by Stuart Woods
“Well, I think your plan for the day sounds good. I’ll join you, if that’s all right.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “By the way, do you need to rent a dinner jacket? I know a place.”
“Nope. I brought one, just in case.”
“Always prepared, aren’t you?” She finished off her omelette, took his plate, poured him a large mug of coffee and stood up. “I’ll get this stuff back to the galley, and I’ll see you on the afterdeck later.”
“Okay.” Stone watched her go, then he got up, showered, put on a swimsuit, grabbed a terry robe from the closet and walked back to the fantail. Callie was already stretched out on a chaise, wearing only her bikini bottom, reading.
“Hi, want something good to read?”
“Sure.”
She tossed him a book. “I just finished it. It’s great.”
Stone looked at the book: Tumult by Frederick James. “Oh, yes, I read some pages yesterday. Starts well.”
“Ends well, too. Enjoy.”
Stone read through the morning, broke for sandwiches and closed the book at five.
“Good?”
“Good.”
“Thad liked it, too. He had me send the author an invitation to the party tonight, but we never heard from him. I guess his publisher didn’t forward it.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get over to the house and brief the caterers,” she said. “I’ll see you at the party.”
“Think I’ll have a nap,” Stone said. He went back to his cabin and slept for half an hour, then he shaved, showered and dressed in Vance Calder’s ecru raw silk dinner jacket, a silk evening shirt and a black tie. He walked back to the house and through the central hallway, dodging frantic caterers and decorators, got into his borrowed Mercedes E430 convertible and drove into town. Shortly, he pulled up in front of Liz Harding’s house. He walked across the driveway, his evening shoes crunching on the pea gravel. The doorbell was set in an intercom box. He pressed it and it made a noise like a telephone ringing.
“Hello?”
“It’s Stone.”
“Oh, Stone. The door’s unlocked; let yourself in, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She clicked off, and Stone opened the door and walked into the house. It was quite beautiful, Queen Anne in style, not terribly large, but made of good materials—marble floors, walnut paneling, beautiful moldings. He found the living room and continued to explore, ending up in a handsome little library with many leather-bound volumes. A small bar had been set up on a butler’s tray, and he poured himself some chilled mineral water, then he wandered around the room. A collection of silver-framed photographs rested on the mantel, and Stone inspected them. They were all of Liz Harding with a handsome, silver-haired man, clearly Winston Harding, taken in various cities and on various beaches.
“He was handsome, wasn’t he?” she said.
Stone turned and found her standing in the doorway, wearing a white silk dress and a gorgeous diamond necklace, with matching earrings. Her hair was blond again.
“Yes, he was, and you are very beautiful,” Stone said.
She came and gave him a little hug, careful not to muss her makeup. “And so are you,” she said. “That’s the most beautiful dinner jacket I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you,” Stone replied. He decided to stop telling people that the clothes were Vance Calder’s, and to start taking credit himself.
“Would you like a drink before we go?” she asked.
“I think we’re already fashionably late,” he replied. “Why don’t we just go to the party?”
She took his arm, and he led her out to the car.
“Drive slowly,” she said. “The hair.”
“I like it blond.”
“So do I. It’s my natural color.”
“I remember.”
“Stone!” she said, laughing and blushing.
“That wasn’t what I meant, but I remember that, too.”
“You’re awful.”
“I know.”
“Still, we had some good times, didn’t we? You were getting over a girl, as I recall.”
“And you were helping.”
“I did what I could,” she said.
Stone drove slowly through the town and finally turned into the driveway of Thad Shames’s house. Or tried to; there were half a dozen cars ahead of him. Music wafted through the open windows. Finally, he gave the keys to a valet and extracted Liz from the car. He was beginning to think of her as Liz by now. They walked through the open doors of the house and into the living room. A big band was playing Rodgers & Hart at the other end, and people were dancing.
“How spectacular!” Liz said. “I mean, in spectacular good taste!”
“It certainly is,” Stone agreed. “Would you believe that twenty-four hours ago, this was an empty, unpainted house?”
“No, I would not,” she replied. She sniffed the air. “Still, there is that faint odor.”
Stone spotted Thad Shames across the room, towering over his guests. “I think there’s someone over there who’d like to see you,” he said, taking her arm and leading her across the room.
Shames spotted them coming and went to meet them, or rather, Liz.
“Well, hello,” he said, taking both her hands and kissing her on both cheeks.
“Will you excuse me?” Stone asked. They didn’t seem to notice, so he left them and made his way across the large room to where the bar had been set up on a long table. “A gin and tonic,” Stone said to the bartender.
“Coming up,” the bartender replied.
Stone saw Callie across the room and waved to her. She waved back, but seemed to have no interest in joining him.
“Here you are,” the bartender said.
“Thank you,” Stone replied, accepting the drink.
“You know,” a voice behind him said, “I think you may look better in that dinner jacket than the original owner did.”
Stone turned around and found Arrington Carter Calder standing there, looking gorgeous. Before she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, he could see, over her shoulder, Callie Hodges making her way toward them.
