“You’re half an hour late,” Carrie said. “I know — traffic. Those of us who live out here depart the city at dawn or midnight to miss it, visitors get bogged down in it.”
“Count me among the latter.”
A man in a white jacket, apparently Rupert, appeared with a silver tray bearing a large glass of a blood-red liquid with several kinds of vegetables crowding the top. Stone located a straw among the vegetation and drew a long sip. “That’s the best Bloody Mary I’ve ever tasted,” he said. “What’s your secret?”
“The secret is Rupert’s, and he’s not telling, are you, Rupert?”
“No, madam,” Rupert replied in a crisp British accent.
“So you see why I can’t fire him.”
“I see,” Stone replied. “That would be unwise.”
“I know a dozen people out here who would hire Rupert away, just for his Bloody Marys.”
“I’m sure he has other gifts, as well,” Stone said.
“Thank you, Mr. Barrington,” Rupert said, and left the room. A moment later Stone heard his trunk lid slam, and he winced. Then Rupert ran lightly up the stairs carrying Stone’s cases. He appeared to be in very good shape.
“So, Stone,” Nicky drawled in a New England Lockjaw accent, “who are you? I’ve never heard of you.”
“Millions haven’t,” Stone replied.
“I can’t place your accent.”
“I don’t think I have one. Sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult.”
“Stone is my new lawyer,” Carrie said. “He’s come all the way out here to write me a new will.”
“I doubt that,” Vanessa said, in a duplicate of Nicky’s accent. “He looks to me as though he has ulterior motives.” She turned to Carrie. “Or is that you sending that vibe?”
“Be nice, Vanessa, or Stone will think you’re a bitch. You too, Nicky.”
“Me, a bitch? Well, I never.”
“You do all the time,” Carrie replied. “And you know it. You’re just suspicious of people who have jobs.”
“Well, working does seem an awful waste of time, doesn’t it? I don’t know why anyone does it.”
Stone wanted to go to the fireplace, find the poker, and wrap it around his neck.
“Almost everyone does, Nicky,” Carrie said. “Even the one-tenth of one percent, like you. But not even they have a trust fund the size of yours.” She turned toward Stone. “Nicky’s great-grandfather founded one of America’s first tire companies more than a century ago, just at the moment when his product became a necessity.”
“You chose your ancestors well,” Stone said to him.
Nicky beamed at the thought.
They were at lunch on the rear deck, going at a lobster salad and drinking Montrachet, when Nicky started in again.
“So, Stone, let’s talk real estate. Where do you live?”
“In New York, you mean?”
“Oh, everywhere — tell us all.”
“In New York, I live in Turtle Bay. I also have homes in Dark Harbor, on Islesboro, in Maine, in Paris, and in Los Angeles. And I recently acquired a property in the south of England.”
“My, my, you do get around.”
“I get the feeling, Nicky,” Derek said, speaking for the first time, “that you’re dying to tell us where you live.”
“Oh, only in Greenwich, Manhattan, and Palm Beach,” Nicky replied. “I’m practically homeless, compared to Stone.”
That got a laugh.
“I would be interested to know,” Carrie said, “how and why you acquired each of those properties, Stone. If I’m not prying.”
“Well, let’s see. I inherited the house in Turtle Bay from a great-aunt, many years ago, when I was a police officer. Renovating it nearly broke me, so I took up the law to pay for the renovation and the property taxes.”
“A police officer!” Nicky cried. “I want to hear about that.”
“A much longer story,” Stone said.
“And Maine?”
“A first cousin left it to me after his untimely death, or rather, left me lifetime occupancy. I later bought it from the foundation that held title.”
“Aren’t you fortunate?” Carrie said. “Such nice relatives. Did you have an uncle in Los Angeles?”
“I’m a principal in a group of hotels, the first of which was built on property in Bel-Air owned by my late wife.”
“Ah, another inheritance!” Nicky crowed. “It’s better than a trust fund!”
“Paris?” Carrie persisted.
“I spent some time in a house owned by... an acquaintance, and I ended up buying it.”
“Where in Paris?”
“Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”
“Lovely. That leaves only the south of England.”
“A friend showed me a property on the Beaulieu River, near her home. She said I’d be taken with it, and she was right.”
Stone tried redirecting the conversation. “Derek, what do you do?”
“Oh, this and that,” Derek said. “I buy and sell.”
“Buy and sell what?”
Carrie interrupted. “Jewelry, mostly. Derek has the best eye for quality that I’ve ever known.”
“You’re too kind, Carrie,” Derek said.
“Not in the least!” she replied. “I’ve got three generations of jewelry in my safe, and Derek is going to help me cull the most out-of-date pieces and get the most money for them.”
Derek looked embarrassed. “I’ll do the best I can, Carrie, when you deign to show me the contents of that safe.”
Then, with complete suddenness, the conversation came to a halt. The wind had apparently shifted.
“Good God,” Carrie said, “what is that awful odor?”
Bob, who had been lying quietly at Stone’s feet, got up, jumped down from the deck, and began trotting in the direction of the next property.
Stone knew what the odor was. “Excuse me,” he said.
He got up and followed Bob.
7
Bob trotted toward the twelve-foot-high hedge that separated Carrie’s house from the next property, and hardly slowed as he squirmed through a hole at the bottom of the greenery. Stone took a right and walked to where the hedge parted to accommodate a padlocked gate. Stone grabbed the top of the gate and vaulted over.
Bob was sitting on the grass at the end of the house, looking at a pair of open windows on the second floor. He tilted his head back, aimed at the sky and gave forth with a single, long howl, then he came to Stone and sat down. “Thank you, Bob,” Stone said. “Message received. Let’s go have a look.”
Stone climbed the curving front steps to the porch and rang the doorbell. He could hear the chime from somewhere deep inside. He hammered on the front door, then tried opening it. To his surprise, unlike the front gate, it was unlocked. The odor got stronger. “Hello!” he shouted. “Anyone home?” He started to look around the ground floor, but Bob trotted up the stairs. Stone followed and came to a long hallway. Bob was sitting at the end in front of a closed door, looking back at him and whimpering. Stone walked down the hall and rapped on the door. “Hello! Anybody there?” He opened the door; the stench was overpowering. Bob entered, ran across the room and sat down next to the king-sized bed. There were women’s clothes in the closet and shoes scattered around the room. Stone tried breathing through a handkerchief. The bed was covered by a large duvet, and there was a large lump beneath it.
He took a deep breath and pulled back the duvet, just for a second. He didn’t need more than that to know that he didn’t want to see any more of what was there. He returned the duvet to its original position and left the room. “Come on, Bob,” he said, and the dog followed him. He closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway. He could hear voices from downstairs now.