"Dorothea didn't set the fire."
"Go ahead, astonish me," Karen said. "I suppose it wasn't Bobby either."
"I shall now proceed to force a confession from the culprit," Peggy announced, reaching for the phone. "And finish another little matter I promised myself I'd tend to before I left town."
After she had finished the conversation she turned a self-satisfied smile on Karen. "I thought she'd crumple under pressure. The woman's got no guts."
"You flat-out lied!" Karen exclaimed. "There was no witness. There couldn't have been!"
"She doesn't know that. She was blind drunk. To do the damned woman justice, she thought you weren't there. She was tucked up in bed boozing when I dropped you off, and your car wasn't in the garage." Peggy leaned back, smiling smugly. "I don't think she'll give Cameron any more trouble. Poor guy, he's had more than he deserves. You're sure you don't—"
"I'm sure," Karen said firmly.
Epilogue
The crimson rambler climbing the porch pillar was past its first exuberance of bloom, but a few flowers still shone satin-red among the emerald leaves. Peggy broke off in the middle of a sentence and dashed toward the plant. "Goddamn Japanese beetles!" she shouted, swatting wildly.
Karen pressed a sandaled foot against the porch floor and set the swing swaying. "Relax while you can," she said lazily. "Tomorrow is going to be hectic. How does the guest list stand at the last count?"
"I've lost track." Peggy returned to her chair. "Simon has more friends than anyone I've ever met, and he keeps inviting people without telling me. When I complain he says it doesn't matter, we've ordered enough food and champagne for a regiment anyhow."
"He's right about that. I just hope it doesn't rain so we have to move the ceremony inside."
"So do I. A few tears are appropriate for a wedding, but a maid of honor who is sneezing her head off and weeping copiously may not strike the proper note."
Karen laughed. "Only for you and Simon would I have made the supreme sacrifice of starting those allergy shots. They won't be fully effective for a while longer, though."
"You're a noble woman," Peggy said gravely. "But if you hadn't made the sacrifice, we'd have had to continue entertaining you on the front porch. It gets a little chilly in January."
Karen gave the swing another push. "So you're going to live here?"
"We're still arguing about that," Peggy said cheerfully. "I imagine that in the end we'll be here part of the time and at Simon's place part of the time, and part of the time he'll be there and I'll be here. We're both used to living alone and we both need periods of solitude."
The screen door opened. Simon came out and settled himself in the chair next to Peggy's. He didn't kiss her or take her hand, but the glances they exchanged brought an odd but pleasant lump to Karen's throat.
"Where's Cameron?" she asked, not so inconsequentially.
"He insisted on bringing the tray," Simon replied. "The man is unnaturally well-mannered, Karen. Can't you do something about that?"
"I'm working on it."
Peggy lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder. "So how's it going? Are you two—"
Simon's exclamation of protest blended with Karen's laughter. "Stop pushing, Peggy. I'm in no hurry, and neither is he. We've both got a lot of emotional baggage to get rid of before we make any decisions."
"How very cool and mature," Peggy said, wrinkling her nose. "All I was going to say was: Are you two having fun?"
"Oh, that." Karen smiled reminiscently. "I am, and I believe I am safe in stating that he—"
She broke off as Cameron backed through the door carrying a tray. Depositing it on the table, he reached for the bottle. "Shall I open it?"
"I'll do it," Simon said irritably. "Sit down and behave like a guest."
Cameron joined Karen on the swing and took one of her hands in his. Most of the cuts and scrapes had healed; Karen ran a caressing finger along one white scar.
"Champagne?" she asked, as the cork flew into the shrubbery. "Celebrating early, are we?"
"This is a celebration of quite another kind," Simon said, pouring. Cameron jumped up to take two of the glasses from him. Simon handed one to Peggy and then, still on his feet, raised his own glass. "To Ismene," he said solemnly. "May she rest in peace."
Cameron had brought the pathologist's report with him when he arrived that morning. It had taken a while to get it; antique bones did not have a high priority.
Peggy was the first to break the thoughtful silence. "Where are you going to put them—her?"
"In the old cemetery," Cameron said. "We can't be one hundred percent certain of the identification, of course, but it's good enough for me. I thought I'd put up a stone of some kind."
"Absolutely," Peggy said. "Can I suggest an epitaph? It won't be 'rest in peace.' That wasn't her style."
"What did you have in mind?" Simon asked apprehensively.
Peggy grinned at Karen, who grinned back. "Keep on talking," they said in chorus.
"She'll do that, certainly," Cameron said, after Simon's scandalized protests had died away. "How much of her story are you going to include in the introduction, Karen?"
She turned her head to look at him. He was frowning a little. "I wish I could say that's up to you, Cameron," she said gently. "But I can't. I have to tell the truth as I see it."
Cameron's frown deepened. "Of course. Did you think I was suggesting you falsify the facts to spare some sort of meaningless family pride? What kind of a pompous ass do you take me for?"
"I'm sorry," Karen began.
"I thought I'd never see the day!" Peggy exclaimed. "She's apologizing and he's talking back. Are you guys going to have a fight? Can I join in?"
"Depends on whose side you're on," Cameron said.
"Yours."
"Oh,
