Dead in the Water (14 page)

"Well," Jim Forrester said, "I'm going upstairs for a nap." He got to his feet. "I think I might be coming down with something." He ambled off toward the stairs.

Stone watched as Thomas set the woman's bags down by the bar and reached for the registration book. The woman signed it, then seemed to be asking Thomas some questions. Thomas's eyebrows suddenly went up, and he beckoned to Stone.

Stone got up and walked across the restaurant toward the bar, getting a closer look at the woman as he walked. She was, at the very least, in her early forties, he reckoned, and she had on more makeup than suited her.

"Stone," Thomas said. "This is someone you might want to meet."

The woman turned toward him. "Are you Stone Barrington?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," Stone replied.

She held out her hand. "I'm Allison Manning," she said.

"How do you do," Stone said. Then the name sank in. "Who did you say..."

"I'm Paul Manning's widow," the woman said, "and I'm not very well, if the truth be told. However, I expect to be a lot better quite soon."

Thomas went upstairs with the bags, leaving Stone alone with the woman.

"I suppose you're with the press," Stone said wearily.

"I'm not with anybody," the woman replied. "I used to be with Paul Manning, but I understand he's dead. Can you confirm that?"

"Yes, I can," Stone replied. "Why don't we sit down?" he indicated his table. "You seem to have been traveling; would you like a drink?"

"Oh, God, yes," she breathed and headed toward a chair. "A very dry Gibson would be lovely."

ThOmas came back down the stairs, and Stone ordered her drink. When they were settled at a table, Stone said, "I'm afraid you have me at something of a loss, Miss..."

"Mrs.," she said. "Mrs. Manning. And yes, I suppose you are at something of a loss. You're representing her,

you?"

"I'm representing Allison Manning," he said. "Why don't you tell me what's going on here?"

"What's going on, Mr. Barrington, is that I've come claim my husband's estate."

"You're speaking of Paul Manning, the writer?"

"I am."

"And you claim to have been married to him?"

The woman opened a large purse, extracted an envelope, and handed it to Stone. "I believe this will answer your question," she said.

Stone opened the envelope and took out a single shee& of paper. It was a photocopy of a marriage certificate stating that Paul Manning and Elizabeth Allison Franklin had been married in Dade County, Florida, some fourteen years before.

"And you are Elizabeth Allison Manning?"

"Call me Libby; everyone does."

"May I see some sort of identification, please?"

She opened her bag again and handed over an American passport.

Stone examined it, and it confirmed her identity. He handed it back. "Thank you," he said. "And when were you and Paul Manning divorced?" he asked.

"Never," she replied. "Paul and I were never divorced; we were married until the day he died."

"I see," Stone said. He didn't see at all. "And what brings you to St. Marks?"

"I read of Paul's death in the papers," she replied.

"I told you, I've come to claim his estate."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Stone asked. She opened her bag again and produced another document. "This is a copy of Paul's will," she said, "leaving everything to me."

Stone looked it over. It was short and to the point and dated the day after the date on the marriage certificate. He handed it back to her. "Mrs. Manning," he said, "I'm afraid you've come a long way for nothing." "Oh? How's that?"

"Paul Manning's estate is being handled in Connecticut, and there is another, more recent will leaving everything to another, more recent Mrs. Manning."

"Oh, I know all about her," the woman said. "Paul was never married to her, not really, no matter what he told anybody. I am the only woman he was ever married to."

"Can you give me a little background on all this?" Stone asked, trying not to sound plaintive, though he was feeling very plaintive indeed.

"Of course. Paul and I met when we were both working for the Miami Herald, some fifteen years ago.

We fell in love, were married, and..."

"And lived happily ever after?"

She smiled sourly. "Not exactly. He ran out on me some years later."

"How many years later?"

"Four years later, four and a bit. But we never bothered to get a divorce. Paul continued to support me, though. He sent a check every month."

"And when was the last time you saw Paul?"

"When he left. After that, I dealt with his lawyer, in Miami."

