Worst Fears Realized (13 page)

“Oh, Washington!” Sarah enthused. “I spent a weekend here a few years ago; what a lovely place!”

“I’m glad you think so,” Stone said, making a right turn at a sign that read,
MAYFLOWER INN
. They
drove around a pond and up a steep hill, pulling up outside a handsome, shingled building.

“This is lovely,” Sarah said. “How did you find it?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Stone said. “It was voted the best country inn in America last year in some magazine. I clipped the article.”

“Well clipped,” she replied.

Someone took their bags upstairs and let them into a handsomely decorated suite overlooking the rear gardens.

“Have you reserved a dinner table, sir?” the young bellman asked.

“No. Could you do that for me, at eight o’clock?”

“Certainly. You’ll need a jacket, but not necessarily a tie.”

“Thank you.” Stone tipped him generously, and he let himself out of the room. “Well,” Stone said, “we’ve got two hours until dinner; how shall we amuse ourselves?”

Sarah walked into his arms. “I’ll need an hour to bathe and dress. That leaves a whole hour of free, unsupervised time.”

Stone kissed her. “Unsupervised?”

“Well, not entirely,” she said, working on his buttons. “I’ll do the supervising.”

At seven-thirty they walked downstairs, now showered, changed, and entirely relaxed, and entered the handsome bar, taking a table near a window.

“I could live here,” Sarah said. “All I’d need would be this table and the bed upstairs.”

“I’ve heard worse ideas,” Stone agreed.

A young woman appeared. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone nodded at Sarah.

“A vodka gimlet, straight up, shaken very cold, slightly sweet,” she said.

“Two,” Stone replied.

Shortly they were sipping the clear, green-tinted liquid. The waitress returned. “Mr. Barrington, there’s a phone call for you at the front desk.”

“Excuse me,” Stone said to Sarah, taking his drink with him. He went into the front hall and was shown to a phone booth. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino; I hear you’re driving something alarming.”

“Entirely so; I’ll show you the first of the week.”

“Okay; how’d it go with Mitteldorfer?”

“It didn’t.”

“Warkowski wouldn’t let you see him?”

“He wasn’t there to see.”

“I don’t get it.”

“He’s out.”

“Paroled?”

“Unconditionally released.”

There was a long silence before Dino spoke again. “Well, the little shit. He must have spent the last twelve years bending over for Warkowski.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I went by the stationery store where he bought supplies and found out that Mitteldorfer was keeping an office there.”

“An
office
? What the hell for?”

“That was pretty much my reaction. The lady in
charge said he had a computer in there and that he was trading stocks.”

“Holy shit, and I bet I know who for.”

“Warkowski.”

“Damn right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t for the warden, too.”

“The lady said he gave her and the store’s owner a few hot tips.”

“You ever hear of anything like this?”

“Never.”

“So where’s Mitteldorfer now?”

“Nobody knows, or, at least, nobody’s saying. The lady in the store said he said he was going west.”

“Jesus, I hope so,” Dino said. “I never want to see the little bastard again.”

“Somebody came up with a black van and took his computer and his files away.”

“So he’s not without friends.”

“Not while Warkowski’s alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if the captain helped him move. What have you got to report?”

“I’ve had two detectives going through every case we worked as partners, and I’m damned if there’s anything that looks good. Just about everybody we sent up for anything serious is still inside.”

“You had any new experiences that would indicate that our guy is still out there?”

“Nah. I think he’s licking the wounds that Mary Ann gave him. He’d be pretty noticeable with a big bandage on his ear.”

“Nobody followed us out of town that I could see.”

“That’s what Krakauer said.”

“And once I was on the West Side Highway, nobody could have kept up.”

“What
are
you driving?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“How’s the inn?”

“Perfect, except that I’m talking to you when I should be talking to Sarah.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Bye.” Stone hung up and returned to the bar.

“That was Dino, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“It was.”

“Dino knows before I do where I’m spending the weekend?”

