didn't tell him Lisa would, and by confessing before she was accused, she might preserve a few rags of her dignity.

He listened in silence as she stumbled through her explanation. The silence continued for several uncomfortable seconds after she stopped talking.

"I'm so sorry," he said at last. "I had no idea Lisa meant to be there yesterday. I ought to have told you about her."

You can take the boy out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the boy, Karen thought. It had been hard for him to find something for which to apologize, but he had managed it.

He had politely ignored her own apologies and heaped further coals of fire on her offending head by offering to accompany her to the house next day. "No, it's no trouble at all. I was planning to go myself, if the weather clears, as it's supposed to."

He had also insisted on taking her to breakfast. He apologized for that, too—or rather, for the early hour he suggested, explaining that he wanted to get in a full day's work.

That comment prepared her to some extent, but she had to look twice before she recognized him. The paint-stained pants and shabby wind-breaker altered not only his appearance but his manner. Bareheaded, hands in his pockets and shoulders bowed, he seemed to shrink as he made his way through the crowded restaurant, acknowledging acquaintances with nods and murmured greetings. Even his accent was softer and more slurred.

Apparently the Hungry Hog was the town's most popular rendezvous for the Sunday breakfast crowd. For the most part it was an elderly, well-dressed crowd; a number of the women wore hats, and their gray-haired or balding escorts sported ties and three-piece suits. Not until one of the women (who would undoubtedly have referred to herself as "one of the ladies") asked Cameron whether she would see him in church did Karen understand why they were so dressed up.

Evidently the question was meant as a joke. The "lady's" companions laughed heartily. She laughed harder than any of them; all three of her chins wobbled and the violets on her hat shook alarmingly. Karen realized she was staring and wrenched her eyes away. But really, it was an astonishing hat; the violets heaped at random over the crown and brim had faded to a grayish lavender, and the purple veiling tacked over the ensemble had the cheap shine of nylon. It was not quite the same shade of purple as the "lady's" dress.

Cameron nodded and smiled but did not reply. Dropping into the chair across from Karen, he apologized for keeping her waiting.

"I just got here," she replied. Curiosity prompted her to add, "I hope I'm not keeping you from church."

"That was a joke," Hayes said seriously. "I'm not a regular churchgoer."

"Oh."

The glint in his eyes told her he was well aware of her amusement. "A well-worn joke, in fact. I'm afraid that's typical of local humor. Miz Fowler and her friends believe that members of the gentry should follow the old traditions. They don't approve of me, but around here family connections count for more than behavior."

"An aristocratic ax murderer is more acceptable than a philanthropist of humble birth?"

"Exaggerated, but essentially correct." His tone told her he didn't care to discuss the subject any further. After they had ordered he said, "I talked with Lisa last night. She told me you hurt your foot. I hope it's better?"

"A little sore, that's all. You needn't be afraid I'll sue you," she added, smiling. "I had no right to be there."

"That wouldn't prevent you from suing. And possibly winning." He hesitated, and Karen braced herself for a kindly lecture about her impetuous and ill-considered behavior. Instead he asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

The question surprised her into an honest answer. "Yes. Not that I expected to find anything in particular, it was just a feeling ... I didn't go in the house, of course. I'm anxious to see it, if you will allow me."

The waitress delivered Karen's croissant and presented Hayes with a heaped platter—eggs, sausages, bacon, and a heap of an amorphous white substance Karen recognized as the fabled Southern grits. "I gather Lisa explained the legal situation," he said, tucking into his breakfast with the appetite of a man who anticipates a long day of manual labor. "I have to have her approval before I act, but so far she's never differed with any of my decisions."

"Have you met Professor Meyer?" Karen asked.

"No. I'm surprised he went to her instead of contacting me. Have you any idea what he wants?"

"I know what he wants, but I don't understand what he's up to. He might think he could swindle a woman more easily than a man, but she couldn't sell anything without your consent, could she?"

"No. The converse is true, as well." Hayes finished his bacon before remarking, "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of your colleague."

"I wouldn't trust him with my garbage." Caught off guard by her candor, Hayes grinned, and Karen went on, "You know where I stand; Dr. Finneyfrock and I explained the situation the last time we met. The manuscript is the most important thing. I have every expectation of getting it, and in any case it is out of your hands. What I hope to get from you is evidence that would enable me to identify the author of the manuscript—diaries, letters, family records. I think that's what Bill Meyers is after too. Knowing Bill, I assume he hopes to steal it or con someone into giving it