Stone’s cell phone rang, but the calling number was blocked. “Hello?”
“Is this Stone Barrington?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Monique Sullivan, at CNN. I’m calling about the death of Carrie Fiske, and I understand you’re her attorney.”
“Hang on a minute. Excuse me, I’d better take this.”
He walked into the study. “Ms. Sullivan?”
“Yes. Can you tell me what happened? And don’t spare the details.”
“You should call Sheriff Martinez at the Rio Arriba Sheriff’s Office. He’s the man in charge.”
“I’ve already spoken to him, and he didn’t give me much. All I know is she’s dead and they’re looking for her ex-husband, one Harvey Biggert.”
“Biggers. That’s what I know, too. It would be helpful if you could report that on the air.”
“Love to, but I need details. Where are you right now?”
“I’m in Santa Fe.”
“Great, so am I. Could we meet for a drink?”
“I’m sorry, I’m spending the evening with friends. You can call me tomorrow. Goodbye.” He hung up, and his phone began to ring again, almost immediately. He switched it off and put it back into his holster.
26
They had dinner with the Eagles, then Gala went home. “Call me tomorrow,” she said to Stone as she left.
Stone awoke the following morning to the ringing of his cell phone. “Hello?”
“It’s Joan.”
“Why so early?”
“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Not in Santa Fe.”
“Oh, well, you’re up at seven every morning anyway.”
“What is it?”
“Your new client, Ms. Fiske?”
“Yes?”
“You did a will for her, remember?”
“Yes, and we sent it to her a few days ago.”
“Well, she executed it — properly, I might add. All the signatures in the right places — but she made a change at the end.”
“What was that?”
“She crossed out the name of the bank she had named as executor, and wrote in your name and initialed it.”
“Oh, shit, that’s a job I don’t want.”
“Well, you can always get her to change it.”
“I’m afraid not — she died the day before yesterday.”
“Uh-oh, the husband?”
“Highly likely. If he turns up, don’t let him in and call the cops. Try not to shoot him.”
“Whatever you say. When are you coming home?”
“I was coming home today, but now I have arrangements to make. I forget, did she name a burial place?”
“Palm Beach, in her back garden, next to her parents.”
“Got an address?”
“It’s on Ocean Drive.” She gave him the number.
“All right.” He hung up, shaved, showered, and dressed and went down to breakfast. Nicky and Vanessa were already there. Stone greeted them, sat down, and reached for the eggs.
“I got a phone call this morning from my secretary. Carrie executed the will I drew up for her, but she changed the executor from her bank to me.”
“From your mien, I take it that’s a job you don’t want.”
“You are correct. You have a place in Palm Beach, as I recall.”
“That’s right.”
“Carrie expressed a wish to be buried in her garden there.”
“Yes, I remember that her parents are buried in a plot there.”
“Can you recommend a funeral director in Palm Beach?”
Nicky came up with a name. “That’s the society gravedigger, which means it will cost three times as much as it would in West Palm Beach, but Carrie would expect you to use them.”
Ed and Susannah came in. “I heard that last part. You’re her executor?” Ed asked.
“I’m afraid so. Can you recommend a funeral director here to collect the body and ship it?”
“Sure.” He wrote down a name and gave it to Stone.
“Is the estate going to have to go to probate?”
“No, I drew up a revocable trust for her.”
“I’ll order some certified copies of the death certificates for you. How many do you want?”
“I don’t know, fifty? I’ve handled exactly one estate since Arrington’s death, and I needed that many then.”
“I’ll send somebody over from my office to collect them. I’ll speak to the ME, too. I can’t see any reason why he shouldn’t release the body immediately, since there’s no doubt about the cause of death.”
“Thanks. Could you FedEx them to New York? Looks as though I’ll be making a stop in Palm Beach before going home. Nicky, if you want to be there for the burial, I’ll be happy to have you fly with me, then back to New York, if that’s where you’re headed.”
“Thank you, Stone, we’d like to be there, and we appreciate the ride.”
Stone finished his breakfast then went into Ed’s study and started making calls. Inside an hour he had made the necessary arrangements, received a faxed copy of the will from Joan, and was packed and ready to go. He called Gala.
“Hello?”
“Good morning,” he said.
“You aren’t going home today, are you?”
Stone explained his new duties. “How would you like a free trip to Palm Beach and New York for a few days?”
“I think I could handle that.”
“Pick you up in an hour?”
“What shall I pack?”
“Something for a funeral, and whatever else you would like.”
“I think I’ll travel light. I haven’t been shopping in New York for a long time. In an hour, then.”
Stone said goodbye to Susannah. “I don’t remember if I wished you a happy birthday.”
“Neither do I,” she replied. “It was that kind of party.”
“I’m grateful for the introduction to Gala.”
“So is she. Take good care of her, she needs it.”
“Certainly.”
Ed drove them to the airport, picking up Gala on the way. He had a good look at Stone’s airplane and approved. They shook hands.
“Your turn to come to New York,” Stone said.
“We’ll surprise you.”
“I’ll count on that.”
Stone had filed direct to Palm Beach International, and half an hour later they were at flight level 410, with a stiff tailwind.
27
Stone landed at Palm Beach International and got a rental car. Nicky had arranged for him and Vanessa to be picked up. “I called Carrie’s housekeeper as you requested,” he said, handing Stone a slip of paper. “You and Gala are perfectly welcome to stay with us.”
“Thank you, but I suppose I’m going to have to dispose of Carrie’s house, so I’d better have a look at it.”
Nicky took out a notepad and wrote down another number. “Here’s a local man, an antiques dealer, who specializes in selling estate property, and the name of a real estate agent you might consider for selling the house.”
“Thank you, Nicky. I’ll call you as soon as I hear from the undertaker and have a time for the service.”
They shook hands and departed. Bob, who had been waiting patiently, hopped into the backseat and looked for an open window. Stone knew where Ocean Drive was and got them there, while Gala watched for the house number. “There!” she said. “The next one.”
Stone pulled into a gated drive; the gate was open, and they passed through. The house was set well back from the road; it was Georgian in style and reminded him of his property in England. He drove up, and a woman in a black uniform and white apron came out the front door and greeted them.
“I’m Hazel Sizemore,” she said, “the housekeeper here. I expect you’re Mr. Barrington?”
“That’s right,” Stone said, shaking her hand. “And this is Ms. Wilde.” A man in a black suit emerged from the house and took their luggage from the car. He was introduced as Oscar. “I know this must have come as a shock to you, Ms. Sizemore.”