“I wasn’t surprising Dino.”

“Good point.”

“You hungry?”

“You bet.”

“Miss, could I have a menu and a wine list, please?”

They polished off a dinner of smoked salmon and roast pheasant and a bottle of very good cabernet, then, sated, went back upstairs.

Later, after they had made love again, Stone said, “I like having you around. I’d like to have you around all the time.”

“I hope to God that’s not a proposal,” she said, lifting her head from his shoulder.

“Not yet.”

“Not for a long while,” she said.

“As you wish, but I would like to point out that you are, technically, at least, homeless.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, entirely mine. And I want to make up for it by offering you a bed…home, rather.”

“And a very nice home it is,” Sarah said. “Your house was a shambles when I left for Italy.”

“Do you think you could feel at home in it?”

“I think I could feel at home with you.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say.”

“Yes, there is.”

“What?”

“I told you before, I’m a country girl; I need a place outside the city.”

“Where would you like to have a place?”

“Not the Hamptons; I’ve had too much of that crowd.”

“Where, then?”

“Maybe here.”

“I don’t think I could swing the inn, even with a mortgage.”

“A house, silly, and not a big house; a cottage, perhaps.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Why don’t we find a real-estate agent tomorrow morning?”

“Do you mean it, Stone?”

“Do you think I’m saying this just because you got me into bed?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re a rotten judge of character.”

“We’ll see in the morning,” she said, snuggling her naked body against his.

Stone fell asleep wondering where Herbert Mitteldorfer was.

22

S
TONE SAT IN THE FRONT PASSENGER SEAT
of a black Range Rover and tried not to fall asleep. The car was being driven by a real-estate agent named Carolyn Klemm, and she had already shown them half a dozen houses, all charming, but not quite right. Sarah dozed in the rear seat. The car stopped, jarring Stone fully awake.

“What do you think of that?” the agent asked.

Stone focused on a very large, very beautiful shingle-style house in the medium distance.

“I’ve got the key in my pocket,” Carolyn said.

“Carolyn, I don’t want a house tour,” Stone grumbled. “I want to see houses I can afford.”

“Not
that
,” Carolyn said. She pointed. “That.”

Stone turned his head to the right. There, much closer, was a very much smaller relative of the large house.

“The big place is called The Rocks,” Carolyn said.
“The little place was originally the gatehouse.”

Sarah spoke up. “Let’s see it.”

Carolyn pulled into the driveway, past a row of evergreens that partly shielded the little house from the road. It was a Victorian, or perhaps a Queen Anne, style, shingled, with a turret taking up half the front facade. “Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, garage, and in back, a very nice little pool.” She got out of the car, led them up the front path, and opened the front door.

Stone and Sarah stepped into a larger room than he had expected. A new-looking kitchen occupied a rear corner, and the wooden floors looked recently refinished.

“It was built in 1889, at the same time as the house,” Carolyn was saying. “When the original owner left, he sold it separately from The Rocks, and it’s changed hands two or three times since.”

“Let’s see the upstairs,” Sarah said.

They followed the agent up a handsome staircase and were shown a large master bedroom with a new bath and a second, smaller bedroom, with only a shower. They poked into closets and looked out windows. The bedrooms overlooked The Rocks, and the front windows took in the Gunnery School, across the street. They went back downstairs.

“This whole area is called The Green,” Carolyn was saying. “It’s the oldest part of town and the most sought-after.”

“What are they asking for the house?” Stone asked.

“You could get lucky here,” Carolyn replied. “The
couple who own it are divorcing, and they’re highly motivated sellers. They want to get their money out and divide it.” She named a figure.

Stone looked at Sarah inquiringly; she responded with an almost imperceptible nod. Stone turned to Carolyn and quoted a figure twenty percent lower than the asking price.

“Let me use the upstairs phone,” Carolyn said.

