6 Stone Barrington Novels (43 page)

“I've got a press conference at the Waldorf in an hour,” Shames said, “so I'll make this as quick as I can.”

Stone and Eggers nodded automatically, like mechanical birds.

“I've met this spectacular woman,” Shames said, then waited for a reaction.

“Good,” Eggers replied.

“Yes,” Stone said.

“I think I'm in love.”

The two lawyers nodded gravely.

“Congratulations,” Eggers said.

“Yes,” Stone echoed.

“This is a lot more important than I'm making it sound,” Shames said, grinning. “I've never been married, and, well . . .”

Not getting laid,
Stone thought. Horny.
Vulnerable rich guy.

“Anyway, she's just spectacular. I feel so lucky.”

He doesn't realize yet she's taken him,
Stone thought.

“What's her name?” Eggers asked.

“That's just the thing,” Shames said, blushing. “I'm not sure I know.”

“When did you meet her?” Eggers asked.

“Last weekend.”

“Where?”

“In the Hamptons.”

“At this time of the year?”

“Oh, it's getting awfully chic out there in winter, now,” Shames replied. “All the most interesting people go out there on winter weekends. You don't have to put up with the summer tourists and all their traffic.”

“Sounds great,” Eggers said. “Who introduced you to, ah, her?”

“Nobody, actually. We met at this big party at some movie guy's house—I get those guys mixed up—and after talking for a few minutes, we got the hell out of there and went to Jerry Della Femina's for dinner. We had a great time.”

“Good,” Eggers replied.

“Yes,” Stone said.

“She said her name was Liz,” Shames said.

“Maybe that's her name,” Stone chanced, but shut up at a glare from Eggers.

“I'm not sure,” Shames said.

“Do you have some reason to think her name might not be Liz?” Eggers asked.

“Not really, just a feeling. She wouldn't give me a last name or even tell me where she lives.”

“How can Stone and I help, Thad?”

“I want you to find her for me.”

This time, Stone glared at Eggers, but Eggers avoided the look.

The butler appeared at the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Shames, but your office is on line one.”

Shames stood up. “I'd better take this in the other room,” he said. “Please excuse me for a moment.” He left, closing the door behind him.

“I know you have some questions,” Eggers said.

“Just one,” Stone replied. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Now, Stone . . .”

“What am I, some seedy shamus, tracking down women for rich men?”

“Stone . . .”

Stone stood up. “Call me when you've got something of substance, Bill.”

Eggers didn't move. “The press conference he's holding is to announce an initial public offering of stock in a new company he's started. Shames has taken two other companies public in the past eight years, and they're both multibillion-dollar, worldwide corporations now. How would you like to have ten thousand shares of the new company at the opening price?”

Stone looked at him warily. “Tell me about it.”

“I don't know all that much, except that it's supposed to be an astonishing new technology for the Internet, and that Thaddeus Shames is doing it.”

Stone knew enough to know how spectacular a lot of Internet stocks had been in the market. “What's it going to open at?”

“The price hasn't been set yet; probably around twenty dollars a share. Last week an Internet IPO happened, and the stock went up eight hundred percent the first day.”

Stone sat down.

Shames returned to the room, and Eggers stood up.

“Thad, Stone is going to take this on. I've got a meeting back at the office, so I'll leave the two of you to continue.” He shook hands with Shames and Stone and left.

“Bill told you about my new IPO?” Shames asked.

“Yes,” Stone said.
You bet he did
. Stone had already calculated how much of his portfolio he'd have to liquidate to buy the new stock.

“This girl is really wonderful,” Shames said.

“I'll help you in any way I can,” Stone said.

“Walk me to the car, and I'll tell you everything I know on the way.”

I'll bet we'll have time left over,
Stone thought. “Sure. And, Thad?”

“Yes?”

“Why don't you let me walk you across the street and get you a new shirt for this press conference.”

“Across the street?”

“Turnbull and Asser is right across from the hotel. Won't take a minute.”

Shames looked down at his shirt. “Guess it couldn't hurt,” he said.

“They have shoes, too.”

A
S THEY PASSED THROUGH THE LIVING ROOM OF THE huge suite, a woman's voice rang out.

“Thad?”

Shames and Stone stopped and turned. An attractive young woman wearing a chef's smock was waving from the adjacent dining room.

“Yes, Callie?” Shames replied.

“Do you have any idea how many for lunch, yet? I'm turning it over to the caterers, and they'd sure like to know.”

“Oh, I don't know. Tell them to plan for a hundred. If there are leftovers we can donate them to a good cause.”

“Right,” she said. “See you in PB.”

Shames rang for the elevator. “Now, about Liz,” he said to Stone. “What do you want to know?”

“Describe her appearance.”

Shames held a hand across his chest. “She comes up to about here.”

“Five-five, five-six?”

“I guess.”

“Was she wearing heels?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Hair color?”

“A dark brunette.”

“Long? Short?”

“To her shoulders; maybe a bit longer.”

“How old was she?”

“Thirtyish, I guess.”

“Weight?”

“Mediumish, I suppose.”

“Body?”

“Attractive.”

“Anything else distinctive about her appearance? Nose?”

“Turned up.”

“Eyes?”

“Blue, I think.”

Jesus,
Stone thought,
I'm glad the girl didn't commit a crime; she'd get away with it.

The elevator arrived, and they got on.

“Let's talk about her name again, Thad. What made you think that Liz might not be her real name?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Try to remember if she said anything specific about her name.”

“I asked her, ‘What's your name?' And she said, ‘Liz will do.' And I said, ‘What's your last name?' And she said, ‘Just Liz.'”

