“Really? I thought it was exclusively a male characteristic.”
Stone sat up on the blanket and picked up the binoculars.
“What is it?” Carla asked.
“A truck,” he replied.
“It is a very Harlanlike characteristic to find a truck more interesting than I,” she said, archly.
“Oh, I don’t find it nearly as interesting as you, but you’re too close for binoculars,” he replied, focusing more finely.
She pulled the binoculars away from his face and kissed him. “Does that help?”
“That was delightful, but they’re unloading something from the truck, and I’d like to see what it is, if you’ll give me just a moment, then you will have my undivided attention.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, handing him the binoculars.
Stone watched as four men removed a large crate from the back of the truck and began carrying it up the front steps of the house. The two men at the rear of the crate then hoisted it above their heads and climbed the steps.
“It’s light,” Stone said.
“Swell.”
“And it’s bigger at the bottom than at the top.”
“Fascinating.”
Someone opened the front doors wide, and the men carried in the crate.
“It’s empty,” Stone said.
“What?”
“Four men are carrying a large, empty crate into Ab Kramer’s house.”
“Ab Kramer? The financial guy?”
“One and the same. Now why would they take an empty crate into his house.”
“Maybe they’re going to pack something in the crate and take it away.”
“Now that is an eminently sensible observation,” he said, putting down the binoculars, taking her into his arms and pulling her down to the blanket. “And you have my undivided attention.”
“I hope you’re not thinking of undressing me,” she said. “It’s chilly out here.”
“I was seeking only affection, not sex.”
“Well, it’s not as though we haven’t been getting any sex, is it?”
He laughed. “I’ve no complaints in that department.”
She sat up and looked toward the house, then picked up the binoculars. “They’re bringing the crate out,” she said.
“May I look?”
She handed him the binoculars.
Stone watched as the men reloaded the crate into the truck and was surprised that they coordinated their efforts and actually tossed the crate the last few feet. He could hear the noise when it fell into the bed of the truck. “There’s still nothing in it.”
“What?”
“They took an empty crate into the house, then brought it out again, still empty. Does that make any sense?”
“Not to me.”
“Nor to me, either.”
34
The sun passed behind the trees, bringing shade and chill to their clearing. Carla began collecting their debris and packing up.
“You have a domestic side, don’t you?” Stone said admiringly.
“My domestic side begins and ends with picking up the phone and calling room service. Why do you think I live in a hotel?”
“Well, when required, you rise to the occasion.”
“I could say the same of you,” she said, handing him the basket and shaking out the blanket.
What am I going to do with this girl? Stone was thinking. If Harlan Deal so much as sees us together, he could yank his account from Woodman amp; Weld, and at least half my income would vanish in a puff of smoke. She’s great, but is the relationship worth that risk? “I’d like you to meet someone,” Stone said, an ulterior motive stirring deep down in his cerebral cortex.
“Who?”
“A client of mine. You’ll like him.”
“Does he live in the woods?”
“Yes, but not these woods. Next to a lake.”
They drove down to Lake Waramaug and to Barton Cabot’s house. To Stone’s surprise, Barton was standing outside the barn, waiting for them, his right hand in his trousers pocket.
“Good afternoon, Stone,” Barton said as they got out of the car. He gave Carla a long look up and down. “And who’s this?”
“Barton, this is Carla. Carla, this is Barton Cabot.”
She offered him a hand. “How do you do?” she said.
“I do very well, but never better than now,” Barton replied.
“You were expecting us?” Stone asked.
Barton shook his head. “Just something I ordered from a catalogue. It beeps in the house and barn when a car drives past the mailbox. Sort of a doorbell for automobiles.” He led them into the house and the study and offered them drinks.
“I think I’d rather have tea, if you can manage it,” Carla said.
“I’ll have bourbon in my tea,” Stone added.
Ten minutes later they were settled into comfortable furniture before a blazing fire.
“Carla, where do you live?” Barton asked.
“In New York City.”
“Where in New York City?”
“At the Carlyle Hotel. I sing there, in the Bemelmens Bar, four nights a week. Play the piano, too.”
“I’d love to hear you sometime.”
“I’d love for you to hear me sometime.”
“I have a piano.”
“Is it in tune?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m afraid I don’t play untuned pianos, and I sing only for money.”
“I’ll pay the Carlyle, then.”
“Good.”
Stone eased out of his chair, strolled to the other side of the study and inspected a set of leather-bound books. His ulterior motive realized, he was not needed on the other side of the room. He extracted a book, one of six in a leather-bound set. It was a signed first edition of Winston Churchill’s history of the Second World War. He wondered, philistine that he was, what that was worth at auction. He moved to a wall hung with pictures, close together. The nearest to him was a Western scene by Albert Bierstadt. He spotted two very fine landscapes from the Hudson River School. This was the wall of either a multimillionaire or a very shrewd collector who had been at it for a long time. He went on exploring, listening in occasionally on the conversation going on behind him.
“You appear to be of Scandinavian extraction,” Barton said.
“Half Swedish, half Sicilian.”
“What an interesting combination.”
“You have no idea.”
The conversation fell into a gap, and Stone returned to his seat.
“Is there a powder room nearby?” Carla asked Barton.
“Through that door, first left,” Barton replied.
Carla rose and left the room.
“Is she for me?” Barton asked.
“She is if you want her and she’s agreeable.”
“What have I done to deserve such a gift?”
“You’ll be getting me off a hook. She recently left a former, very powerful boyfriend who is a legal client of mine, in a manner of speaking, and if he catches me in her company, it might reflect badly on the firm to which I am counsel.”
“I’m happy to be of help,” Barton replied with a small smile.
“Would you like to keep her for a couple of days, then return her to the city?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Good. Now I have a puzzle for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Carla and I picnicked today at the spot where you and Holly and I watched Ab Kramer’s house.”
“Yes?”
“A truck arrived, and four men unloaded a large crate that, from the way they carried it, appeared to be empty.”
“So Ab is packing up something?”
“I don’t think so. A few minutes later the four men returned with the crate and practically tossed it back into the truck. I think it was still empty.”
Barton’s brow furrowed, then his eyebrows suddenly went up. “What were the dimensions of the crate?”
“I don’t know exactly, but it appeared to be around seven or eight feet by four or five feet, and it was deeper at the bottom than at the top.”
“Around the size it would take to hold a large mahogany secretary?”
Stone was about to reply when Carla came back into the room, and Barton signaled to stop their conversation.
“Somehow I sense you two have been talking about me,” Carla said.