“Mildred? I know her.”
“Why on earth would Charlie Crow be visiting a woman in her nineties in Bristol, Rhode Island?”
“Well, let me tell you about Mildred. She is the grande dame of Rhode Island society, at the very top of the ladder, but she’s penniless, for all practical purposes. Lots of assets, no cash to speak of, just the dividends on some bank stock she owns. She also has a house full of authentic and gorgeous things that have been handed down in the Strong family for more than two hundred years. We’re talking about pieces that have been in the same house for that long, and they’re worth, probably, many millions of dollars. Dealers have been circling her home for years, like vultures, waiting for her to die, but she seems to be in rude good health, and she won’t even talk to them let alone sell anything.”
“Doesn’t she have any children or grandchildren?”
“No, old Caleb was the last of the Strong line, and she’s outlived all the members of her own family. Nobody even knows who her heirs are. Museums have been kowtowing to her for decades, hoping to pull in her collection when she goes, but she won’t tell them anything.”
“The question now arises,” Stone said, “why is she talking to Charlie Crow? He spent a good two hours in her house today. What could he possibly have to offer her?”
“Now, that’s a very interesting question,” Barton said, sipping his drink. “What could a jerk like Charlie Crow have to offer Mildred Strong?”
Dino spoke up. “Money? You said she was penniless.”
“Yes, sort of, but she’s not without assets besides her furniture. Her husband was a founding investor in a thriving local bank up there, and she’s never sold any of his stock. Rumor has it that she has fifty-one percent, but nobody knows for sure. The bank has no choice but to carry her. If she writes a check, they pay it, and she must have a very big overdraft by now.”
“How do they explain that to the bank examiners?” Stone asked.
“I suppose the bank’s board members must be putting their own funds in her account to keep her in the black. They certainly don’t want to piss her off, because she holds all that stock. She could sell it to one of the big banking conglomerates in a heartbeat, and the board would suddenly find themselves out of their cushy seats and into the street. So they pay her checks.”
“I wish I had that kind of a relationship with a bank,” Dino said.
“Don’t we all?” Barton replied.
They were all quiet for a few minutes, eating their dinner.
“I can think of something Crow could offer her,” Stone said.
“What?” Barton asked.
“An annuity.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Suppose our Charlie approaches her – he gets an introduction through some mutual acquaintance – and Charlie says, ‘Look, Mildred, you’ve got some beautiful things here, and I never want you to be separated from any of them. I understand that you need funds, though, so I’m prepared to offer you an annual income for the rest of your life, if you’ll make me the heir to the things in your house.’ ”
Barton nodded. “Either that or he just offers her ten or twenty million now, and she keeps her lifetime ownership. After all, how much longer can she last?”
“My impression is that Charlie doesn’t have that kind of cash on hand,” Stone said. “He seems to have been sailing pretty close to the wind. For a long time. I don’t even know if he could raise the annuity.”
“An annuity is an interesting idea,” Barton said. “I wish I’d thought of it.”
“Is it too late?” Stone asked.
Barton shrugged. “Maybe not. Mildred likes me, and I think she might talk to me. If she does, that would give me a chance to find out exactly what she’s got in that house, too.”
“How long since you’ve spoken to her?” Stone asked.
“I saw her at a dinner party at Marble House in Newport last year, and she seemed very pleased to see me. We chatted for nearly an hour over coffee, and I was careful never to bring up anything about her possessions.”
Dino broke in. “All this is very interesting, but let’s get back to Charlie Crow. Why the hell would he be interested in antique furniture?”
“Money,” Stone said. “Charlie is very interested in money.”
“I’ll grant you that,” Dino said, “but why furniture? Why does he even know anything about it? I saw a picture of his apartment in a magazine a few weeks ago, and it was full of a lot of awful gilded tables and chairs and huge chandeliers. Why would a guy like that know about or have any interest in eighteenth-century American furniture? If he were buying it, how would he know what to pay for it? And I find it hard to believe that Charlie and this Mildred would have any mutual acquaintances.”
“Good point,” Barton said. “It’s a mystery.”
“Barton,” Stone said, “do you have Mrs. Strong’s phone number?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why don’t you call her tomorrow morning and tell her you’ll be passing through Bristol tomorrow and that you’d like to stop in and see her?”
“I could do that.”
“And maybe, if Crow has made her some kind of offer, you could top it.”
“That would depend on what he’s offered her,” Barton said.
“You might find a way to slip something into your conversation that would give her doubts about dealing with Crow.”
“I’d be doing her a favor,” Barton said. “Charlie is the kind of guy who’d screw her out of everything she’s got, if he could find a way, and he’s good at finding a way.”
Stone nodded. “Think of it as a rescue mission,” he said.
42
Stone was having breakfast in the kitchen the following morning when Barton came down.
“Good morning,” Stone said.
“Yes, good morning,” Barton replied. He seemed preoccupied.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“Oh, just toast and coffee.”
“You sure you wouldn’t like some eggs? Helene does wonderful scrambled eggs.”
“Perhaps just a plain omelette and orange juice.”
“Yes, sir,” Helene said, then went to work.
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night,” Barton said.
“And what have you concluded?”
“I think it’s worth a shot, assuming she doesn’t live forever.”
“How old is she, exactly?” Stone asked.
“At that dinner party where I last saw Mildred, another woman there told me she was ninety-six, and that was last year.”
“Well, if she’s ninety-seven and still healthy, she might live another ten years, maybe more.”
“Not unless she’s a freak of nature,” Barton said.
“You could assume that as a downside. How long could you afford to go on paying her?”
“If you can get my stolen secretary back, I could afford to pay her for a long time.”
“Decisions, decisions,” Stone said.
Barton dug into his omelette. “Delicious,” he said to Helene. “Stone, would you draw up a contract for me?”
“What kind of contract?”
“I’d like to say something like this: ‘I, Mildred Strong, agree to sell all the items listed on the attached list to Barton Cabot for the sum of blank, to be paid at the rate of blank annually until my death, at which time the residue would become payable to my estate, and Mr. Cabot would take possession of all the listed items. Until my death all the items would remain in my possession in my home. I instruct my executor to honor this contract within ten days of my death, upon receipt of the residue of funds from Mr. Cabot.’ ”
“That’s a pretty good contract right there,” Stone said. “Best to keep it simple, to one page, if possible, and you’d want at least one witness. You’d need to catalogue the goods, of course, and get her to sign the list, as well. How long would an inventory take?”
“To do a thorough job, probably a day or two. I’d want to get any documents she might have to provide provenance.”