"Do you still live in Miami, Mrs. Manning?" "Libby; please call me Libby; everyone does." "Libby, do you still live in Miami?"

"No, I live in Palm Beach. Well, near Palm Beach."

you never remarried?"

"Never."

"What sort of work do you do, Libby?"

"I write a,society column for a local paper in Palm Beach. Doesnt pay very much, really, but it gets me to

i all the parties."

"So you live on the monthly check from Paul?" "That's right. Only it didn't arrive this month, and when I saw the papers, I knew why. I called the lawyer in Miami, but he said he had received nothing from Paul's office this month. So I figured I'd better get down here and take charge of things."

"I see."

"You're a lawyer, right?"

"Yes, in New York."

"Well, I guess I'm going to need a lawyer. You want to handle this for me?"

"I'm afraid I'm otherwise engaged," Stone said. "Then I'll just have to find somebody else, I guess." "Mrs. Manning... ah, Libby, I'm afraid that getting a lawyer in St. Marks won't help you in dealing with Paul's estate. As I said, that is being handled in Connecticut, in Greenwich."

She stared at him blankly. "You want me to go to Connecticut?" she demanded.

"It's not a matter of what I want, and I don't want you to think that I'm giving you legal advice, which I'm not, but it seems logical that the solution to your problem if there is a solution, is not in St. Marks." He wanted desperately for her to be anywhere else in the world but St. Marks. "Well, shit," she said disgustedly. "I take your point." She stood up. "Right now," she said, "I'm going to get into a hot bath, and after I've had some dinner and a good night's sleep I think I might just get a second opinion on what you've told me." Stone stood up. "If there's anything else I can do..." "I thought the gist of what you told me was that there's nothing you can do," she said. "That's pretty much it," he admitted, trying desperately to think of something to say to her that might make her go back to Palm Beach. "Well, tomorrow's another day, and then I guess I'll see what I can find out about this murder trial. Who's the DA?" "It's being handled by the, ah, local government," he replied. "Right. I guess I can talk to them. See you around, Stone." She picked up her purse and headed for the stairs. Stone went straight to the bar, picked up the phone, and dialed Bob Cantor's number. "Problems?" Thomas asked, ambling over. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Stone replied. He got Cantor's answering machine. "Bob," he said, "you mentioned earlier that Paul Manning had been divorced in Florida. Do whatever you have to do to find a copy of the decree and fax it to me at the earliest possible moment, please. I've got another Allison Manning on my hands." He hung up.

"Another Allison Manning," Thomas repeated, chuckling to himself.

"Thomas, please do whatever you can to keep that woman from ever hearing the name of Sir Winston Sutherland," Stone said.

Thomas laughed aloud. "Right!"

CHAPTER

Stone marched over to the marina, jumped aboard Expansive, and went below. The saloon was empty. He went aft to the owner's cabin, and found Allison sound asleep. "Wake up," he said, patting her on the shoulder.

Allison opened her eyes slowly. "Oh; hello," she said, reaching for him.

Stone took her hands in his. "Not now, Allison; we have to talk."

"Talk? What about?"

"Come into the saloon." He handed her a robe and went ahead of her.

She came in, tossing her hair and robbing her eyes. "What is going on?" she asked.

"Tell me about Paul's first marriage," he said. "What?"

"Paul was married before he married you; tell me everything he told you about that."

She took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, uncapped it, took a long swallow, and settled onto the sofa beside him. "He was married, that's all. It didn't work out." "When did he get married?"

"When he was a lot younger, in the early eighties, I think."

"How long was he married?"

"Three or four years. What's this all about?" "Do you know exactly when he was divorced?" "No, not exactly."

"Have you ever seen a copy of his divorce decree?" "No."

"Not even when you went to get your marriage license?"

"I don't think so."

"Normally, if you've been married before, you have to produce a divorce decree in order to get a license. Where were you married?"

"In New York, at the courthouse, by a judge." "You went with Paul to get the license?"

"Yes, but I don't remember anything about a divorce decree."

"Swell."

"Stone, if you don't tell me what this is about..."

"The first Mrs. Manning has just checked into the Shipwright's Arms."

