6 Stone Barrington Novels (48 page)

“What would you be doing if you weren't working for Thad?” Stone asked.

“Probably working in a restaurant and hating it. I don't like a big kitchen, and you have no social life at all. This job is perfect for me. You aren't married, are you?”

“No.”

“Ever married?”

“No. Well, once for about fifteen minutes. It was sort of annulled.”

“And where is the ex-wife today?”

“Under full-time psychiatric care. I have that effect on women.”

She laughed. “I won't pry. I just wanted to know if you were free before . . .”

“Before what?”

“Before I seduced you.”

“If I weren't free, would it matter?”

“It certainly would,” she said. “I've learned not to get involved with married men.”

“I won't ask how. Where are you from?”

“I was born in a small town in Georgia, called Delano, but I grew up mostly in Kent, Connecticut.”

“I have a little house in Washington, Connecticut.”

“Nice town.”

“Your folks still there?”

“Both dead. Daddy was a small-town lawyer and banker; my mother wrote short stories and poetry, sometimes for
The New Yorker
.”

“One of them was Jewish, you said?”

“Mother. She was a New York girl through and through. They met in the city at a party, and she married him and moved to Connecticut with him. She always missed living in New York. How about you?”

“Born and bred in the city. My father was a cabinet and furniture maker, my mother, a painter.”

“Were they good at it?”

“They were. Dad has work in some of the city's better houses and apartments; Mother has two pictures in the permanent collection of the Metropolitan Museum. Mother and Dad are both gone, now.”

“So we're both orphans?”

“We are, I guess.”

They finished the risotto, and Callie served them a salad, then dessert—old-fashioned chocolate cake.

They took their coffee onto the afterdeck and settled into the banquette that ran around the stern railing.

“So, did you have a productive day?”

“I did.”

“How did your lunch with the dead lady go?”

“Very well. I believe I solved her problem.”

Callie set down her coffee cup. “Now,” she said, “how do I go about seducing you? Do I just stick my tongue in your ear, or what?”

“It's easier than that.” Stone took her face in his hands and kissed her for quite a long time. Their temperatures rose quickly.

“There may be crew about,” she breathed between kisses. “We'd better go to your cabin.”

“Oh, yes,” Stone said.

She took his hand and led him forward. In less than a minute they were standing at the end of his bed, undressing each other. In Callie's case, it was quick; she was wearing only the two pieces. She sat on the bed and watched him peel off his clothes.

He knelt before her and began kissing the inside of her thighs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He pushed her back on the bed and explored her delta, kissing the soft, blond fur at the edges. She gave a little shudder as he took her into his mouth. It took only a minute for her to come, and when she was finished, she pulled him onto her by his ears and felt for him, guiding him in.

“I love the first time,” she said, as they made love. “It's always so . . .”

“So new,” Stone panted.

“And exciting.”

“Sometimes it gets better as it goes along,” he said, thrusting.

She thrust back. “We'll see,” she said, and they both came together.

W
HEN STONE AWOKE HIS CABIN WAS FILLED WITH SUNSHINE, and it was past eleven o'clock. He never slept that late, and he was surprised. Callie was gone, and her side of the bed had been made. He shaved and showered, got into some slacks and a polo shirt and, since the palms outside were moving with the breeze, tied a light cashmere sweater around his shoulders.

He found Callie on the afterdeck in a bikini, reading a novel.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing her.

She kissed him back. “You slept late,” she said.

“Something I rarely do. I must have been tired.”

She chuckled. “I should hope so.”

“You look awfully fresh,” he said.

“I've only been up for half an hour.”

“Good book?”

“Starts really well. A writer I haven't read before, but I saw a good review in the
Times Book Review
last week. Fellow named . . .” She looked at the cover. “Frederick James.”

“I don't know him, either.”

“A first novel, the review said. You had breakfast?”

“No, I was considering waiting for lunch.”

“How about brunch? I'll take you to the Breakers.”

“Isn't that a hotel?”

“Yes, and it has a nice beach club.”

“Am I dressed properly?”

“Very.” She stood up. “I'll get into some real clothes.” She put down the book and walked off toward her cabin.

Stone sat down and picked up the book. He read a couple of pages, and by the time she returned, he had read thirty. “You're right,” he said. “It starts well.” He looked up at her. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you, sir.” She was wearing a yellow shift that set off her tan.

They walked through the main house, and as they were about to get into her car, a small procession of Mercedes convertibles pulled into the driveway behind them, and a man got out of one and came toward them, carrying a clipboard.

“Where could I find Mr. Shames?” he asked.

“He's on his way to Palm Beach, but he won't be arriving until this afternoon.”

“Are you Ms. Hodges?”

“I am.”

“Oh, good. You can sign for the cars.”

She looked at the three convertibles. “Sign for them?”

“I'm delivering them from the dealer,” the man said. “Mr. Shames ordered them some time ago.”

“Sure, I'll sign,” Callie said, and did so. “Just leave the keys in them.”

“They're all registered. You want me to show you how everything works?”

“We'll figure it out,” she said, getting into her car. She pulled out of the drive and headed toward the beach.

“Thad has bought
three
Mercedes convertibles?”

“He does things like that. Come to think of it, he mentioned this a few weeks ago, and I had forgotten. He bought them for himself and the guests on the yacht to use.”

“I'm unaccustomed to people who buy expensive cars three at a time.”

“Well, if you're going to work for Thad, you'd better get used to that sort of thing.”

“Actually, my work here is nearly done,” Stone said. “I thought I'd fly home tomorrow.”

