I'm trying to remember what Morgan said. Something about how our ransom note was a copy of the Jon Benet Ramsey note. That our kidnapper had never kidnapped before, so he had to cheat to make it sound like he knew what he was doing.
I still don't know what Ceepak's doing. I thought this thing ended last night.
And why aren't we telling the chief where we are?
Ceepak shuts his flip phone.
“Let's go visit Ms. Stone.”
“At Chesterfield's?”
“Roger that.”
I hope she's in a better mood than the last time we all got together there. Like yesterday, when we tried to bust her.
* * *
“I was attempting to rescind Mr. Hart's order,” Ms. Stone explains.
We're in the dining room at Chesterfield's. Ceepak's nibbling on a blueberry muffin. She has a scone going, which is like a sideways biscuit you eat with jam instead of jelly. I'm helping myself to the breadbasket and lots of expensive butter-it's cut into patties shaped like seashells.
“Mendez had been hired to bring down The Palace Hotel?” Ceepak asks.
“Yes. I'm afraid so. Mr. Hart was reverting to the tactics he employed earlier in his career. The hotel had been declared an historic landmark and there was no economical way he could complete the modifications deemed necessary to make it commercially viable.”
“So Hart decided to destroy it instead?”
“Yes. It was certainly one way to skirt the restrictions imposed by the landmark laws.”
“You advised against it?”
“Strongly. It was a lovely old building. Almost like a castle. I believe we could have restored it.”
“But Mendez and his crew-they had it wired?”
“They'd been in town for about a week. Setting things up, placing charges in strategic positions. Timers. Their implosion plan was quite impressive.”
“You saw it?”
“Mendez told us what he and his team had worked up at a luncheon meeting on Friday.”
“Where?”
She flips open her daybook. I notice the pages are filled with tiny writing, like she records what she does every day in fifteen-minute intervals-probably so she can charge people all the billable hours she's due.
“The Lobster Trap.”
“Danny?”
“It's up near Locust Street.”
“We'll check it out.”
“Please do. It's the same meeting you found listed in Mr. Hart's computer diary.”
“The one you told us was cancelled?”
“Yes. Sorry. My mistake.”
“Don't worry,” I say and gesture toward Ceepak. “His pencil has an eraser.”
Ms. Stone stares at me. She doesn't get it. I grab another chunk of raisin roll.
“Why were the timers set for Sunday night?”
“Mr. Hart planned to leave town Sunday morning, after our final breakfast meeting concerning the implosion plan. Mendez, himself, was scheduled to depart Sunday afternoon, after one last check of the wiring.”
“So you'd all be long gone when the deed went down?”
“Yes.” Ms. Stone sounds ashamed. “When Mr. Hart was … murdered … I contacted Mr. Mendez. Offered to sell him the hotel property.”
“Why?”
“Pending probate, I had Mr. Hart's irrevocable power of attorney. I hoped to persuade Mr. Mendez to remove his incendiary devices. Thought if he owned it, he wouldn't be so quick to knock it down. I gave him some brochure mock-ups I had commissioned in a final attempt to convince Mr. Hart to develop the hotel into time-share units, not destroy it. Mendez agreed to meet with me here Sunday morning to discuss my ideas further….”
“Really?” Ceepak finds Ms. Stone's love of the grand old structure a little hard to swallow. Me too. I heard those rats scampering around in the walls. I might have been in the Hart-Mendez camp. Knock the sucker down!
“Why are you so interested in this particular building?” Ceepak asks.
“Stone, McCain and Whitby.”
“Excuse me?”
“My great-grandfather. Josiah Stone. He and his architectural partners designed the original hotel. It was their grandest achievement. When I first went to work for Mr. Hart, I encouraged him to pursue the property. I convinced him that we could restore it to its former glory. Mr. Hart was more impressed by the business possibilities. As you know, the hotel is situated on a prime piece of shoreline real estate. The whole north end of the island is a gold mine, waiting for the right person to come along and rescue it from decades of neglect. But refurbishing the landmarked hotel would prove prohibitively expensive to most….”
“But not Reginald Hart.”
“It would have been stupendous! We were going to put trendy shops in the lobby, gourmet restaurants and wine bars along a restored pier….”
“Mr. Hart became impatient?”
“He wanted a clean slate. An empty patch of ground where he could build something new and flashy. Maybe even a casino. He was confident he could push an ‘urban renewal’ gambling referendum through the local legislature. So he hired Mendez to bring the old building down. But when Mr. Hart died….”
“You went to work on Mendez?”
“Yes. Mendez could pull the plug, stop the demolition.”
“Until we locked him up in jail.”
“Yes. By then, I was afraid to tell you what I knew….”
“Understandable.”
“I wish now I had behaved differently. My silence destroyed my great-grandfather's legacy. I will always regret my inaction….”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Hart alive?” Ceepak asks.
“Saturday morning. I drove him and Ashley into town.”
Ah-hah. So that's how they got all the way from Beach Crest Heights to Sunnyside Playland.
“What time?”
“We left the house before 6:30.”
“Mr. Hart was an early riser?”
“No. He said Ashley ‘dragged him out of bed.’ He was very sleepy when we climbed into the car.”
“Why did you want Mr. Hart to change his will?”
“It made no sense. How is a thirteen-year-old child going to run a multinational corporation? I suggested we set up a trust fund for Ashley but cede corporate control to the board….”
“And?”
“He told me, in no uncertain terms, to ‘mind my own business.’”
“Why?”
“He never said.”
“Any theories?”
“None I wish to discuss. It would only be conjecture on my part, and I refuse to engage in idle speculation.”
Wow. Guess Ms. Stone has a Code, too.
Wonder if she's ever broken it.
“Why didn't Hart just drive himself into town Saturday morning?”
“I'm not sure. I think Ashley had him flustered. He told me to hurry and fetch the car. I felt like a chauffeur. I was up front, driving. They were in the back seat. Giggling. In truth, I was rather embarrassed to see this man I've always admired acting so childishly. I dropped them off and went looking for a cup of coffee.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Depends.”
“Your perfume. Do you purchase it at Victoria's Secret?”
“No.”
“It's not a Victoria's Secret fragrance?”
“That wasn't your question.”
Oh, boy. She's being a lawyer. Only answering the exact question asked.
“You asked me if I purchased it at Victoria’s Secret. I did not. It was gift. From Mr. Hart. I don't particularly like the scent. He, however, does. I'm no fool, nor am I averse to a little brown-nosing to advance my cause, so I wore it this weekend.”
“Clever.”
“Didn't work. He still wanted to knock down the hotel.”
“One last thing,” Ceepak says. “How did Mr. Hart and his ex-wife get along?”
“Which ex-wife?”
He smiles. I think he kind of likes her today.
“Number three. Ashley's mother.”
“Well,” she pauses to think how to best phrase what's coming next, “she was the mother of his only child….”
“But?”