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

work had made only a small island. In a low voice, as if talking to herself, she said, "I wonder if I've been on the wrong track all along."

Peggy refused to explain this enigmatic statement, and Karen did not press her. At that moment she was more interested in basic creature comforts, such as food and drink, cold showers and a flat surface on which to recline. Even Bill shook off his macho image long enough to mutter, "If this is what constitutes historical research I'm glad I took up literature instead."

"So you're not volunteering to join the archaeological dig?" Peggy inquired. Fatigue had not affected the panache with which she drove; Bill cringed as she made a wide, shrieking turn onto the highway, but replied, "The stone house, you mean? Wild horses couldn't keep me away. Or wild dogs."

Karen declined Simon's invitation to lunch, so they dropped her at the apartment.

"I'll call you later," Peggy said. "We'll worry about your car tomorrow, okay?"

Her recalcitrant vehicle was the farthest thing from Karen's mind just then. She was not so far gone that she forgot to retrieve the briefcase from Peggy's trunk, however.

After a shower and a late lunch she felt better. Her food supplies were low; Joan had made vast inroads on them. Damn the damn car; she'd have to ask Peggy to take her shopping. And how was she going to locate a mechanic who wouldn't take advantage of a woman and a stranger? Cameron was the obvious person to ask, but there was no way she could reach him if he was working at the house. Lisa would probably give her the name of the most rapacious mechanic in town, out of spite. After a moment of cogitation she reached for the limp, dog-eared telephone book and dialed.

Tanya sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her, and she was able to recommend a garage. "They've managed to keep me on the road, and believe me, that's no small feat. Sorry to hear you're having problems. If you need a lift—"

"I don't think so. But thanks for the offer."

A warm contralto laugh preceded Tanya's reply. "I owe you one, lady. You gave me one of the best hours of my life last week. The whole town's talking about it."

"So I hear," Karen said wryly.

"Mrs. F. giving you a hard time?"

"Trying to. She called me a trollop."

"Oh, God, really? How wonderful."

Under the gurgle of her laughter Karen heard a soft click, as if Tanya had let the telephone knock against some other object.

"Also a brazen hussy ... a disgrace to the name of woman ..." It was funny now. She could hear Tanya giggling uncontrollably. "Wanton, lewd, filthy-minded . . . And of course ill-bred, rude and crude."

"You've got to let me buy you a drink sometime."

"Aren't you afraid of guilt by association?"

"There is that." Tanya sobered. "She could get me fired."

"You're kidding."

"Unfortunately, I'm not. The old biddy wields a lot of power in this town. There's nothing she can do to you, though."

"I've been called worse things than trollop," Karen agreed, laughing. "I'll take a rain check on that drink—until it's safe. Maybe after I finish this part of the project."

"How's it going?"

"I've made progress in some areas; very little in others."

"You ought to talk to my mama sometime."

"Your mother? Why?"

"She's worked for the Cartrights off and on for fifty years. And her mama before her. Knows a lot of stories."

"I would like to talk to her," Karen said. "Does she live here?"

"Uh-huh. She takes care of old Miz Hayes. Cameron's mama."

"I didn't know that. When can I—"

"Gotta go," Tanya interrupted. "One of the trustees just walked in. I'll be in touch."

"Ditto. And thanks again."

Karen repeated the conversation to Peggy when she turned up later that afternoon. "I called the garage; they said if it is a rod, I shouldn't risk driving it. They'll send a tow truck around in the morning. Do you want to meet Tanya's mother?"

"Definitely." Peggy stubbed out one cigarette in the chipped saucer Karen had supplied as an ashtray and lit another. "We're running out of sources, Karen. Joan may have hit it on the head when she suggested pursuing oral tradition. The old lady could be a mine of information."

"She needn't be that old. Tanya can't be more than thirty."

"If she's a local girl her family has probably been working for the Cartrights for generations. Free and slave," Peggy added.

"I thought of that, but I didn't want to ask. What did you mean this afternoon when you said you'd been on the wrong track?"

"Just an amorphous idea." Peggy lit another cigarette. "I haven't got it quite clear in my head yet. We're having dinner with Simon, by the way. If you're ready, we can have a drink in the bar before we meet him."

"All right." Karen gathered up the pages of manuscript and notes.

"That thing is getting to be a damned nuisance," Peggy said, watching her stuff the papers into the briefcase. "We really ought to figure out some safe place to leave it instead of hauling it everywhere we go."

"Anyplace safe is also inaccessible. I can't go running off to a bank every time I want to work on it."

Peggy drove slowly as they drove past the house. "No sign of Mrs. F. Doesn't she usually sit on the front porch this time of day?"

"She's probably afraid the mere sight of me will contaminate her."

"Not likely. I'll bet she watches you day and night from behind the curtains, hoping she'll catch you doing something . . . What's the matter?"

"My God," Karen exclaimed. "It never occurred to me till this minute. That funny click I heard when I was talking to Tanya—do you suppose my telephone is an extension of the one in the main house?"

"It never occurred to me either, but I guess it's possible." Peggy pondered. "She's the sort that would feel she was justified in keeping tabs on her tenants."

"But how would she know when I made or received a