She glanced at him. “Whatever your work was, it seems to have been conducted in restaurants. You haven't been anywhere else here, have you?”

“I guess I haven't,” Stone replied, “and you're right.”

“Can you tell me about it now?”

“Afraid not.”

“This is all very mysterious.”

“It isn't, really, or at least, it wasn't until I got here.”

“This has to have something to do with the lady in the restaurant the other night.”

“Could be.”

“What's her name again?”

“Elizabeth Harding.”

“That wasn't what you told me the other night. It was Alice, or something like that.”

“Allison. Allison Manning.”

“Oh, yeah, Paul Manning's wife.”

“Widow.” Then it occurred to Stone that she wasn't Manning's widow, since he was still alive. He made a mental note to think about that later.

A guard let them through a gate and they drove down a narrow road beside a golf course.

“The Breakers has golf, tennis, the beach, the works,” Callie said. She parked the car. “Come on, I'll show you the inside of the place before we eat.” She led the way into a huge, twin-towered building and into a lobby that looked like some part of an Italianate cathedral.

“Jesus,” Stone said.

“Yeah. It was built by Henry Flagler, the railroad magnate, who seems to have built just about everything on the east coast of Florida. Come on, let's get some lunch.” She led him out of the hotel and through another security gate, where she flashed a photo ID. A minute later, they were seated on a broad terrace, overlooking a huge swimming pool and the sea.

The sun shone brightly, but the breeze made it cool, and Stone put on his sweater.

“You dress well,” she said.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Are your suits, by any chance, made by Doug Hayward?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I've met a number of men who go to him, and I dragged Thad in there once and made him have a suit made. Doug's a nice man, isn't he?”

“I've never met him.”

“Oh? How can he make your clothes without meeting you?”

“I inherited a lot of stuff from a friend who died last year. It was all from Hayward.”

They ordered lunch.

“Nice friend,” she said.

“Well, I've known his wife for a while. She insisted I take the clothes. In fact, she just shipped them to me and said I could send them to the Goodwill, if I didn't want them. She was afraid they'd end up in some celebrity auction.”

“Celebrity? Who was he?”

“Your favorite movie star, Vance Calder.”

“Holy mackerel. I've been dining with Vance Calder's clothes?”

“You have, indeed.”

“Who killed Vance Calder, anyway?”

“Good question. There were suspects, but no conviction.”

Their lunch came, and Stone dove into a chicken Caesar salad. “How much time do you spend here?” Stone asked.

“Quite a lot, it seems. Thad does more entertaining here than in New York, so I've just camped out on the yacht.”

“Does he have a New York apartment?”

“He keeps that suite you saw at the Four Seasons.”

Stone shook his head.

“Yes, I know, it's a lot of money. Thad would really prefer to live in hotels full-time, but he thought he ought to have a home somewhere, so he bought the Palm Beach house. I think he bought it as much for dockage for the yacht as for the house, but he's got a big-time designer doing the place up. There's a warehouse in West Palm already bursting with stuff that's ready to move in, as soon as the builders are gone.”

“Which is when?”

“Shouldn't be long, now. What will happen is, the painters will finish, and the next day a parade of moving vans will arrive, and by nightfall, the place will be furnished.”

Stone laughed. “When I think of how long it took me to get settled in my house.”

“And where is your house?”

“I inherited one in Turtle Bay from a great-aunt, and I spent a couple of years renovating it. Did a lot of the work myself.”

“You seem to inherit everything—clothes, houses.”

“Just those things, nothing else.”

“What sort of work did you do on your house?”

“Carpentry, mostly, but a little of everything.”

“And where did you learn to be a carpenter?”

“Same place you learned to cook: at my father's knee.”

“Oh, right, I forgot; he was a cabinetmaker.”

“He was more than that, really; he was a kind of artist in wood.”

Somewhere, a cell phone rang. Callie picked up her straw handbag and rummaged in it, finally coming up with a phone. “Hello? Oh, hi. Where are you? Okay, I'll be back at the house by the time you get there. Oh, and the cars came. The Mercedes convertibles? Remember? See you shortly.” She hung up. “That was Thad. He's just landed.” She laughed. “He'd forgotten all about ordering the cars. Come on, eat up and let's get back.”

Stone ate up, wondering about the kind of man who could order three Mercedeses, then forget about it. The longer he hung around Thad Shames, the more bizarre things got.

S
TONE AND CALLIE ARRIVED BACK AT THE HOUSE SIMULTANEOUSLY with Thad Shames, who climbed out of the back of a limo and tossed two briefcases to Juanito.

“Hey, Callie, hey, Stone!” Shames called out.

“Hey, boss,” Callie said. She pointed at the convertibles. “There are your cars.”

Shames looked them over. “Nice,” he said. He bent over, removed the keys and tossed them to Stone. “Use it while you're here,” he said.

Stone walked along with him toward the house. “Actually, I was hoping to get a lift back to New York with you on Sunday,” Stone said. “Not much more I can do here.”

“Sorry. I'm headed to the Coast on Sunday,” Shames replied. “Why don't you stick around for a few days and relax a bit? Callie could use the company, and I can tell she likes you. You got anything urgent waiting for you in New York?”

“Nothing that couldn't wait a few days, I guess,” Stone admitted.

“It's settled, then.”

They walked through the house, and Shames inspected the work done on the central hallway. “Oh,” he said to Callie, “I think we'll have cocktails and dinner in the house. Big buffet, okay?”

“But Thad, the house isn't finished being painted,” Callie replied.

“It will be by morning,” he said.