13
HER LIPS MELTED INTO STONE’S, AND HER BODY WAS against his, and only the thought of Callie approaching made him take hold of Arrington’s shoulders and hold her back. He smiled broadly for effect. “It’s good to see you, Arrington.”
Then Callie was upon them. “Well, Stone,” she said, “who’s this?”
“Callie, I’d like you to meet Arrington Calder,” Stone said, trying not to dab at his lips.
“Well, clearly, you two have met before tonight,” Callie said. “How do you do, Arrington?”
“Very well, Callie. I believe we talked on the phone this morning.”
“Yes. Thad very much wanted to have you here. Have you seen him yet?”
“Yes, when I arrived.”
“I hope your room is comfortable.”
“It is, indeed, though it smells a little of paint.”
“We apologize,” Callie said. “I understand you and Stone know each other.”
“We’re old friends,” Arrington said.
“Yes,” Stone echoed, wanting somehow to guide this conversation, if he could. “And how did you manage to get Arrington here so quickly, Callie?”
“We sent the airplane for her this morning,” Callie said sweetly.
“Twenty-four hours ago,” Arrington said, “who knew I’d be in Palm Beach tonight?”
“Yes,” Stone replied, casting a sharp glance at Callie. “Who knew?”
Callie suddenly seemed flustered. “Please excuse me, I have to welcome somebody,” she said. She had not even glanced at the door, but she made off in that direction.
“And how do you know Thad Shames?” Stone asked.
“Vance and I met him in Los Angeles early last year. Vance was an early investor in some of his companies. And how do you happen to be here, Stone?”
“I
’ve been doing some work for Thad, which involved coming to Palm Beach.”
“What sort of work?”
“I’m afraid it’s confidential.”
“Show me around the house, will you?” she said.
“We’ll explore together,” Stone said. “This is the first time I’ve been inside, except for the central hallway. I’m staying on the yacht, out back.”
“Then follow me,” Arrington said, taking his hand and starting out. She led him among handsome couples of various ages, beautifully dressed and coiffed. They walked across the central hall and into a large, two-story library, stocked with matched sets of books, some of them, apparently, quite old.
They found the dining room, which had been set up for a buffet, then climbed the central stairs to the second floor.
“Where are we going?” Stone asked.
“Just exploring,” Arrington replied, towing him along. “That must be the master suite,” she said, pointing at a large set of doors. They walked on farther. “Let’s see what a bedroom looks like,” she said, suddenly opening a door, tugging him inside and closing it behind her.
They were in a large, sumptuously furnished room with a huge, canopied bed, elaborate draperies and antique furniture. Stone saw a stack of luggage in a corner, and as they walked toward the windows, he saw the initials ACC stamped on the cases. “This is your room?” he asked.
“Oh, look, there’s the yacht,” she said, standing at the window. The moon was coming up and a streak of its light fell on the vessel. In the foreground, the gardens were lit with Japanese lanterns. She turned, took Stone’s face in her hands and kissed him again.
Stone felt her against him, the familiar curves of her body, the cool tips of her fingers against his skin, and he responded appropriately.
“Oh, I can feel you,” she whispered, moving her hips forward. She tugged at his bow tie, and it came undone.
Suddenly, Stone was uncomfortable, and he held her away. “I can’t do this,” he said, “not with the way things have been between us.”
“I’d like for things to be as they were,” she said.
“A lot has happened since then.”
“Most of it to me,” she said.
“I’m aware of that. But every time something happens to you, it seems to happen to me, too.”
“Poor baby,” she cooed.
“Which brings up the matter of Peter,” Stone said.
She stepped back from him. “Do we have to talk about that now?”
“Now is as good a time as any, and better than most.”
“Why do you have to be certain who Peter’s father is?” she asked. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“I don’t understand that, but I’m sure you can understand why I want to know,” Stone said. “If you put your mind to it.”
She turned away from him. “Men!”
“Do you find it so odd that a man would want to know if he had a son?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said. “Let’s go back downstairs.” She headed for the door.
Stone followed close behind her. Two couples were coming down the hall toward them, apparently touring the house. They smiled knowingly at Stone as they passed. What the hell was that about? he wondered, then he realized that his tie was untied and hurriedly retied it. He ran down the stairs after Arrington, caught up with her on the landing overlooking the living room and stopped her.
“Listen to me,” he said. “You and I cannot have a normal relationship until we settle the question of Peter.”
“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” she said. “I really don’t want to know.”
“Then you don’t want to know me,” Stone replied.
She ran down the stairs, and he followed more slowly. People were looking up at them, among the crowd, Callie. Stone let Arrington make her way across the room, and he turned toward the bar and ordered another drink.
A moment later, Callie appeared at his side. “Oh, your tie is all mussed,” she said. “Let me fix it for you.” She tugged at the bow until she was satisfied. “Well, it didn’t take the two of you long, did it?”
“What?” Stone asked, distracted, then he caught her meaning. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Am I being ridiculous?” she asked. “A woman scorned, I suppose.”
“Scorned? You invited her here, didn’t you? Not Thad.”
