It was probably the sort of case Mark would relish if Cheryl were not involved. He had undoubtedly tried to talk her out of staying in a house where so many peculiar, possibly threatening, things had happened. He had failed, of course. Cheryl was as stubborn as she was loyal. What else could Mark do but take all possible steps to protect his sister?

I shouldn't let her do it, Karen thought. But how can I prevent her? Especially when I don't want to prevent her.

KAREN closed a few minutes after five, practically pushing a last lingering customer out the door. The woman had been in the shop for half an hour and obviously had no intention of buying anything; she was just killing time. Cheryl wasn't at the house when Karen got there, but she arrived soon afterward, by cab, with several suitcases.

"I left the car for Mark," she explained. "He said he'd pick us up about six-thirty."

While she waited, Karen had tried to summon up courage enough to tell Cheryl she had changed her mind. Though she paced up and down rehearsing different approaches, she couldn't find one that sounded convincing. If she denied being afraid, Cheryl would tell her she ought to be. If she admitted she was terrified at the idea of staying alone, Cheryl would be all the more determined to stick to her side. And she couldn't bring herself to admit the truth-that she did not want to be obligated, even indirectly, to a man who had been forced, against his will and his wishes, into the conventional role of male protector by her friendship with his sister. He might even think she had encouraged that friendship in order to see more of him.

She had not decided how to tackle the subject when Cheryl arrived, but it didn't matter; Cheryl never gave her a chance to introduce it. She talked steadily while they showered and dressed, with only a few brief interruptions as she dashed in and out of the bathroom. "… the one in Poolesville is kind of cute. Cheap, too. But it needs a lot of work, and I think we'd be better off in an area that already has some craft and antique shops. Not New Market or Alexandria, rents are too high, but maybe Kensington or Falls Church. Suppose we try Virginia tomorrow. There's a town in Prince William County…"

Karen gave up-at least for the present. She decided defiantly that she might as well enjoy her evening out, a rare chance to wear pretty clothes and dine at a nice restaurant with two good-looking men. Even if both of them were more interested in burglars than in her.

It had been Cheryl's idea that they model some of their merchandise. "We should always do that when we go out, Karen, especially to someplace fancy. I told Mark he had to pick the best restaurant in town."

Karen had agreed, primarily because she had nothing else suitable. Never again would she appear in public wearing the disastrous silk dress Jack had called homemade. If she could ever afford a cleaning woman, she would emulate Mrs. Mac and give the dress away.

She had selected a dress from the thirties that hung straight from the shoulders to the irregular, calf-length hemline. Its chiffon skirts were frosted with overlapping rows of black sequins and tiny rhinestones. She was struggling with the snap fasteners along the side when Cheryl came in.

"Oh, Karen, you look sensational! Here, let me do that."

While Cheryl coped with the snaps, Karen studied her reflection in the mirror. It was certainly a considerable improvement over the one she had seen a few weeks earlier. She looked thinner, but that might be the dress; black is notoriously slimming. The greatest change was in her expression-lips curved and cheeks flushed with laughter at Cheryl's breathless compliment. The shadow girl was laughing too; but now there was no mockery in her smile.

"Don't you think the dress is too stagy?" Karen asked doubtfully.

"You can look at me and say that?" Cheryl struck a pose. She was wearing a strapless fifties prom dress with a bouffant net skirt, in which she looked no more than eighteen. "Anyhow," she went on, "that's just how we want to look. Eye-catching. Stand up straight. Throw your shoulders back. That's better."

Mark arrived promptly at six-thirty, wearing a conservative dark suit and tie. After explaining that Tony had been delayed and would meet them at the restaurant, he examined his sister and broke into rude, uninhibited laughter. "What are you supposed to be, the sweetheart of Sigma Chi?"

"Sneer all you want," said Cheryl, unperturbed. "Do I look cute or don't I?"

"You look sweet sixteen and ready to be kissed. If that's a compliment…"

"Now tell Karen how gorgeous she is."

Karen stiffened self-consciously as Mark gave her the same careful inspection he had given Cheryl. "She's beautiful. Even more beautiful than…" He checked himself and then went on smoothly, "… than Mrs. Mac when she wore that dress. Ever see pictures of her when she was young? You wouldn't call her beautiful, but she was a knockout in her own way."

He turned away to help his sister with her wrap. The quintessential politician, Karen thought sourly. The compliment hadn't ended the way she expected; she only hoped her expression had not betrayed her feelings. She wondered how he had known the dress was one of Mrs. MacDougal's. It was hardly likely that she had shown it to him. Perhaps she had worn it in one of the pictures he had mentioned. Or perhaps he had simply assumed it had been hers, after hearing Cheryl chatter about Mrs. Mac's designer dresses.

The restaurant was new to Karen-not surprisingly, since fads in eating places came and went in Washington-but Cheryl nodded approvingly. "Good choice, my boy. It's one of the 'in' places. We'll be seen by everybody who is anybody. Too bad we don't have our cards printed, Karen, we could pass them out to people."

"That would be just dandy for my image," said Mark. "I've got trouble enough being seen in public with somebody who looks like Debbie Reynolds."

They did attract a few stares as the headwaiter led them to a table. Its position was indicative of Mark's status as a fledgling Congressman-not one of the cozy banquettes that were reserved for real celebrities, but in a location where they could see and be seen.

"We may as well order," Mark said, after they had been seated. "No sense waiting for Tony; he never knows when he can get away."

"I suppose he's stuck with another murder," Cheryl said.

"Murder?" Karen repeated. "Let's hope it's just a nice harmless breaking and entering."

"No, it would be murder," Cheryl said absently, her attention fixed on the menu. "That's Tony's job-homicide."

Karen was content to drop the subject.

Cheryl did most of the talking. Descriptions of the properties she had inspected carried them through the cocktails, and she had just launched into an animated lecture on bookkeeping methods when the appetizers arrived. She stopped talking and inspected her oysters on the half shell with visible disgust.

"I don't know why you order oysters when you hate them," Mark said, spearing one and swallowing it.

"They're classy. Besides, this way you can eat twice as many. Look-isn't that the TV announcer-Channel 4-I forget his name-"

"Quit staring," Mark ordered. "That definitely is not classy."

"Someone's waving at you," Cheryl said delightedly. "I can't see who… Oh!"

The sudden change in her voice would have been amusing if she had not been so visibly embarrassed. Mark was not embarrassed-when had Mark ever been?-but the rising tide of color in his face betrayed his annoyance with his sister-not because she had pointed Shreve out, but because her exaggerated reaction underlined a situation that could, and should, have been passed off as a casual social encounter.