Barbara Michaels - Shattered Silk

"Yes, you did. And with good reason. He was a two-timing, cheap bastard." A single tear rolled down Julie's cheek, trailing a black slime of mascara. It was an obscenely pitiful sight, all the more so because Julie's frozen look did not alter and she made no attempt to wipe her face.

"I'm sorry," Karen repeated-but this time she meant it. "I didn't realize you were-that you had-"

"I wasn't," Julie said. "But I had." A ghost of her old mocking smile touched her lips. "Along with half the other female inhabitants of D.C. and suburbs. Maybe some of the males too. Oh, hell." She got up from her chair and went to the mirror. "What a mess," she said in a more normal voice, and reached for a tissue.

"Is there something special you want me to do?" Karen asked. She couldn't offer conventional expressions of sympathy; Julie's behavior, and her relationship with Rob, were not conventional.

Julie dabbed carefully at her eyes and replied, without turning, "There's plenty to do. I'm closing for a week, maybe two. My nerves are shot to hell. And with nobody to help me…"

The complaint was an echo of Julie's old maliciousness, aimed directly at Karen; but Julie's heart wasn't really in it, and Karen did not react.

"I think that's a good idea," she said. "You need a rest. August is always slow, a lot of places close then."

"Here comes a customer," Julie said. "Take care of him. I have a lot of paperwork to clear up."

She spent most of the afternoon in the office. Karen didn't disturb her; the fine weather had brought shoppers out in large numbers and she was kept busy. One woman who had bought a Victorian nightgown from her came back, bringing a friend, and was disappointed to find Karen had nothing on hand. Karen took down her name and address and promised to notify her when she was open for business. She realized she should have started a mailing list earlier. Perhaps Julie would let her display her cards and brochures-in return for favors rendered, of course. She knew Julie's present mood was temporary; she would bounce back, bitchy and greedy as ever, after the initial shock had worn off.

The telephone kept Karen busy too. Most of the calls were inquiries she could handle herself; a few she passed on to Julie. Late in the afternoon came a call for Karen herself. With typical arrogance Shreve did not identify herself. She assumed-correctly-that Karen would recognize her voice.

"I called the house," she announced. "That woman-your partner?-said you were at work."

"That's no woman, that's Mark's sister," Karen said. "She is my partner, yes."

"Oh. You don't like to be alone, do you? Always someone hanging around."

Karen suppressed her irritation. Everything Shreve said had a heavy current of innuendo. It must be a Washington habit; even "hello" could be made to sound sinister or suggestive.

"Well, you know how it is," she said meaninglessly. "What can I do for you, Shreve?"

"We've discussed it before."

"A dress for the party?"

"The dress, yes. I'm getting tired of being put off, Karen. When can I have it?"

Karen hesitated. She knew she was being silly, behaving like a nervous mother watching a favorite child leave home for the first time, but she really hated seeing one of the beautiful old dresses go to Shreve.

Since it must be done, let it be done quickly. She said, "They've been cleaned. If you're that anxious, you can come to the house tomorrow."

"I'm going out of town. What about Tuesday?"

"All right."

"I'll be back Tuesday morning. Come about three. Do you know how to get to the house?"

"No. Why can't you-"

"Because I choose not to. Because I'm buying and you're selling. It's the good old free enterprise system- remember?"

Karen discovered she was squeezing the hard plastic of the telephone so hard her hand ached. Carefully she relaxed her fingers, one by one. Rude customers are part of the deal, she told herself. Rude customers are part of the deal…

There was some comfort in the thought that Shreve wouldn't crack the whip quite so hard if she were not angry about something else. Mark hadn't liked her overt demonstration of possessiveness the other night.

Stop it, she told herself. You're pathetic. Like a teenager with her first crush, finding signs of hope in every careless word.

"Are you writing this down?" Shreve demanded.

"Sorry. I was thinking about something else. Give it to me again."

After she had hung up she sat quietly for a moment, clenching and unclenching her fists and counting under her breath. When she looked up, she saw that Julie had come into the shop and was watching her. "Was that Shreve?"

"Yes. She wants a dress for some party Miriam is giving."

"Watch out for her," Julie said. "She can be a real bitch."

"I know. But thanks for the warning."

"She and Mark," Julie began. Karen felt her face stiffen. She met Julie's look with one of cool disinterest, and after a moment Julie turned away. "It's almost closing time. I want to pack some of the smaller things, there's no sense in leaving them lying around. Give me a hand, will you?"

They filled several cartons with jewelry, silver, and the more valuable pieces of crystal, and stacked them by the door.

"That's it, I guess," Julie said. She looked so tired and forlorn, Karen put an impulsive arm around her. Julie flinched, as if her touch had been red-hot.

"I'm sorry," Karen said in surprise.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm just so damned jumpy." She hesitated, then said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to give you a hard time, all these weeks. You've been a big help."

Karen knew that was all the thanks she was going to get. It was, in fact, more than she had expected. "I wasn't easy to get along with either," she said. "If you still need help after you get back…" Cheryl would kill her if she heard that, but Karen did not retract the offer.

"That's okay. I have somebody lined up to start the middle of August. I'll-uh-keep in touch."

"Please do." Karen reached in her pocket. "Here are the keys."

"Right." The pause prolonged itself, became uncomfortable. Then Julie muttered, "I suppose you want your paycheck."

"If you hadn't mentioned it I would have asked," Karen said calmly.

"I think you would have at that. Oh, well." Julie went to the desk and scribbled rapidly. "Don't deposit it till Wednesday, okay? My cash flow…"

"Sounds familiar."

"It will sound even more familiar once you're in business," Julie said. "I wish you luck. Here's a number where I can be reached in an emergency; I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know about future murders, break-ins, muggings, and little things like that."

"Let's hope there won't be any." Karen was standing by the table; idly she glanced down. "I see you sold out on the Georgetown book."

"I threw it in the trash." Julie came to the door. "Here."

Karen took the check and the paper on which Julie had written the telephone number. "You threw the books away?"

The surprise in her voice brought a sour smile to Julie's lips. "Yeah, imagine me throwing away money. I couldn't stand the sight of the damned things. You knew. You must have figured it out."

Until that moment Karen had not known, and yet she felt as if Julie were only confirming some long-accepted fact. "Rob wrote it?"

"Yes. To me it stood out like a sore thumb, his writing style was so much like the way he talked. I suppose it's stupid of me, but when I first heard about his death I couldn't help wondering…"

"That is silly, Julie," Karen said. "Tony… Someone I know told me that nothing in the book was new. All the information came from newspapers and other printed sources. I did hear that people were annoyed at having old scandals revived; but what good would it do them to kill the author? That wouldn't stop the gossip, it would only exacerbate it."