Family Jewels (12 page)

28

S
tone and Gala, fresh from making love and showering together, dined in the small dining room, where Hazel had set a beautiful table with old Wedgwood and Baccarat crystal and had put out a selection of wines from the cellar, from which Stone chose a Château Palmer ’61, a claret Stone had heard much of but never tasted. Oscar decanted it, and it surpassed what Stone could have hoped for.

“This is such a beautiful place,” Gala said. “It seems a shame to pull it apart and sell everything off piecemeal.”

“As Carrie’s executor, I would be delighted to sell it to you intact.”

She laughed. “Would that I could afford it.”

“The problem with a house like this is that the only people who could afford it are people you wouldn’t want living next door.”

“I know what you mean—people like my ex-husband, not that he could afford it, either. What do you think it might sell for?”

“I wouldn’t know what to ask,” Stone said.

“Tell you what, I’ll think about it and make you an offer.”

“I will look forward to receiving it.”

They were served seared foie gras, followed by a
suprême de volaille
with a tarragon cream sauce, which went very well with the wine. When Hazel came back he asked her if she was the chef.

“Oh, no, sir, that would be Bonnie, who has been with the family for more than thirty years.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“I’m a newcomer—only twenty-seven years. Oscar has been here for fifteen.”

“How many others on staff?”

“Three housemaids and two gardeners, with occasional extra help from outside.”

“It seems to be a tightly run ship.”

“We try.” She took away their plates, then served a peach cobbler with half a bottle of Château d’Yquem 1978.

“Heavenly,” Gala said.

They took Bob for a stroll in the gardens after dinner, then retired early, in each other’s arms. Bob slept on a large pillow next to their bed.

—

S
tone was awakened shortly after seven
AM
by the sound of some sort of industrial engine running. He went to the window and peeked through the curtain.

“What is it?” Gala asked sleepily.

“A backhoe, digging the grave. It shouldn’t take long.” It didn’t, and they called down for breakfast in bed, which arrived with the
New York Times
and the
Wall Street Journal
.

Nicky called at mid-morning to check on the time of the service and invite them to his place for dinner.

Nicky and Vanessa arrived at three-thirty and were given a glass of champagne, then at four o’clock, they walked out into the garden and stood at the graveside. An Episcopal minister read a psalm and said a prayer, and the coffin was lowered into the earth. As they turned from the grave, Stone saw a young woman standing a few yards away. Thinking she might have been a friend of Carrie’s, he walked over and introduced himself.

“I’m Monique Sullivan,” she said. “We spoke on the phone in Santa Fe. From CNN, remember?. May I speak to you now?”

“Ms. Sullivan, I admire your enterprise, but we’ve just concluded a burial service here.”

“I won’t take much of your time,” she said.

He turned to the others. “Go on inside, I’ll be along in a minute.” He directed the young reporter to a garden bench, and
they sat down. “All right, you’ve got five minutes.” He glanced at his watch.

She quickly reviewed the facts of the case, and he confirmed them. “Are you satisfied that she was murdered by her ex-husband, Harvey Biggers?”

“Mr. Biggers seems to be a person of interest,” Stone replied, “though he hasn’t been charged with anything.”

“Your opinion?”

“I’ll reserve my judgment until I’ve heard all the evi-dence.”

“What, in your personal experience, would make Mr. Biggers a suspect?”

“He had threatened her in the past, and he has been a presence in the investigation of the deaths of two other women.”

“What do you mean by ‘a presence’?”

“He was in their company shortly before they died, both under unexplained circumstances. That’s three things that would make him interesting to a homicide investigator.”

“I suppose so. What evidence is there that Biggers was in Abiquiu at the time of Ms. Fiske’s death?”

“He was seen in Santa Fe by someone who knew him well, the afternoon before her death.”

Stone glanced at his watch.

“Just one more question.”

“All right.”

“Who is the man who watched the funeral from a third-floor window?”

“What?”

She pointed, and he followed her finger, but all he saw was the movement of a curtain. Stone got up and started running toward the house.

29

S
tone ran up the stone stairs to the rear of the house and into the downstairs hall, past Nicky, Vanessa, and Gala, who stood chatting. It occurred to him that he was unarmed, so as he passed a hall stand he grabbed a sturdy golf umbrella.

He ran up the main stairs to the third floor, which he had not yet visited, and began opening doors to rooms with a view of the rear gardens. He got lucky on the second one.

