Rob left at two, reeking of some strong, supposedly sexy aftershave, and smirking in a way that made Karen want to throw something at him. Business was brisk. She didn't sell much, but the shop bell never stopped tinkling and she didn't have a moment to sit down. Finally, at around four, the traffic began to slow. The sunshine without was hazy with heat, and most people were heading for Happy Hour.

Karen had just collapsed into a chair when the telephone rang. Instead of reaching for it she eyed it warily; she was still smarting from the last call, from a dealer who had some urgent business with Julie-an appointment she had obviously forgotten, since she had said nothing about it. The dealer, not a well-bred man, had taken his ire out on Karen and she was in no mood for another such encounter.

However, the phone had to be answered. The voice that replied to her formal "Old things. May I help you?" was familiar.

"Karen? This is Cheryl. Mark's sister."

"Oh, hello."

"Hello. I just happened to be in… I mean, I was wondering… I thought maybe you'd like to go to dinner or a movie or something tonight. I know it's awfully short notice-"

"That's no problem," Karen said. "I'm not exactly the most sought-after female in Washington."

"That makes two of us. Anyway, we're not alone; what's the ratio of women to men in this town-three to one?"

"More like ten to one, I think."

"I guess it feels that way to lots of women," Cheryl agreed. "Look, you don't have to say yes just for politeness. If you had other plans-"

"To tell you the truth, I had planned to spend the evening washing and ironing clothes. Not exactly a wild and frivolous time."

"It sounds absolutely thrilling compared to what I was looking forward to."

"I suppose Mark is busy," Karen said. Just like Mark, she was thinking-bringing the poor girl here to cook and keep house for him while he goes to all those glamorous parties…

"He has to work tonight, the poor guy. I try to keep out of his way when he's preparing a speech or writing a bill, or whatever it is they do up there on the Hill. He wanders around the house talking to himself and running into the furniture-"

"Here comes a customer," Karen said, as the door opened. "Can I call you back?"

"Well, uh… I'm at a phone booth, actually, and…"

"Which just happens to be in the neighborhood?" Karen remembered Cheryl's first unfinished sentence. "Why don't you come to the shop and we'll decide what we want to do."

The customer was looking for antique jewelry. Karen displayed Julie's few pieces of Art Deco and Art Nouveau, and the customer, who was only interested in Victorian and Georgian jewelry, departed. The next person to enter was Cheryl. Karen realized she couldn't have been more than two blocks away when she called.

Her curls were limp with damp and her perspiring face shone like a mirror, but her smile would have cheered the most confirmed misogynist. You can't help being glad to see her, Karen thought; she's so openly glad to see you.

"Boy, it's hot out there," Cheryl announced, with the air of someone who has just made a new scientific discovery. "Are you all alone? Where's your assistant?"

"It's a moot point as to who is assisting whom, or if anybody is assisting anybody," Karen said.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, not really, I'm just in a bitchy mood. This is my first day without Julie and Rob decided to take the afternoon off. I guess I'm a little nervous. It's a big responsibility."

"Good experience, though," Cheryl said. "For running your own place."

"It's teaching me what not to do, at any rate. All this clutter and confusion isn't my style. It's too hard to keep track of things and people."

"Do you have much shoplifting?" Cheryl sounded as if she were genuinely interested.

That was all Karen needed. She didn't stop talking until she was interrupted by another customer, and after she had dealt with him she was surprised to see that it was after five.

"We haven't even discussed what we're going to do this evening," she said, adding apologetically, "I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation. It's just that I have so much to do and it's on my mind all the time-"

"And it's so fascinating!" Cheryl said enthusiastically.

"I wouldn't say that." Karen began the complicated process of closing up. "The clothes themselves are fun, I love that part of it, but when I think about finding the right location and getting more stock and all the business end… I guess that's it. We can go now."

"What computer system are you going to get?" Cheryl asked, helping Karen pull the grille across the door.

"Oh, God, don't mention computers! I'm going to start with a few old-fashioned ledgers. Maybe I can deal with them, I know I can't learn how to handle a computer."

"But that's-" Cheryl stopped suddenly.

"All set," Karen announced, dropping the keys into her purse. "I have to go home to check on the dog anyway; why don't we have a drink there and discuss our plans?"

They never did discuss plans for the evening; they didn't get to a movie or even to a restaurant. By the time they reached the house Karen was talking nonstop, her half-formulated plans and unexpressed worries pouring out in a verbal flood. Missing Mrs. MacDougal for her laughter and her companionship and her support, she had not realized how much she also missed a sounding board for new ideas. Cheryl was a perfect audience, asking an occasional question at just the right moment.

Alexander was waiting at the door, and not until she actually saw his featureless furry face did Karen remember she had failed to warn Cheryl of his habits. She tried to grab him as he charged, missed as she always did; cried out in warning--

Cheryl's lifted foot caught Alexander square in the chest and tipped him gently onto his backside. For a moment he balanced, paws flailing in the air, jaws still moving; then he toppled over backward.

"I didn't kick him," Cheryl said earnestly. "He just ran into my foot; he isn't hurt."

"Only his dignity," Karen said, laughing as Alexander rolled over and strolled away. "Serves him right. He's not my dog, I was conned into keeping him for a friend."

"Mrs. MacDougal?"

"Why yes. How did you know?"

"She's a friend of Mark's. I've met her a couple of times; she's a sweetheart. Say, what's this story about her car being stolen?"

So it might well have been Mark she had seen at the airport, saying good-by. With red roses, yet…

Karen explained about the Rolls as they trailed an aloof Alexander to the kitchen and tended to his needs. She found that Cheryl already knew the details, for Mark had called the lawyer that morning after seeing a paragraph in the newspaper.

"I don't think that lawyer appreciated having Mark call him," Cheryl said seriously. "I couldn't hear what he said, of course, but Mark answered him back in that cold, cutting way he has when he's mad. He said he never trusted that man-the chauffeur-and he wouldn't have hired him to look after a used Chevy, much less a car worth half a million bucks. I figure he must have been exaggerating, don't you? How could any car be worth that much?"

"He may have exaggerated, I don't know about such things; but it was valuable-custom-built, and very expensive to begin with."

"You saw the guy, didn't you? Did he look like a crook?"

Karen was not anxious to discuss Horton, but the naive question made her laugh. "Crooks come in all shapes and sizes. Horton was definitely a large size. Handsome, if you like bulging muscles and wet red lips and fleshy cheeks…"

"Which you obviously don't. Did he say anything-do anything-unusual?"

"He didn't make a pass at me, if that's what you mean." Karen knew that was what she meant, but she wondered what had prompted Cheryl to ask. Was it possible that Mark… No, it wouldn't have occurred to him to worry about something like that. He was only concerned about the car.