by Stuart Woods
The following morning, Stone had just reached his desk when Joan stuck her head into his office. “I think you’d better come and tell me what to do with all this,” she said, and was gone before he could ask.
He followed her out the front door to the street, where a number of wooden crates were being unloaded at the curb. “What is this?” he asked.
“You tell me,” Joan replied. “It seems to be wine. I hope to God you haven’t bought a lot of wine. Right now, you can’t afford wines that come in wooden crates.”
Stone took a closer look at the crates. Château Palmer, 1961; Beaune, Clos de Roi, 1959; La Tache, Domaine de Romanée-Conti, 1959; Le Montrachet, 1955. “Good God,” he said.
“How much did all this cost?” Joan demanded.
The truck driver handed him an envelope. “There’s a note,” he said. “Where do you want all this put?”
Stone opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of very fine stationery.
My dear Stone,
I hope you will do me the favor of taking some of Caleb’s wine off my hands. There is so much, I’ll never be able to finish it before… well, before I kick off, as they say. It should be drunk by someone who loves and appreciates it as much as you. Enjoy it in good health!
Mildred Strong
“Don’t worry, Joan; it’s a gift,” Stone said. “Show them where the cellar is, please, and just have them stack it up. Don’t take it out of the crates.” He counted as they moved the crates: There were eight of them, each among the twentieth century’s finest vintages.
Stone sat down to write to Mildred. Joan returned a few minutes later. She came into Stone’s office. “I know the names of some of those wines,” she said. “Shall I call Christie’s or Sotheby’s about auctioning it?”
“Don’t you dare,” Stone said. “I plan to drink every bottle of it.”
“You should live so long,”
“I should,” he said, handing her his note. “Would you mail this, please?”
“Sure, I will, but if you’re ever broke again, and you will be, if I know you, then you’ll have a way to raise money.”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Stone said. He picked up the phone and called Tatiana.
“Hello?”
“I hope it’s not too early to be calling,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been up since five.”
“Well, be sure to take a nap this afternoon, so you’ll be fresh when I come to take you to dinner.”
“Oh, that would be nice. What time?”
“Pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“Perfect. Where are we going, so I’ll know how to dress.”
“How about La Goulue?”
“I love it there. See you at seven-thirty. Will you come through the back door?”
“That’s the most convenient way.”
“I’ll leave the kitchen door open for you.”
“See you then.” He hung up. The phone rang, and Joan picked it up.
She buzzed him. “There’s a man on the phone named Creighton Adams, says you’ve met. He’s a lawyer in Rhode Island?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll talk to him.” Stone punched the button. “Good morning, Creighton.”
“Good morning, Stone. I’m afraid I have sad news.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mildred Strong died last night.”
Stone was stunned. “She seemed so well when we met. What happened?”
“It was an embolism. Her doctor had found it in a scan some weeks ago. It was operable, but she refused the surgery. Said she didn’t want to be that sick at this time of her life. So she just carried on until it burst as she was leaving a dinner party last night.”
“She was such a remarkable woman,” Stone said, genuinely sad. “She sent me some wines from her cellar. They arrived only a few minutes ago. I had already written her a note.”
“That was like her: She was given to bursts of generosity, especially after she knew she might die at any moment.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Creighton. I’d like to attend her funeral or memorial service. Will you let me know when that is?”
“Of course. Now to business. I’ve written you a letter that will be delivered tomorrow, but I’ll give you a day’s head start. Please inform your client, Mr. Cabot, that he has ten days to pay the remaining nineteen million dollars called for in his contract with Mrs. Strong. Please tell him that we must be strict about the deadline.”
“Certainly, I’ll tell him,” Stone said. “And thank you again for calling me.” He hung up and sat there a while, thinking of Mildred Strong and her amazing generosity. He was glad to have had the experience of knowing her.
Then something else occurred to him. He hoped Charlie Crow hadn’t heard about her death, yet. It would be like him to stop payment on his half-million-dollar check.
50
Stone dialed Barton Cabot’s cell number, since he didn’t know if He was back in Connecticut yet.
“Hello?”
“Barton, it’s Stone.”
“Good morning, Stone.”
“Not so good; I have sad news.”
“What?”
“Mildred Strong died last night. Creighton Adams called me a couple of minutes ago.”
Silence.
“Barton?”
“I’m here; I’m just stunned.”
“So am I. She seemed so healthy, but Creighton said she’d known for some weeks that she had an embolism, and she elected not to have the surgery.”
“So she knew she was going to die.”
“Yes, but she didn’t know when.”
“That’s why she did the deal with me.”
“Someone once said that the foreknowledge of death concentrates the mind. I guess she wanted to get her affairs in order.”
“I last saw her at five o’clock yesterday, after we’d finished photographing everything. She seemed just fine.”
