"Is this going to be the same? I know you said some pages seem to be missing, but maybe it's only a few. Come on, don't tell me you haven't cheated and looked ahead."
"I peeked," Karen admitted. "The last page ends in mid-sentence; it seems to be a description of some damned rose garden. This isn't a typical murder mystery, where the explanation is left till the last chapter, so I'm hoping Ismene tied up most of the loose ends earlier and that the missing pages contained only unimportant moralizing. But I won't know till I've read the whole thing."
"Maybe you ought to stay with it, Karen. I can take pictures and supervise the workmen."
"The manuscript can wait. I'll have to go over it again and again anyhow. We may not have access to Amberley much longer."
"Especially after what we did yesterday." Peggy scribbled her name on the check and pushed her chair away from the table. "Not that we intended to misbehave; we were properly invited and had no reason to think Cameron would resent our being there."
"I suppose I might have suspected he would," Karen said slowly. "He never invited me to his home or gave me the address—only a phone number. He's made it clear from the beginning that our relationship was strictly business."
"Hmmm. Are you sure you didn't miss a cue here and there? I'm not criticizing, mind you, it's none of my business how you feel about him, but he's awfully thin-skinned; the slightest hint of rejection and he pulls back into his shell."
"I tried to be friendly," Karen protested. "He never—" She broke off in some confusion, remembering at least two occasions when Cameron had. "Anyhow," she went on, "he has nothing more to sell. From now on we're not potential buyers, we're damned nuisances. He'll be happy to see the last of us."
Cameron certainly did not appear happy to see them that morning. The man who followed him out of the house was a stranger to Karen, but she knew who, or what, he must be.
Cameron was wearing a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase. He greeted them with a frown and a curt "I didn't expect you so early. Your crew won't be here for another hour."
"That's okay," Peggy said, deliberately misinterpreting this speech as an apology. "We wanted to take some pictures before we start work."
She turned her bright innocent smile on the other man. "Sleek" was the word that came to Karen's mind—slick, well-groomed gray hair, expensive tailoring, a smooth pink face. "Good morning," she cooed. "We won't be in your way, I promise. Just ignore us."
"Not at all, ladies" was the affable if meaningless reply. His eyes went over them with a curious absence of expression; Karen realized he was seeing them not as women or even human beings, but as potential business rivals.
Peggy said nothing to dispel this impression. Names were exchanged and hands were shaken, and then they excused themselves, leaving the men to talk.
"You were right," Peggy said sotto voce. "The guy's a developer if I ever saw one. I wonder what he's got in mind for the house. You could turn it into a conference center or bed and breakfast, I suppose, if you weren't sensitive to atmosphere. Me, I'd tear it down and start all over."
"Who gives a damn?" Karen demanded. "Honestly, Peggy, you can waste more time on—"
"Kitchen things," Peggy said, smiling. "Here, hold the light meter and the extra film. Where shall we start?"
They moved methodically from room to room. Karen was dreading the moment when they would reach the narrow stairs that led to the attic; she was determined not to shirk the job, but she wasn't anxious to repeat that experience. Luckily for her, Peggy was a finicky, fussy photographer; they were still on the first floor, in the library, when Cameron joined them.
"I'm driving Mr. Halston back to town," he announced. "The crew should be here anytime. Can you manage without me? I should be back in an hour or two."
"No problem," Karen said. She was dying to know whether Cameron had made his sale, but didn't like to ask.
Peggy was less inhibited. "Is he going to buy the place?"
Cameron's face mirrored his feelings—exasperation, reflection, and finally reluctant amusement. "There are a few details left to work out. Excuse me, I don't want to keep him waiting."
"I don't know how you get away with it," Karen said after he had marched out.
"It's my age. Old ladies are expected to be nosy, and in this part of the world at least, people don't hit grandmas. If we hurry we can finish the library before the men get here."
They were sitting on the front steps when a car pulled up. Karen had forgotten Bill Meyer was to be part of the work crew but she discovered, somewhat to her surprise, that she was glad to see him—or at least not sorry to see him. His scraped face still looked awful, but it seemed to be healing.
"Not even a singed curl," he said, looking her over with an expression that contradicted his light tone.
"I told you she was fine," Peggy said.
He dropped down onto the step next to Karen. "I went by the place this morning," he said soberly. "How you ever managed . . . I guess you'd rather not talk about it."
"I don't see any point in talking about it. But it was nice of you to call yesterday."
"Nice, hell. You're making me very nervous, Karen. Try not to get mashed by falling rocks or bitten by a poisonous snake today, will you?"
"We'll let you boys do the dirty work," Peggy said. "This must be them. Or should I, in the presence of two English teachers, say 'they'?"
The noun fit the other
