“Okay, but not in my bedroom.”
“You’ll have your alarm locket to use, if the room is breached,” Mike said.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Joan said. “What do I have to do?”
“Nothing,” Mike said. “Come home after work, get in bed, watch a movie, or read a book until you’re sleepy. If you feel or hear something, don’t move, just press the locket.”
“Stone, will you sleep in Eddie Sr.’s dressing room?”
“No, we’ll want to leave that for Eddie Jr. But there’s a lock on the dressing-room door, so you can block the access to the bedroom.”
“Good,” Joan said. “Let’s do it.”
Fifty-One
Fred drove Stone and Joan back to his house, and they resumed work, as if nothing had happened. Stone thought it a good time to call Sandy Beech, and he did so.
“Ah,” she said. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Pleasant thoughts, I hope.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Dinner tonight? We might discuss those thoughts.”
“We might, indeed. See you at six.”
At ten minutes past six, Stone’s bell rang. He pressed the button and said, “Come in.” Then he walked toward the front door as she entered, looking around. “Oh, this is nicer than my house,” she said.
Stone led her to the study, poured her a drink, then took her on the ten-cent tour. They returned to the study with empty glasses, and Stone refilled them. “The bedrooms are upstairs. I’ll spare you looking at beds.” They sat down before a small fire in the hearth.
Stone raised his glass. “To second dates. They’re so much more fun than first ones.”
She raised her glass. “And to the absence of old boyfriends.”
“Have you broken it off with Bryce Newcomb?”
“Yes, but he probably hasn’t noticed yet.”
“How did you come to know him?”
“I met him at the bar at P. J. Clarke’s,” she said, laughing. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“I wish I’d met you first,” he replied.
“Oh, so do I. He just becomes more and more of a pest. I wrote him a nice note, suggesting he go fuck himself.”
“Do you think he’ll get your point?”
“Perhaps not. He can be quite dense at times.”
A beep was heard, and a face appeared on the screen that covered the front door.
“Goodness,” she said. “You have a video of Bryce?”
“No, that’s from a camera, live, pointed at the outside of the front door.”
“Did he ring the bell?”
“No.”
“It seems he’s taken to following me,” she said. “I believe that is the last stage of stalking.”
Stone thought the last stage of stalking was homicide, but he didn’t mention that. “Let’s hope so. Would you like me to go out and speak to him?”
“Please don’t. He will certainly take a swing at you, and then the police would come, and we’d be late for dinner.”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh, no,” Sandy said.
Stone pressed a button. “Good evening,” he said. “Go away.”
“That would take care of most people,” Sandy said, “but not Bryce.”
Stone looked up to find Fred standing at the door.
“Ms. Beech, Fred Flicker, who is my driver and factotum.”
“How do you do, Ms. Beech? Mr. Barrington, would you like me to speak to the gentleman?”
“Thank you, Fred. Try not to hurt him.”
Fred disappeared.
“Hurt Bryce? That little man?”
“Don’t underestimate Fred.”
“I hope he doesn’t underestimate Bryce!”
“We’ll see,” Stone said, pressing another button on the screen that gave them a wider shot from another angle. He turned up the volume a little.
Fred opened the front door. “Good evening,” he said. “May I help you?”
“I want to see Stone Barrington,” Newcomb said.
“Mr. Barrington is not receiving callers,” Fred replied.
“Listen, Shorty,” Newcomb said, reaching out and taking Fred’s lapels. There was a flurry of motion, then Newcomb was on his knees, and Fred was holding him there by a wrist, which was bent.
“I hope you are receiving me loud and clear,” Fred said. “Otherwise, I shall have to break a bone, and who knows where that could lead?”
“Okay, all right,” Newcomb said. “I’ll go quietly.”
“It would be a mistake for you not to do so,” Fred said, releasing the wrist. “Now go, before this takes a turn for the worse.”
Newcomb hurried away, holding his wrist. Fred came back inside and closed the door. “I don’t think we’ll hear from him again this evening,” Fred said to the camera.
“Thank you, Fred,” Stone said, then sat back and sipped his drink.
“That was impressive,” Sandy said.
“And effective,” Stone replied. “Fred is an ex — Royal Marine commando.”
Fred came to the door. “Cook has asked me to tell you that dinner will be served in this room,” he said, wheeling in a tray and setting things on the table behind the sofa, then opening and decanting a bottle of wine.
“Hungry?” Stone asked.
“Ravenous,” Sandy replied.
Fifty-Two
Eddie Jr. entered the house through the service entrance to the kitchen, tilting a hat over his face to thwart a possible camera. He stood inside the butler’s pantry and listened for signs of security people, while he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He removed his shoes and held them in his hand, as he traversed the kitchen. He went to his father’s dressing room and found the door leading to the master bedroom uncharacteristically closed and, by the position of the thumb lock, locked. He liked that, because if anyone tried to enter, they would first have to unlock it, making noise that would alert him.
He emptied his pockets, stripped off the shoulder holster, then hung up his father’s overcoat, suit, and tie. He then went to the laundry room, removed his shirt, underwear, and socks, and dropped them into the washing machine. He added a dollop of detergent and switched on the machine. Silently, it began its work.
He thought about using the bed but changed his mind. Instead he took a blanket and pillow from a shelf and stretched out on the sofa, making himself comfortable. After a moment, he got up, went to where he had left his pocket contents, removed the silenced pistol, and returned to his makeshift bed. After a moment of listening for alien sounds, he fell asleep.
He woke before dawn, went to the laundry, and shifted the washed items to the dryer, then he took the iron from its cupboard and lowered the built-in ironing board. By the time he had shaved, bathed, and dressed, the dryer had finished its work and he removed the contents, ironed the shirt and boxers, and folded them carefully. Somewhat to his surprise, he found himself with two pairs of socks and underwear, and he remembered that he had previously left a set in the dryer.
He put away the shirt in its appointed place, folded the socks and shorts, and put them with their mates. Then he took the extra socks and underwear back to the dryer and dropped them inside.
He dressed and let himself quietly out of the house well before eight o’clock, which would be when the security people changed shifts. Then he put on his shoes and walked over to Lexington Avenue where there was a good diner. He ate a hearty breakfast, then he caught a cab to Eleventh Avenue, where most of the car dealerships lived, and browsed the showroom and sales lot of the Mercedes-Benz dealer.
A salesman materialized but didn’t crowd him. “May I answer any questions?” he asked gently.
“Tell me about that,” Eddie said, pointing.
“That is an E55, three years old, with twenty-two thousand miles on the clock. The engine is from the AMG department, and it is the fastest Mercedes of its time. The color is obsidian black. Would you like to drive it?”