When she had gone Sarah grabbed Stone by the lapels. “If you hadn’t made the offer
I
would have! It’s absolutely beautiful, and it’s just been renovated.”

“There are still a few things that need doing, but I could do them myself,” Stone said.

“And there’s a lovely little garden out back. Do you know what that means to an Englishwoman?”

“I can imagine. The garden’s all yours.”

Carolyn came back down the stairs. “Did you plan to pay cash or finance it?”

“I can pay cash,” Stone replied.

“Good; here’s the deal. Increase your offer ten percent and agree to close in two weeks, and the place is yours.”

“Done,” Stone said.

“Let’s go to my office and type up an offer,” Carolyn said, marching them out to the Range Rover. “And you’ll have to come to dinner the next time you’re up from the city. I’ll introduce you to a lot of people.”

Two hours later, the sellers had faxed back a signed contract, and Stone left with it in his pocket, having left a large check as deposit.

“Did that really happen so quickly?” Sarah asked.

“It certainly did.”

“Why were you so ready to buy it?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Of course, but…”

“I was way ahead of you. I’d been thinking about a country place for a while, and I spent a weekend up here a couple of years ago with…an acquaintance.”

“And who might that have been?” Sarah asked archly.

“A woman named Amanda Dart.”

“The gossip columnist? The one who was murdered outside the Plaza Hotel?”

“One and the same.”

“Did they ever figure out who killed her?”

“No arrest was ever made.”

“But they know?”

Stone shrugged. “Maybe, but it won’t ever be solved.”

“Why not?”

“Because the people who arranged it don’t make a practice of committing murders that can be solved.”

“Stone, tell me the house you just bought wasn’t Amanda Dart’s.”

“It wasn’t. I’m not even sure exactly where Amanda’s place is. I was only there a couple of times, and it was on some back road or other.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d been to Washington before.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Am I ever going to get to know all the nooks and crannies of your devious mind?” she asked.

“God, I hope not.”

“I’m going to have to start looking for furniture and fabrics.”

“Listen, Sarah,” he said, “we still have to be very careful.”

“With money?”

“With your safety.”

“Why? Hasn’t your suspect flown the coop?”

“Yes, but we don’t know where he’s flown to. You can’t tell anybody about this place for the time being, and maybe not for a long time.”

“But I want to tell
everybody
.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s okay. As far as decorating goes, I think we should buy a bed and some other necessities in the city, then furnish the place from the shops and antique shops around here. There are a lot of them.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Something else.”

“What?”

“I’m worried about your show. I know it would be difficult, but do you think you could cancel, or at least, postpone it?”

“Are you
insane
? Bergman has sent out a thousand invitations, at the very least.”

“I drove past the gallery yesterday; it’s very exposed, opening right onto Madison Avenue. I’d feel better if it were on a side street.”

“Stone,” she said, “understand me clearly: I am
not
going to have my life ruled by some maniac who wants to harm us. I’ll tell you a story: I lived in London at the height of the IRA bombings a while back. I was
having dinner with my parents at a little restaurant in Chelsea, when someone set off a car bomb next door. We all hit the floor, of course, but when the smoke had cleared, my father ordered another cup of coffee to replace the one that had blown away, and he sat there and finished it. ‘Never,’ he said, ‘
never
let people like that cause you to alter your existence in the slightest.’ Since that time, I never have, and I never will. I wouldn’t have left my friends’ apartment if I hadn’t been so anxious to get into bed with you.”

“Well, that was an awfully good reason,” Stone said.

“So you understand that I will not cancel my show.”

“I understand. I hope you understand that I’m going to do whatever I can to make it as safe a show as possible.”

“I’ll be happy to introduce you to Bergman; the two of you can discuss that.”

“I’ll be happy to meet him.”

They reached the inn and went upstairs to dress for dinner.

“It was an awfully nice day,” Sarah said, as she ran her bath.

“I suppose there are worse ways to see a place than with a real-estate agent who knows her stuff.”

She got into the tub. “Join me?”