6 Stone Barrington Novels (52 page)

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Authors: Stuart Woods

BOOK: 6 Stone Barrington Novels
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“Then how will you get in?”
“I have a key,” she said smugly, “and I know how to use it.”
“Fear not—you've rendered me incapable with another woman. I'm not sure I can walk.”
“Don't walk, eat,” she said, stuffing a croissant into his mouth. She walked to the door, then turned back. “You're going to need your strength,” she said. “See you tonight.”
Stone bit off a bite of the croissant and lay back on the bed, chewing.
 
At midmorning, showered, shaved and dressed, Stone ventured out of his cabin and found Liz Harding sitting on an afterdeck sofa, reading a book about Palm Beach.
“Good morning,” he said. “Feeling better today?”
“Feeling safer,” she said, “since I'm here with you.” Her voice was kittenish.
“You're not here with me,” he said. “You're here with Thad.”
“But you'll protect me while he's gone.”
“Yes, but I'm not expecting anything untoward to happen. Are you?”
She closed her book and tossed it onto the coffee table. “I don't know anymore,” she said. “It took me a year after I left St. Marks before I began to relax, and the marriage to Winston before I felt really safe. But after last night . . .”
“It may just have been some teenaged vandal,” Stone said. “I wouldn't worry about it.”
“I hope you're right,” she replied. “Now, I want to do some shopping, and I don't think I'd feel safe unless you were with me.”
“All right, I'll tag along. Since I'm staying longer than I'd planned, I could probably use a few things myself.”
“I'll get my purse,” she said.
 
They found a parking spot on Worth Avenue and strolled slowly down the street. Stone glanced around occasionally, looking for anyone resembling Paul Manning. Liz had said he'd had a nose job, so Stone concentrated on tall men. Manning was at least six-three, he remembered. Everyone he saw was comfortingly short.
He sat in the husband's chair in a shop as Liz tried on dresses. He flipped idly through one of several Palm Beach magazines, which featured grinning people in lavish clothes, photographed at parties, and many shots of overdecorated interiors of huge houses. There were ads for Rolls-Royces and Ferraris and many for jewelry.
They went into the Polo Ralph Lauren shop, where Stone bought some extra underwear and socks, along with a spare cashmere sweater for the cool evenings he had not anticipated.
He followed Liz into a jewelry shop and looked at a Cartier Tank Francaise wristwatch, while she tried on a diamond bracelet.
“You like?” she asked, holding out her wrist.
“I like.”
“I like your watch, too.”
Stone gave it back to the saleslady. “It's beautiful, but . . .” The “but” was twenty grand, he thought.
Liz bought the bracelet, which came to nearly thirty thousand dollars, Stone noted. “I'll wear it for Thad, when he comes back,” she said.
“When is he coming back? He didn't tell me.”
“Tomorrow or the next day, depending on how his business goes.”
“Don't forget to call your insurance company to put the bracelet on your policy.”
“Thank you. I would have forgotten. I did call my bank about the settlement with the life insurance company. The funds will be wired to your bank today.”
“Good. I'd like to get that settled as soon as possible.”
“Me, too,” she said.
“I'll call my office when we get back to the yacht.” As he spoke, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, answering it. “Hello?”
“Hi, it's Joan.”
“How are things in the big city?”
“Running smoothly. The bank called. Mrs. Harding's money is in your trust account. You want me to complete the transaction with the insurance company?”
“Please.”
“I'll get the wire off now, and we should have a confirmation today, I expect.”
“Great. What else is happening?”
“One or two calls; I put them off. When are you coming back?”
“Thad Shames has asked me to stay on a few days. I'll let you know later in the week.”
“Okay. Remember, sunshine causes skin cancer.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” He punched off and turned to Liz. “The money's on its way to the insurance company.”
“Wonderful. Can I buy you lunch to celebrate? We can go back to Renato's.”
“Sure. I liked it there.”
 