“I suggested it to Thad,” she said. “I wanted to know where I stood.”
“If you wanted to know where you stood, you could have simply asked me,” Stone said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “There was no need to send a jet to Virginia and haul her down here; no need to pull the scabs off old wounds.”
“I’m sorry,” Callie said sheepishly.
“You should be. You shouldn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially when you don’t have a clue what’s going on.”
“Listen, Stone,” Callie said, now sounding angry herself. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t sleep casually with people, especially when there’s something else going on in their lives. If you and Arrington are in love with each other, I’d rather know it now, not later.”
“I didn’t bring her down here,” Stone said, “you did. I’d be grateful if you’d stop meddling in my life.” He set down his drink, turned and walked out of the room. He made his way past couples in the gardens, then to the yacht, where he made himself a large drink at the bar in the saloon and sat on the afterdeck, drinking it, watching the moonlight on the water, trying to banish the thought of both Arrington and Callie from his mind.
Later, the music stopped and the sound of slamming car doors and diminishing voices told him the party was ending. He knew he couldn’t sleep for a while, so he made himself another drink.
Then Juanito was at his elbow with a cordless phone. “Mr. Barrington, Mr. Thad is calling for you,” he said.
Stone took the phone. “Hello?”
“Stone, please come over to Liz’s house right away,” Shames said. “I’ve already called the police.”
Stone started to ask why, but Shames had already hung up.
14
STONE DROVE QUICKLY, BUT NOT TOO QUICKLY, THROUGH the streets of Palm Beach. It was well after midnight, now, and traffic was light, but he did not wish to attract the attention of a traffic cop at this moment. He swung into West Indies Drive and, shortly, into the driveway of Liz’s house. One of Thad Shames’s Mercedes convertibles was parked outside and, beside it, what was obviously an unmarked police car. The front door of the house stood wide open.
Stone walked quickly inside and looked around. No one was in sight. “Hello!” he called out.
“In here,” came a man’s voice through the living room and to his left. Stone followed the sound and arrived in the study. Shames and Liz, who appeared to be unharmed, and a man in a police officer’s uniform with stars on the shoulders stood in the center of the room, which was a mess. All the pictures on the mantel had been swept onto the floor, a large mirror on one wall had been shattered and much of the furniture had been overturned, reducing some small porcelain figurines to shards.
“What’s happened?” Stone asked.
“We’re not sure,” Shames replied. “Stone, this is Chief Dan Griggs of the Palm Beach Police Department. Chief, this is my and Mrs. Harding’s attorney, Stone Barrington.”
The chief offered his hand. “I thought I knew all the attorneys in town,” he said. “Good to meet you, Mr. Barrington.”
Stone shook the man’s hand. “And you, Chief. I’m based in New York; that’s why we haven’t met. What’s happened here tonight?”
Shames spoke up. “Liz and I arrived to find the front door open and the place a mess.”
“The whole place? The living room looked all right.”
“I’ve had a look around,” the chief said. “This is the only room that was disturbed.”
“Anything missing?” Stone asked.
Liz spoke up. �
�I can’t find anything gone, just broken.”
“What about the door? Was it forced?”
Griggs shook his head. “Either it wasn’t locked, or somebody had a key.”
“I’m afraid it may not have been locked,” Liz said sheepishly. “I tend to forget. Anyway, Chief Griggs and his men take such good care of us all that it hardly seems necessary.”
“I thank you, Mrs. Harding,” the chief said, obviously pleased, “but we’d really prefer you to lock your doors.”
“I’ll make a point of it from now on.”
“So this is vandalism?” Stone asked.
“Looks that way to me,” Griggs replied. “Nothing taken, only this room messed up; nothing else to call it.”
“Chief, have you had other incidents like this in town?”
Griggs shook his head. “We might get some spray paint on a building or a bridge sometimes—teenagers, you know—but I can’t recall an incident of vandalism in a private home, unless it was connected to a burglary.”
“No known perpetrators of this sort of thing around town?”
“None in our files.”
“Chief, why don’t you and I take a walk through the house. Liz, Thad, will you excuse us for a couple of minutes?”
“Of course,” they said together.
Stone and the chief left the room, and Stone led him toward the stairs. “Let’s take a look up here.”
Griggs followed him, but at the top, stopped. “I’ve already walked through here with Mrs. Harding,” he said.
“I know,” Stone replied, “but I wanted to make you aware of a situation.”
“Go right ahead,” Griggs said.
“Mrs. Harding was formerly married to a man named Paul Manning, a well-known writer. Her name was Allison Manning, at the time.”
“Why’d she change it to Elizabeth?”
“To get away from Manning.”
“And you think he did this?”
“Very possibly. The photographs on the mantel were of Mrs. Harding and her late husband. Looks like a jealous rage to me.”
Griggs nodded and wrote something in his notebook. “Mr. Barrington, your name is familiar. Were you ever on the police force in New York?”
Stone nodded. “For fourteen years.”
“I’ve got it,” the chief said. “The Sasha Nijinsky case.”