"You needn't go on. It would be the most sensible course."
"Are we going to do it?"
Karen swung around to face her. "I wouldn't be here this morning if two things hadn't happened. First, an irrational premonition that prompted me to buy that rope ladder. Second, a dream that woke me in the nick of time. That's not a figure of speech, Peggy. The smoke in the bedroom was so thick I could hardly breathe. Another minute and I'd have been unconscious."
Peggy rolled her eyes, clutched her head with both hands, sputtered, and finally managed to speak. "I had a feeling you were going to say something like that. It's partly my fault. I should have slapped you down when you started talking about cold spots and premonitions and Screaming Ladies. Speculating about such things is entertaining; I've always had a halfhearted, shame-faced desire to believe in them. But wishing don't make it so, Karen. You're losing your objectivity in your sympathy for Ismene. You're seeing her as you want to see her. And if you're counting on her to warn you—"
"I'm not. I'm counting on your skepticism and good sense to keep me from going off the deep end. That's why I told you about the dream. I know I've allowed myself to become too emotionally involved in this business."
"Oh." Peggy sat back. "Then you're willing to do as Simon suggested?"
"Not yet." Peggy's lips parted; before she could speak Karen went on, "Simon made a good case, but he's allowing emotional considerations to affect his judgment too. So are you. You're both worried about me— with insufficient cause, in my opinion. Now just stop and think, Peggy. These last two incidents have been accidents, pure and simple. They can't have been anything else. Our original reasoning still holds. I don't present a threat to anyone and I possess nothing anyone else wants except the manuscript—and I don't even own it! It belongs to you. That fire would have destroyed the only accessible copy."
"Uh." Peggy looked horrified. "I hadn't thought of it that way ..."
"Had you thought of this?" Karen leaned forward, eyes intent. "Cameron said he had a potential buyer. Once the house is sold we may not have access to it. A new owner may demolish all or part of it, clear the woods for building sites, bulldoze that pile of stones. We can't count on Cameron's continued cooperation either. He doesn't owe us anything. Suppose he decides he doesn't want us hanging around? We've got to finish the job before we leave. We may not have another chance. At the very least we ought to take a few rolls of pictures. Well?"
Peggy sighed. "Your logic is irrefutable."
"Then you agree?"
"I have to agree. The only counterarguments I can produce are irrational. But I don't have to like it."
Having agreed, Peggy flew into action, as if she were determined to finish the business as quickly as possible. Shopping occupied the rest of the morning, in spite of Karen's determination to buy only the bare essentials. It was a relief to get into clothes that fit; Peggy's pants were six inches too short and several inches too large elsewhere, and her sandals left Karen's toes protruding painfully. When she could walk without limping she raced up and down the aisles tossing articles into the shopping cart and envying her primitive ancestors for the simplicity of their needs. On the other hand, as Peggy pointed out when she expressed this opinion, if your sole article of clothing was a bearskin, you had to catch, kill and skin the bear first. Time-consuming, to say the least.
"Now what?" Karen asked, after they had stowed two large bags of bare essentials away in Peggy's car and were recuperating with coffee and sandwiches.
"I made a list." Peggy extracted it from her purse. "We're going to go about this methodically for a change."
She handed the paper to Karen. "Family Bible," the latter read. "You still believe there is one?"
"I intend to find out for certain one way or the other. When I talked to Lisa this morning I told her it was time to put up or shut up—that we were leaving town in a few days and probably wouldn't be back."
"What did she say?"
"Just what I expected. She'd have another look around and see if she had overlooked anything."
"Okay. Number two: talk with Mrs. Madison. Who's Mrs. Madison?"
"Tanya's mother. I told you, she called this morning—Tanya, not her mother—to ask if you were all right and was there anything she could do."
"How did she know I was at the motel?" Karen asked, momentarily distracted.
"My dear girl, everyone in town knows you're at the motel. They probably know every grisly detail, including a few that never happened. The fire was undoubtedly the main topic of conversation this morning."
"Oh. What do you hope to get from Mrs. Madison?"
"One never knows."
"All right, be mysterious." Karen glanced at the paper. "Number three: take photographs. You brought your camera?"
"Yes. I had planned to take photographs of the house anyway. I bought some extra film this morning."
"Do you want to do it this afternoon?"
"Tomorrow. I told Cameron to have the workers there—"
She broke off, looking as if she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth.
"So," Karen said gently, "you told Cameron we'd be there tomorrow.
I suppose we are calling on Mrs. Madison this afternoon? You made those appointments—you told Lisa we'd be around for a few days—and yet this morning you tried to talk me into leaving immediately."
"I made you an offer," Peggy corrected. "It had to be your decision. I wouldn't have blamed you for getting cold feet. Are you sure you want to go ahead with ..."
Karen's eyes returned to the list. "Number four: investigate the stone house. Of course I want to go ahead with