They ate pasta and chatted. “Now that you're going to be a truly free woman, what are your plans?” he asked.
“Well, I think that depends on how it goes with Thad,” she said. “So far, so good. He's very sweet . . . and virile.” She smiled.
Stone laughed. “He'd have to be to keep up with you, as I recall.”
“We were quite something for a short time, weren't we?”
“I guess we were, at that.”
“You were the first man I'd slept with besides Paul for a very long time, and I found the experience, well, liberating.”
“I'm glad.”
“I have the distinct impression that you're liberating Callie Hodges, at the moment.”
“I didn't say that,” he blustered.
“You didn't have to. I took one look at her this morning—or rather she took one look at me—and I knew. She knows we slept together, doesn't she?”
Stone nodded and sipped his wine. “I thought it best to tell her.”
“You getting serious about this girl?”
“Too soon to say,” Stone said, uncomfortable.
She placed her hand on his. “I'm sorry to embarrass you, Stone. It's just that I think I envy her a little. Maybe more than a little.”
Stone didn't know what to say.
“But,” Liz said, “we must learn to be content with our lot, mustn't we? Lord knows, I have no complaints. I was just feeling a little greedy.”
“I'm flattered,” Stone said.
They walked back to the car, and as Stone opened the door for Liz, he noticed that the rear tire on the curb side had gone flat. He squatted and examined it. There was a large hole in the tread, too big a hole for a slow leak. It was as if somebody had plunged a knife into it.
Stone shrugged off his jacket and tossed it into the rear seat. “I'm afraid we've got a flat,” he said. “It'll just take a couple of minutes to change.”
“Why don't you call the Mercedes service people?” she asked. “They'll come and change it.”
“It'll only take a minute.” He opened the trunk and went to work. He thought about it as he cranked the jack. Was somebody really crazy enough to slash a tire in broad daylight in the middle of Worth Avenue?
17
S
TONE SPENT THE AFTERNOON READING, AND LATE IN THE day Joan Robertson called from New York.
“We've closed with the insurance company,” she said,
“and I've wired the funds. Want me to fax you a fully executed copy of the document?”
“Please,” Stone replied. “I expect Mrs. Harding would like to have it.”
“Right away.” She paused. “Stone?”
“Yes?”
“There's something I think I ought to mention. It seemed like nothing, really, but I just have a feeling . . .”
“What is it?”
“You've had some phone calls the last few days, from a man who wouldn't give his name.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to speak to you; then, when I told him you were away, he wanted to know where you were.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No, I felt uneasy about it. I just told him that I'd have you call him, but he wouldn't leave a number.”
“How did he sound?”
“Nice, at first, then insistent. He was very annoyed that I wouldn't tell him where you were.”
“And he wouldn't leave a number?”
“No, but I nailed him on caller ID. The first two times he called from the Brooke Hotel, on Park Avenue.”
“Did the readout give a room number?”
“No, just the phone number. I called it and got the hotel operator. Then, after that when he called, the caller ID didn't report a number, said it was outside the area or something.”
“When were the first phone calls?”
“Thursday and Friday.”
“Okay, if he calls back again, give him my cell phone number.”
“You sure? I have this creepy feeling.”
“I'm sure. He won't know where I am.”
“Okay.”
“Anything else?”
“Everything else seems normal,” she said.
“Talk to you later, then.” He hung up and thought about the calls for a few minutes, then he dialed the number of Bob Berman, an ex-cop who sometimes undertook investigative work for him, particularly work that Stone could pretend not to know about.
“Hello,” Bob said.
“Hi, it's Stone.”
“How you doing?”
“Pretty good. I'm in Florida at the moment.”
“You're just trying to hurt me, aren't you?”
“Yes. You up for some work?”
“Sure. What you got?”
“I've had a couple of phone calls that are worrying Joan. The first two came from the Brooke Hotel, on Park—she got that from caller ID. You know anybody at the Brooke? Maybe somebody in security, an ex-cop?”
“Nah, not a soul. You got a room number?”
“No.”
“Could the calls have come from a pay phone?”
“No, the number reported was the hotel's.”
“Would the guest list for that time help?”
“Maybe,” Stone said. “How hard would it be to get it?”
“I might be able to hack into their computer,” Bob replied. “Depends on how tough their security fire wall is. My guess is, if a travel agent can get in to check availability, I can get in. I know a guy at the phone company. He can give me a list of all their lines. Probably cost five hundred, though.”
“Spend the money,” Stone said. “At least I can see if there's a familiar name on the list.”
“What day did the guy call?”
“Thursday and Friday. I suppose the guest list for either day would do. See if you can get the home addresses of the guests, too.”
“I'm on it,” Bob said.
“Call me on my cell phone when you get something.”
“Will do.” Bob hung up.
Juanito appeared with an envelope. “A fax for you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
“Thank you, Juanito,” Stone said, accepting the envelope. He opened it to find the fully executed agreement with the insurance company.
“And you have a telephone call,” Juanito said, handing him a cordless phone.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dan Griggs, from the Palm Beach Police Department.”
“How are you, Chief?”
“Okay, I guess. I ran a check on this Paul Manning fellow. He's dead. He was hanged for murder on a Caribbean island called St. Marks a few years ago.”
“I'm sorry, Chief. I should have given you a heads up on that.”
“You knew he was dead?” The chief sounded annoyed.
“He's not dead. St. Marks is a small, independent nation with a strange justice system and a greedy prime minister. He was bought out.”
“Bought out of a hanging?”
“For half a million dollars.”
“I never heard of anything like that,” Griggs said.
“There are some places where it happens.”
“So you think we might have a murderer loose around here?”
“It's possible. I still don't have any concrete evidence of that, but if I come across any, I'll let you know.”
“How many people did he kill?”
“Three.”
“Well, I think I'd like to see him in my jail.”
“I'm afraid there's nothing to arrest him for, yet,” Stone said.
“Three murders isn't enough? Isn't there any evidence against him?”
“It happened in another country, and my guess is the evidence no longer exists. According to the record, he was tried, convicted and executed, so, in a legal sense, he's not only protected by the law on double jeopardy, he no longer exists.”
“Except he does.”
“He does.”
“You got a description of this man? I'd like to distribute it to my people.”
“Tall, six-three or -four, on the slender side when I knew him, although he used to be a lot heavier, I'm told. Hair could be any color. He had a prominent nose when I knew him, though he's apparently had a nose job, so I'm not sure I'd recognize him on sight.”

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