“It has a fireplace.”
She sighed. “Well, I guess that will just have to do.”
31
Stone kept checking his mirror, looking for the black Cayenne, and once, near Bedford, he turned off the Sawmill River Parkway and stopped for gas, while telling Carla to keep down. He saw no pursuer during the six-minute stop, so when they were back on the Sawmill, he gave Carla the all clear again.
She sat up. “I think I’m beginning to like it down there,” she said. “I was almost asleep.”
Stone continued up I-684 to I-84, after which they were on country roads. He stopped occasionally to check for a tail but saw only weekenders with New York plates, their cars stuffed with pumpkins and overpriced antiques, wending their way back to their very expensive cottages.
Finally, they arrived in Washington and drove down little streets choked with gold and red leaves to his own cottage. He pulled into the driveway and behind the hedge, now concealed from the road. “Stay here for just a minute while I check the house,” he said.
“Oh, all right,” she replied, “but very soon I’m going to want a drink.”
“Very soon,” he said, getting out of the car and unlocking the front door. The alarm system beeped at him, and he entered his code. Alarmingly, it continued to beep. He reentered the code, the only code he had ever had for this house, and without so much as taking another breath, a loud, electronic beep began screeching, and an even louder siren began to wail. He stepped outside the door and yelled to Carla. “It’s all right; just wait a minute.” He stepped back inside to hear the phone ringing and picked it up.
“Hello.”
“This is Litchfield Security. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Stone Barrington.” He gave the man the cancellation code, and a moment later, the noise stopped. “My code didn’t work,” he said.
“What code are you using?”
Stone told him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington, but that is not the code programmed into your system.”
“Then somebody has changed it, because I’ve never had another code for this system.”
“No one here has changed your code, sir.”
“Well, please change it back.”
“What was the original code?”
Stone told him.
“You wish to use that?”
“Yes, please.”
“May I have your social security number and your mother’s maiden name for identification purposes?”
Stone gave them to him.
“One moment, please.”
Stone stood waiting, tapping his foot.
“Mr. Barrington, your code has been reinstated. I’m sorry for the difficulty.”
“But you have no idea how it got changed?”
“No, sir. It can be changed from your keypad, but that requires the original code.”
“Thank you,” Stone said, then hung up. He stepped outside the door. “Okay, Carla, we’re all right now,” he called. He opened the trunk with his key and brought their bags inside. “Here we are.”
“It’s lovely,” she said. “Now can I have a drink? That bourbon you like, perhaps?”
Stone poured her a drink, then took their bags upstairs and returned to pour himself one.
Carla was sitting on the living room sofa. “It’s very pretty, fresh flowers and all.”
“The housekeeper,” Stone said. “Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?”
“Of course not, as long as it’s not for phone sex.”
Stone laughed, sat down beside her, picked up the phone and called Bob Cantor.
“Cantor.”
“Bob, I’ve just arrived at the Connecticut house, and my alarm code didn’t work. Somehow, it had been changed. Do you have any idea how that could have happened? I mean, you installed the system, after all.”
“A very sophisticated electronics nut could use a small instrument to read your code and change it,” he said. “He would have to change the code to get past your system, then change it back before he left.”
“He didn’t change it back.”
“Then one of two things happened: Either he forgot to change it back, or he wanted you to know he had been there.”
“Why would he want that?”
“Just to annoy you, probably, and to make you feel unsafe in your own house.”
“How can I prevent this happening again?”
“I have a modified circuit card that can be installed in your keypad that will make the alarm go off immediately if he should try it again. It won’t even wait the usual thirty seconds.”
“When can you install it?”
“How soon do you want it done?”
“As soon as possible.”
“I can drive up there now, if you like, but you’re going to have to buy me dinner and put me up for the night.”
“There’s a problem with that.”
“I take it you are not traveling alone.”
“Correct, but I’ll put you up at the local inn and buy you dinner there.”
“Oh, good, then I can bring company.”
“Sure, you can.” Stone looked at his watch. “We’re going to dinner at seven-thirty; I suggest you arrive at the house shortly after that, do your work, then go check in at the Mayflower. I’ll make your reservation.”
“You are a prince, sir. Good-bye and God bless thee.” Cantor hung up.
“That’s pretty good service,” Carla said.
“It’s pretty expensive service, but it’s worth it, so that we won’t be disturbed.”
“Do we have to do anything while we’re here except make love?”
“Well, between times, when I should be resting, I have to go and see a client who lives a few miles from here. You might enjoy seeing his place.”
“Well, all right, as long as I can spend most of my time enjoying you.”
“You may certainly do that.”
“After all, it’s why we came, isn’t it?”
“It’s one of the reasons,” he replied.
“What are the others?”
“You’ll have to discover them one at a time.”
“May I begin now, so that I will have something to freshen up from when we have dinner? Remember, you owe me one.”
“I can arrange immediate repayment,” he said, taking her hand and leading her upstairs.
32
Stone and Carla went to the Mayflower Inn for dinner, and as they entered, piano music was coming from the bar.
Carla perked up. “Who’s playing?” she asked.
“David Grossman plays in the bar on weekends,” Stone said. They stopped at the bar’s entrance, the dining room still ahead of them.
“Can we eat in the bar?” Carla asked.
“Sure.” Stone let the headwaiter know, and they found a snug table along the wall facing the bar and not too far from the pianist, who was playing standards twice as old as he with great fluency. They ordered drinks and menus.
“I like this inn,” Carla said.
“Lots of people do. It was designed as a school by the same architect who did my cottage and the big house next door, called The Rocks, and it was redone at great expense by a retired stockbroker and his wife who recently sold it to somebody I don’t know.”
Their drinks arrived, and they began looking at menus. Stone looked up and saw Bob Cantor standing in the hall outside the dining room.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Carla said. “Ladies’ room.”
Stone moved the table out for her and decided to go and speak to Cantor.
“Hey,” Cantor said, as Stone approached. “Let me introduce you to Bonnie Pepper. Bonnie, this is my friend, Stone Barrington.”
Bonnie Pepper was small, blonde and cute. “Hello, Bonnie, it’s good to meet you. Bob, have you already been to the house?”
“Oh, yeah, it only took me ten minutes to change the circuit board and reprogram the system.” He dug into a pocket and produced a card with a four-digit number written on the back.
Stone looked at the card. “These are the last four digits of my Social Security number,” he said. “How did you know that?”
“There’s nothing I don’t know or can’t find out about you, Stone,” Cantor said.