“Well, she's pretty cagey. Do you think she knew who you were?”

“If she did, she didn't give any sign of it. She asked me what I did, and I told her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said I was a software entrepreneur. She said, ‘Like Bill Gates?' And I said, ‘Well, not quite on that scale.' That was the only time we talked about work.”

“You didn't ask her what she did?”

“Oh, yeah, I did. She said, ‘I'm retired.' And I said, ‘From what?' And she said, ‘From marriage.'”

“So she divorced well?”

“I guess.”

“How was she dressed?”

The elevator reached the ground floor, and they went to the checkroom.

“She was wearing this sort of dress.”

“Did it look expensive?”

“I guess. I mean, she looked beautiful in it, and it was a pretty expensive crowd at the party.”

“How about jewelry?”

“I think she was wearing earrings. Yes, diamond earrings. Those little stud things, you know? Except they weren't all that little.”

“Wedding or engagement ring?”

“A big diamond, but not on her left hand.”

“So she didn't return her engagement ring after the divorce.”

“I guess not.”

“Necklace? Bracelet?”

“A gold necklace and a gold bracelet, I think with diamonds. Nothing flashy, though.”

“How about her speech; any sort of accent? Southern? Midwestern?”

“American. No accent that caught my attention.”

Stone got into his coat, and they left the hotel. “Right across the street, there,” he said, pointing to the shop. He led the way, avoiding ice patches and slush in the gutters. “Don't you have a coat?” he asked.

“It's in the car,” Shames said, nodding at a stretched black Mercedes that was making a U-turn, following them.

Stone held the shop door open for Shames, then pointed the way upstairs. They emerged onto the second floor and went into the shirt and tie room.

“Gosh!” Shames said. “I've never seen so many colors. You pick out something for me.”

“What size?”

“Sixteen. The sleeves usually aren't long enough for me.”

“These will be pretty long,” Stone said. A salesman showed them the sixteens. Stone riffled through them and picked out a blue-and-white narrow-striped shirt. “How about this?”

“Fine.”

Stone picked out a tie and a complementary silk pocket square and handed them to a saleslady. “Send these down to the shoe shop, please.” He led the way back downstairs to the shoe shop.

“This is a really nice place,” Shames said, looking around.

“You'd never heard of it?”

“No, and it's right across the street from the hotel, too.”

A salesman approached, and Stone helped the man choose some dignified oxfords and some socks.

Shames handed the man a credit card.

“There's a dressing room,” Stone said, pointing. “Why don't you put those things on?” He waited, and when Shames returned, he had made a mess of tying the tie. Stone retied it for him and stuffed the silk handkerchief into his breast pocket. “You could pass for a captain of industry,” Stone said. “That's a really nice suit.”

“I had it made in London. This is the only time I've worn it.” Shames signed the credit card chit and checked himself out in a mirror. “Something doesn't look quite right,” he said. “What is it?”

“There's a barbershop at the Waldorf,” Stone replied, glancing at his watch. “Make the crowd wait for you.”

“Okay, I guess I could use a trim.”

They stepped back into the street, where the Mercedes was waiting. “Ride down to the Waldorf with me,” Shames said. “You can drop me, and the car will take you to your place to pack and then to the airport.”

“Sorry?” Stone said, getting into the car. He wasn't sure he had understood.

“To Teterboro. My airplane is out there.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, you'll have to go to Palm Beach.”

“Why?”

“Because that's where she is. Didn't I mention that?”

“I don't believe you did,” Stone said. “Why do you think she's in Palm Beach?”

“I ran into a guy I know at dinner last night who was at the party in the Hamptons. He recognized her at LaGuardia yesterday. She was boarding a flight for Palm Beach.”

“You think she lives in Palm Beach?”

“I've no idea.”

They drove down Park Avenue, then the driver made a U-turn and stopped in front of the Waldorf.

“Oh,” Shames said, reaching into an inside pocket and extracting an envelope. “Here's some expense money.”

Stone took the envelope. “Thanks.”

“You can stay at my place down there,” Shames said, handing him a card. “Not in the house; the house is being renovated, and it's a complete mess.”

“Guesthouse?” Stone asked.

“No, my boat is moored out back. You can stay aboard. There's some crew aboard, I think. They'll get you settled. Anything else I can tell you?”

“I can't think of anything,” Stone said. “If you think of something, please call me.”

“Okay. You can reach me through my office. The number's on the other side of the card. I'll be down to Palm Beach in a few days. See you then.” He offered Stone his hand, grabbed a ratty-looking overcoat from the front seat, got out of the car and walked into the Waldorf.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.

Stone gave him the address. “I have to pack some clothes. Then I guess we're going to Teterboro. Jesus, I didn't ask him where in Teterboro.”

“Atlantic Aviation,” the driver replied.

“Thanks,” Stone said. He wished he'd had time to find Shames an overcoat. His had been awful.

He sat back in the seat and thought about his first move when he got to Palm Beach. All he could think of at the moment was to stop every thirtyish brunette he saw and ask if her name was Liz and if she had had dinner in the Hamptons last weekend with an extremely tall geek. Stone sighed.

W
HEN HE GOT HOME, STONE RAN UPSTAIRS AND started packing. He'd never been to Palm Beach before, but he assumed it would be warm, so he took tropical-weight suits and jackets. He thought about a dinner jacket and threw it in, just in case. He changed into a lightweight suit, took his bags back downstairs, opened the door and waved the driver to come and get them, then he went downstairs to his office. His secretary, Joan Robertson, was working at her desk.