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

entire barn, packed from roof to rafters . . .

"That's probably where Peggy is," Joan said. "I'll go look for her. You've still got a couple of hours," she added consolingly.

"See you later." Karen fled back to the books.

By the time she had finished with them it was after three-thirty. A suspicious survey of the now crowded room told her Meyer was not there. He was probably in the barn too, damn him.

It had stopped raining, but pools of water spread over every dip in the ground. As she picked her way through puddles and patches of mud toward the barn, her spirits slumped. It was a barn, all right. A big barn. A very big barn. Patches of the original red paint were still visible upon the faded boards, and the wide doors stood open, showing a scene like the one she had just left—crowds of people moving slowly through close-packed furniture and high-piled tables. She stopped in the doorway, tense with a feeling that was new to her, but only too familiar to the old hands in the business—the feeling that somewhere in that barn was the one object she most desired and that someone else would see it first.

Joan's mop of red curls appeared over the heads of lesser mortals as she straightened from examining something Karen could not see. Squirming through the other bodies, Karen finally reached her, and saw that Peggy was there too.

"What?" she demanded, catching Peggy's arm.

"What what?" Peggy was maddeningly calm.

Joan let out one of her raucous whoops of laughter. "It's got to her. See what you've been missing all these years, babe?"

"Will they make us leave at five?" Karen demanded feverishly. "We can't cover all this in an hour."

"Fear not. I've been making notes." Peggy displayed the catalog, now disfigured with cryptic symbols. She rubbed her forehead, adding another smear of dust to her grimy face. "It does get confusing," she admitted. "I haven't seen an auction this big and this disorganized for years. We'll go over the notes tonight."

"You're tired." Karen knew she ought to make Peggy stop for the day, but that degree of nobility was beyond her strength at the moment. "Go have some coffee and rest, why don't you?"

"Maybe I will. Here, you take the list—and for God's sake don't lose it! There are several items I haven't been able to locate. I've marked them with a star."

Karen watched her walk away, shoulders sagging, steps slow. "Is she all right? I shouldn't have let her do this."

"You couldn't have kept her away with a club," Joan said cheerfully. "Don't worry about Peggy, she's a tough old broad. I've seen her in worse shape. Hell, I've been in worse shape myself; and if you think you're tired now, just wait till tomorrow night."

Karen inspected the list. "Why do you suppose she's interested in an overstuffed chair and a collection of pillows?"

"Ours not to reason why. Let me see that. Uh-huh . . . I'll look for the furniture, you do your thing, whatever that may be. See how useful I can be? Aren't you glad I came?"

She trotted off. After a hopeless survey of the clutter Karen shrugged and knelt by a carton of books. It wasn't self-indulgence, she told herself; this was her field, after all.

She was still at it when Joan came for her. "It's after five," the latter announced. "Peggy's ready to go, and so am I."

"I haven't finished—"

"If you don't leave of your own free will, the auctioneer and his staff will kick you out. They've had a long day, with worse to come." She put out a steadying hand as Karen staggered to her feet. "Tired?"

"Exhausted," Karen admitted.

When they left the barn they saw Peggy standing near the door of the main building, talking with several men. Her animated gestures and broad smile reassured Karen; the rest had obviously revived her.

One of the men was Bill Meyer. He had kept strictly away from her all day; give him credit for manly modesty, Karen told herself. On the other hand, he might have had other things to do.

The other men politely faded away as they approached. Karen acknowledged Meyer's greeting with a smile and a concentrated stare. His face was unmarked. His hands were in his pockets.

Joan coughed and jabbed an elbow into Karen's ribs, and the latter performed introductions. Joan put out a grubby hand; Meyer took it in his. No scratches on the right hand ... Or the left.

Feeling her eyes on him, Meyer turned to Karen. "You look tired," he said solicitously.

"Always tactful, Bill." Karen brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek.

"Always on the defensive, Karen." He smiled at her. "What's wrong with admitting you're tired? I am. I had no idea this was such hard work."

"You aren't an auction fan, then?"

"I've done book auctions occasionally—can't resist the damned things, even though I've run out of bookcases and walls on which to put them— but this is a whole new experience."

"It grows on you," Peggy said. "But I admit I'm ready to put my feet up. Do you need a lift, Bill?"

"No, thanks, I've got my own car." They started toward the road. Somehow—Karen wasn't sure whether it was deliberate or accidental— Joan and Peggy drew ahead, and she found herself several feet behind them, with Meyer beside her. "Wanna make a deal?" he asked, smiling.

"What kind of deal?" Karen asked suspiciously. They had reached the road. There was a considerable amount of traffic, as the late-leavers pulled out of the lot and headed home. Meyer stopped.

"Nothing underhanded. There are some lots I'm interested in, but I don't want to bid against you. Tell me what you want and I'll back off."

Karen bit her lip and managed not to say what she was thinking. "That's very nice of you. Right now I'm so confused I couldn't tell you exactly."

He laughed soundlessly, baring his teeth and throwing his head back. "I don't blame you for suspecting my motives. They are