It was a smaller guest room than the one he was occupying a floor down; the bed was unmade, and there were a couple of men’s suits and a jacket or two in an open closet. Two drawers of a chest were open, one of them filled with dirty laundry. But where was the occupant? He stood still and listened for a moment, trying to slow his heavy breathing from the run up the stairs.

He heard a heavy footstep from the south end of the house and the sound of a door slamming and feet on gravel. He could see no one out the back window, so he ran across the hall to a front bedroom and pulled up the blinds. He saw a large male figure carrying a suitcase turn a curve in the driveway and disappear in the direction of Ocean Drive.

He grabbed his phone and dialed 911, then thought better of it. Instead, he called Dino. It took a moment for the secretary to put him through, and he used it to get his heart and breathing rate down.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone. Please listen carefully. I’m in Palm Beach, where we have just buried Carrie Fiske.” He gave Dino the address. “I don’t know if there’s an APB out for Harvey Biggers down here, and the Palm Beach police don’t know me. Biggers was watching the burial from a third-floor bedroom, where he seems to have been living for a couple of days. He just ran out of the house toward Ocean Drive, and he probably has a car parked someplace nearby. Will you call the chief down here and get his people on it?”

“Yeah, okay. You’re sure it was Biggers?”

“He was as big as Biggers, and who the hell else could he be?”

“Why would he be there?”

“I think, maybe, he wanted to attend Carrie’s funeral, but didn’t want to see me.”

“All right. I’ll call you back.” They both hung up.

Stone walked slowly down the stairs to the hall and found his three companions staring at him. “Harvey was watching the burial from the third floor,” he said. “He got out in a hurry. The police will be here soon.”

“Excuse me,” said a female voice behind him. He turned to find Monique Sullivan standing in the rear doorway. “May I come in?”

“Yes, do. Everybody, this is Ms. Monique Sullivan, of CNN. This is Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers and Ms. Wilde.”

Everyone murmured a greeting.

“Was that Harvey Biggers watching from upstairs?”

“I believe so. He seems to have been living up there for a couple of days.”

“Over us?” Gala asked.

“More or less. He ran when he heard me coming up the stairs.”

“What’s the umbrella for?” Vanessa asked.

“Persuasion,” Stone said, dropping it back into the umbrella stand.

“Did you persuade him of anything?”

“Just to leave, I guess.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Nicky asked.

“I’ve already done that.” As if on cue they heard tires on gravel from the front drive. “I guess they don’t use sirens in good neighborhoods.”

The doorbell rang, and Stone opened it. Two uniformed patrolmen stood in the doorway, their caps in their hands.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We got a call about an intruder in the house?”

“He left by the front door. Did you see anyone afoot on Ocean Drive?”

“You mean South Ocean Boulevard?”

“I do.”

“No, sir, just cars. We understood that the person is a suspect in a murder?”

“That’s correct.”

“Name of Harvey Biggers?”

“Correct again.”

“The chief has already given the order to close the bridges. Not close them, exactly, but we’ve got a description, and officers are looking into every car driving off the island.”

“That’s the advantage of policing an island, I guess,” Stone said.

“Yes, sir. Did the man do any damage here?”

“No, but he slept here for a couple of nights, in a bedroom on the third floor, top of the stairs, second on the left.”

“May we take a look?”

“Go right ahead.”

The two policemen trotted up the stairs.

“Nicky,” Stone said, “might Harvey try to take shelter at your house?”

“Well, he knows where we live—he came there with Carrie for dinner on a few occasions. We’ll be real careful when we
get home. Can you and Gala come about seven for dinner? We’ll be real casual, no neckties.”

“Thank you, yes.”

The Chalmerses left to go home.

Hazel appeared in the downstairs hall. “Mr. Barrington, did I just see two policemen going upstairs?”

“Yes, you did, Hazel. Apparently Mr. Biggers has been sleeping in a third-floor bedroom for a couple of nights.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness. Nobody has been up there since the first of the week. Are we in any danger?”

“No, he fled when discovered, and the police are looking for him now. Don’t worry, he won’t be back.”

“Thank God for that,” she said. “The housemaids will be in tomorrow morning, and I’ll have them tidy up.”

“Thank you, Hazel. We’ll be dining out tonight, and we’ll be on our way to New York tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Mr. Barrington. What time would you like breakfast?”

“Seven o’clock will be fine.” She went back toward the kitchen.

Gala came and leaned against Stone. “I didn’t think this trip would be nearly so exciting.”

“Neither did I,” Stone replied.