“She sent me eight cases of her best wine. It arrived this morning.”
“That was sweet of her.”
“It certainly was. There was a note saying that she didn’t think she could drink it before she ‘kicked off,’ as she put it.”
Barton laughed.
“Creighton also gave us verbal notice of the need for you to complete the contract. You have ten days from when we receive written notice, which will be tomorrow.”
“Good God! I hadn’t thought about that! I’m going to have to see my banker while I’m in New York. It’s a good thing we took the photographs; I’m going to have to put together a prospectus to send to a number of museums.”
“Do you anticipate any problem borrowing nineteen million dollars?”
“The furniture will be its own collateral, but I’ll have to borrow twenty million: I’ll have to send a specialist moving outfit to pack and store everything, and it will have to be insured.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to get started, then.”
“Will you call Creighton Adams and tell him the house should be put under guard immediately? I don’t want people taking things out of there.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Talk to you later.” Barton hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan. “Please get me Creighton Adams.” He sat and waited for her to make the call, then he thought of something.
“Creighton Adams.”
“Creighton, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Yes, Stone?”
“I’ve spoken to Barton, and he asked that you put the house under guard immediately and for twenty-four hours a day.”
“And who’s going to pay for that?”
“Until the deal is closed, it’s the estate’s responsibility, and you’re the executor, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“There’s at least twenty million dollars of very fine antique furniture in that house, and you don’t want any of it lost, and I doubt very much if it’s insured for its full value. You’d better
get it insured for the next ten days, and I’d use a value of forty million dollars.”
“That’s going to cost a fortune.”
“You can pay it out of the nineteen million you’re getting from Barton. Anyway, it’s only for ten days.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”
“Something else, Creighton. Last week Mrs. Strong did some business with a man named Charlie Crow. Are you aware of that?”
“No,” Adams said. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’s a New York real estate developer and not the straightest arrow in that particular quiver.”
“Why would such a person have business with Mildred? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“She sold him something; she wouldn’t say what.”
“Wait a minute, she asked me to send a notary over there to witness a document. Can you hang on for a minute?”
“Sure.” Stone sat and waited. Two minutes passed.
Adams came back on the line. “Stone?”
“I’m here.”
“I’ve spoken with the notary who witnessed the signatures, Mildred’s and Crow’s, on two documents: a bill of sale and a letter, both handwritten by Mildred.”
“The amount of the sale?”
“Half a million dollars. That explains the balance in her bank account.”
“What did Mildred sell Crow?”
“The notary was unable to see that; half the document was covered by Crow.”
“Creighton, have you made a public announcement of Mildred’s death?”
“No, but of course word is already all over Newport, because of the people at the dinner party.”
“I would advise you to withhold the public announcement until you’re sure Mr. Crow’s check has cleared.”
“You think he might try to stop payment?”
“I do. Did your notary say that Crow took anything with him when he left?”
“He didn’t.”
“So Mildred may not have delivered the item she sold him.”
“Not unless it was something he could put in his briefcase.”
“Just be sure the check has cleared before you make an announcement. There’s no rush, is there?”
“No, I guess not.”
“I think Charlie Crow, all by himself, is a good reason for having the property guarded.”
“I’ll take care of that right now, and I’ll call our insurance agent, too. Chubb will handle this very quickly, I’m sure; they hold the policy on the house.”
“Good-bye, then.” Stone hung up and called Barton.
“Hello?”
“I’ve spoken with Creighton, and he’s agreed to put guards on the house immediately and to have Mildred’s things insured.”
“That’s good.”
“I told him he should insure for forty million, and I think you should do that, too.”
“More than that,” Barton said.
“I also asked him about Mildred’s transaction with Charlie Crow. He said he sent a notary over there who witnessed two documents: a bill of sale for half a million dollars and a letter, both in Mildred’s handwriting. The notary couldn’t tell what was sold, but Charlie didn’t take anything with him, and we were there for the next two days, and he didn’t pick up anything then.”
“I don’t understand. What could she have sold him?”
“Maybe something that would fit in a briefcase. Jewelry, perhaps? Did she have any valuable jewelry?”
“Yes, she often wore fine pieces to dinner parties, but Mildred wouldn’t sell her jewelry.”
“Then I’m baffled,” Stone said.
“So am I.”
51
Stone was about to leave his office for the day when a FedEx envelope arrived. Inside was a dinner invitation from Abner Kramer for the coming Saturday night at his house in Connecticut. That was fortunate, he thought, because there was something he wanted to investigate in Kramer’s house.
He walked through the garden and appeared at Tatiana’s kitchen door on time. She was on the phone in the kitchen, and she waved him inside.
Stone walked to the kitchen counter, took a stool and watched her. She was wearing tan slacks and a black cashmere turtleneck sweater that called attention to her breasts. She looked smashing, he thought.
