"Follow him." Peggy's eyes gleamed.
"I can't!"
"What were you planning to do, grab his briefcase and run? He's looking for a cab," Peggy went on, as the tall figure with the good shoulders and nice healthy head of dark hair glanced up and down the street. "He won't find one in a hurry on a day like this. For God's sake, don't just stand there! Get to your car. Here, take my hat. We'll meet at the Sheraton. The first one to arrive books a room."
She tugged the hat down over Karen's forehead and gave her a shove.
"Is that him?" Dennis called. The other customers at the bar turned interested faces toward them. Karen decided it was time to go ... somewhere. Anywhere.
Face averted, she hurried toward her car. Meyer didn't notice her, he was too intent on flagging down a taxi. He was still standing in front of the bookstore, a look of exasperation tightening his long, thin face, when she drove onto Charles Street. She found an open space in the next block and pulled into the curb, ignoring the signs that prohibited parking, standing, and every other vehicular activity, and sat staring fixedly into the rearview mirror until Meyer finally succeeded in capturing a cab. After it had passed, she pulled out and followed it.
Meyer's ensuing activities gave her ample time to regret the insane impulse that had prompted her to fly into such frustrating and futile activity. She collected one ticket and a lot of invective from other drivers; there must be some trick to the business of following a suspect, and it was one she had yet to learn. Meyer visited two other bookstores and an antique shop before he ended up at a downtown hotel. When he paid off his cab at the door of the Holiday Inn, she decided the time had come to abandon him. He was not carrying a suitcase; he must have checked in and left his luggage earlier.
Which is what she should have done, Karen realized. She was in luck, however; the clerk at the Sheraton graciously admitted he had a room available. No, Dr. Finneyfrock had not checked in.
Karen cooled her heels for another half hour before Peggy appeared— long enough to arouse a considerable degree of apprehension on her friend's behalf. Peggy ought to have been there before her. Wild visions flooded Karen's imagination: Peggy getting happily drunk with Dennis, Peggy mugged and beaten as she tried to find a taxi, Peggy under arrest for lurking . . . When she heard the sound of a key in the lock, she flew to the door.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Peggy was wearing the rainbonnet. The balloons had run; pink streaks ran down her weathered cheeks. She yanked it off, dropped her coat, overnight bag and purse onto the floor, and collapsed onto a chair. Pushing her straggling hair away from her face, she grinned at Karen.
"Having tea with Simon. Is that a liquor cabinet I see before me? Thank God. Break out a bottle—I don't care what it is, so long as it's alcoholic. I need a drink."
"Having tea with ..."
With a martyred sigh Peggy heaved herself to her feet. "You don't even have any ice. That's the first thing you do after you check in, get ice. Here." She shoved the plastic bucket into Karen's limp grasp. "The ice machine's next to the elevator."
When Karen returned, Peggy had invaded the cabinet and opened a bottle. Settling herself, she began her narrative, recapitulating, as any trained lecturer would do: "Having tea with Simon. He caught me in flagrante. Like the gent he is, he invited me in instead of calling the cops. Or the men in the white coats."
"I think I need a drink," Karen muttered, acting upon the idea. "Tell me."
"Well, after you left, it occurred to me that I didn't know any of the other suspects, so I decided I would take pictures of everyone who went into the shop." Peggy hooked another chair with her toes and pulled it close, so she could use it as a footstool. "I had to go outside and stand in the doorway, of course. I hadn't been there ten minutes when Simon opened his door and headed straight across the street toward me. He was carrying an umbrella, which he politely offered me, if I was determined to stand there in the rain, but he suggested that I might prefer a more comfortable and convenient ambience. Naturally, I accepted the invitation."
"Did he know we were in the bar?"
"So he claimed." Peggy sipped her Scotch with obvious relish. "He wasn't about to invite us in while his customers were there. Meyer was the last."
"You were with Simon for over two hours? How could you leave me in suspense so long? I was beginning to worry about you."
"I couldn't tear myself away. The man's got a mind like a razor—and a sense of humor too. Of course he's a hopeless male chauvinist—not surprising, considering his age and his background—but I think I set him straight on—"
"I know Simon's opinions better than you do," Karen interrupted. "I'm really upset about this, Peggy. I spent two hours driving around in the rain, collecting tickets and making a fool of myself, while you were— uh—enjoying yourself with Simon."
"Flirting with Simon," Peggy corrected. "Not that I got anywhere. But it was entertaining. He's the first man I've met for ten years who was worth the trouble." Seeing Karen's expression, she laughed and shook her head. "Lighten up, Karen. Just because I like to kid around doesn't mean I don't take this seriously. The time I spent with Simon was very productive. He understands my interest in the historical aspects of the manuscript, and he has agreed to do us a big favor. He won't divulge the name of the original owner—quite properly, as I informed him— but he will forward a letter."
"I never thought of that,"