Allison's face fell. "Libby?"

"Yes."

"That bitch!" Allison hissed. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"She says she's come to claim Paul's estate." "Hah! That's a laugh! She's not getting a penny." "Allison, let me see Paul's will." "She's not in it."

"I want to see the will. It's in Paul's briefcase, isn't it?" "How would you know that?"

"I'm just guessing. Is it in the briefcase?"

"Yes."

"You'd better let me see it right now."

"Oh, all right." She got up, went into the aft cabin, and came back a couple of minutes later with a document. "Here," she said ill-humoredly, handing it to him.

Stone read through it quickly. There were a number of small bequests to organizations--the Author's Guild Fund and PEN---and to two clubs to which Manning had belonged, and the rest was left to Allison. No mention of his first wife.

"See?" Allison said. "I told you he left her nothing."

"Did you know he had been sending her monthly checks?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Three thousand dollars a month." "Alimony?" "I suppose."

"Was it dictated by a divorce decree?"

"I don't know; Paul called it alimony, though."

"It's not a lot of money for someone in Paul's income bracket."

"Paul didn't make any real money until after they were divorced; he was just a newspaper reporter."

"Let's see, if they were divorced ten years ago do you know if there was any time limit on the payments?" "No, I don't. Is this really going to be a problem?" "Maybe; it depends on the decree, if there is one."

"What do you mean, if there is one? There must be one, somewhere."

"I've got somebody looking into that now. Do you know where they were divorced?"

"In Miami, I guess; that's where Paul lived at the time. Stone, what's the worst this could mean?"

"Well, the absolute worst, legally, would be if they were never divorced. In that case, she might have some sort of rights as the wife in either Florida or Connecticut--I'm not familiar with the domestic or estate laws in either. On the, other hand, if they were legally divorced and we can get hold of the decree, it shouldn't be much of a problem. Let's say the judge gave her three thousand a month for life, or until she marries; then she'd be entitled to claim that much from the estate. Or he might have put a time limit on it. It doesn't seem likely that the payments were pegged to his income, since he was paying her only three thousand a month; they would have gone up as he became more successful. Did Paul seem to feel any great obligation to her?"

"Not really. He never complained about writing the checks, though."

"He didn't leave her any money, either."

"Right," Allison said, brightening. "How can she make any claim at all?"

"She can easily enough, if she has a court order, and that's what a decree is. But she's claiming they were never divorced, and if that's true, there wouldn't be a decree."

$IJAE? WOODS

"Stone, this doesn't sound like the greatest problem in the world. Just tell her to call my lawyer in Greenwich, and if she doesn'f like that, then tell her to go fuck herself." Stone shook his head. "We can't do that." "Why not?" "Because she's here, don't you understand?" "So what?" "She's a completely unknown quantity. Worst case, suppose Sir Winston gets his hands on her and charms or frightens her? Suppose she turns up at your trial and testifies that Paul told her that he was afraid you were going to murder him?" "That's ridiculous." "I did say it's the worst case; people will do strange things when there's a lot of money at stake. The thing is, I don't want her hanging over our heads. She's a loose cannon, and she could turn out to be very dangeroas." Now Allison had grown quiet. "So what do we do?" she asked finally. "I think we have to get her off the island as quickly as possible." "Maybe one of Thomas's many brothers could kidnap her or something." He looked at her sharply. "Don't even joke about that." She held up her hands. "Sorry. So how do we get her off the island?" "How much money have you got in your Greenwich bank account?" "Well, I'm not sure, exactly."

"Allison, this is no time to fuck around. How much?"

"A little over a million dollars."

"In your checking account?"

"Well, it's an interest-bearing account."

"Oh, great."

"Are you suggesting I should pay her a million dollars?"

"No, but you're going to have to let me negotiate something with her."

"How much of a something?"

"Whatever it takes, if we want to get rid of her in a hurry, and we certainly do."

"Do you think we could get rid of her for half a mill on dollars?"

"I think a reasonable person would accept that, but I have no idea how reasonable she is."