“Henry,” she was saying into the phone, “you’re going to have to get used to the idea of a property settlement. I’m sure your lawyer has explained to you that New York State law requires an equitable division of property. There are two ways we can do this: We can decide between us, with legal advice, or we can go to court and add legal fees to the total costs. I don’t much care, since you’ll end up paying my legal fees anyway.” She gave Stone a big shrug, pointed at the phone and drew a finger across her neck.
“No, I won’t wait six months,” she said. “If we don’t have an agreed settlement by the end of the week, I’m filing suit, and I’m also going to ask the judge for a hundred thousand dollars a month in temporary support while we’re waiting for a trial date.”
There was an unintelligible squawk from the other telephone, followed by some sort of tirade. Tatiana softly replaced the receiver and smiled at Stone, who was applauding.
“Very good,” he said. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“He’s probably still yelling,” she said, “thinking I’m still on the phone. Would you like a drink, or shall we go?”
Stone winced and slapped his forehead. “I forgot to book at La Goulue, and they’ll be full by now. Shall we go to Elaine’s instead?”
“Oh, yes! I’ve heard a lot about it, but I’ve never been there.”
Stone glanced at his watch. “We’re a little early for Elaine’s. It will be empty, so let’s have that drink.”
She waved him through the kitchen, then the dining room, then into a lovely living room. “What, sir, is your pleasure?”
Stone smiled. “Well… for the moment, just that drink – bourbon, if you have it.”
She opened a liquor cabinet and checked. “I have four bourbons,” she said.
“The one in the rectangular bottle, there,” he said, pointing.
“What would you like in it?”
“Ice,” he replied.
She poured the drink, then a Scotch for herself, and they settled into the sofa.
“You are the first date I’ve had since Henry and I separated,” she said.
“I’m glad I got here first,” he replied. “After Harlan Deal’s party there would have been a line.”
She laughed. “He called me today.”
“Harlan?”
“Yes. Apparently, he was miffed that I left with you.”
“Oh, good. I’m happy to miff him. He’s a very annoying man.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Great minds… et cetera, et cetera.”
“Indeed. Henry, my husband, is in commercial real estate, and he sucks up to Deal at every opportunity.”
“Does your husband know a real estate guy named Charlie Crow?”
Tatiana rolled her eyes. “God, yes! I’ve had to suffer through two dinner parties with that man, one in his apartment and one here. Did you know his wife used to be a stripper?”
“I didn’t, but I’m not shocked. I’ve had occasion to learn a little about him recently, and I’m glad I don’t have to do business with him.”
“Henry was happy to do business with him. He invested his firm’s money in two Charlie Crow projects, and I’m sure he’s never going to see a dime of it again. Crow is in some sort of financial difficulty, Henry said, and he’s frantic that he’s been had by Crow.”
“You remember Barton Cabot, from last evening?”
“Of course.”
“Well, Barton was Crow’s commanding officer when they were in the Marines, and he has just as low an opinion of him as you do.”
“Barton was in the Marines?”
“Yes, a career officer, until he ran afoul of a superi
or.”
“He looks more like a slightly faded movie star,” she said.
“That’s a good description. You’d probably think his younger brother looks like the current item.”
“Mmmm, I think I’d like to meet the younger brother.”
“No, you wouldn’t; he’s a spy and, as such, completely untrustworthy. Well, nearly completely. You can trust Lance to make the right decision if it’s in his own best interest.”
Tatiana laughed aloud. “That sounds very much like Henry!” She furrowed her brow. “You know, I think he may be having me followed.”
“Then we’ll leave through the garden,” Stone said. He looked at his watch. “I think we can go now, if you like.” He took out his cell phone, speed-dialed Elaine’s and made a reservation.
They walked into the garden, then to Stone’s house and out the front door. Ten minutes later, they were at Elaine’s. They had not been there more than five minutes when Tatiana suddenly held up her menu to hide her face.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she said, “but my husband just walked in.”
Stone looked up. “The one with the blonde?”
“Yes, with the blonde.”
“I know her. She’s an actress of sorts. She doesn’t work much, but she always seems to have money. There are many rumors about her.”
“Trust Henry to choose somebody like that,” she said.
“Actually, this is good. You should let him see you.”
She looked horrified. “Why?”
“Because New York is not a no-fault state where divorce is concerned. If he were here alone, he might think about accusing you of adultery, seeing you with me. As it is, you’ve both canceled out that option. If he sues you, claiming adultery, you can do the same to him. I’ll be your witness, and your lawyer could dig up enough dirt on her to make Henry’s life miserable.”
Tatiana put down her menu, caught her husband’s eye and waved gaily. Henry did an about-face and hustled his date out of the restaurant.
“I think you’ve just improved your chances for a negotiated settlement,” Stone said.
52
