by Stuart Woods
“What was that?” Rocky asked.
“It sounded like a rifle shot,” Stone replied.
“I hope it was Ed’s,” she said.
“So do I.”
Stone’s phone rang, and he picked it up from the bedside table. “Yes?”
“It’s Ed; I just wanted you to know that the shot you heard was mine.”
“What were you shooting at?”
“There was a slow-moving boat a quarter of a mile off my dock,” Ed said. “I just put a round across her bows. She ran for it.”
“I hope it wasn’t the Coast Guard,” Stone replied, then hung up.
48
Stone woke with sunlight streaming into the room and an empty bed beside him. He used the bathroom, then checked Rocky’s, but she was not to be found. He slipped into a silk robe, walked downstairs, and called for her. No answer. Then he felt a bit of a breeze, which he thought was from the air-conditioning, until he looked toward the back porch and saw the rear door standing half open. His heart stopped.
He had two choices, he thought. He could run back upstairs and get his pistol, or he could open Dick’s office and find something there. He retrieved the clump of keys from a sofa-side table drawer, let himself into the office, and chose the officer’s Colt .45, checked the magazine and racked the slide, put on the safety, then went to the rear door. There was an assault rifle tucked behind the door, but he didn’t want to go outside in broad daylight carrying it. He could hear splashes and shrieks from some kids diving off the adjacent yacht club dock, and he stepped out onto the back porch, feeling exposed, his right hand in the robe’s pocket on the pistol. He checked out the backyard and his dock, the Picnic Boat at its mooring. Nothing amiss. He was about to walk around the house when he heard a voice.
“Stone!”
He looked back toward the water and saw a hand waving at him just ahead of the boat’s prow. There was a head attached to it. “Come here,” she called.
Stone let his eyes play around the dock for other heads and saw none. He began to walk slowly toward the dock.
“Hurry up!” she called out, trying not to yell.
“Okay, I’ve got you,” he called back and continued, not hurrying.
“It’s very cold in here,” she called. “Will you get a move on?”
“I don’t want to attract attention,” he said, as he got closer.
“Neither do I. I’m naked!”
He reached the dock. “I’ll pull you out.”
“No! Find me a towel.”
“I’ll check on the boat.” He walked down the dock and jumped into the big cockpit and had a look around, then returned. “Nothing there. Don’t you have a bathing suit around here?”
“I didn’t bring one,” she said, “and I don’t want to shock all those little boys and their mothers.”
“All right, here’s what we’ll do,” Stone said. “I’ll stand with my back to the club dock and pull you out. Then, keeping between you and the dock, we’ll walk unhurriedly up to the house.”
“All right, but hurry up! I’m freezing.”
Stone crossed his arms and reached down for her, then to her hands and, as he pulled her onto the dock, rotated her until her back was to him.
“Give me your robe,” she said, shivering.
“I can’t. I’m naked, too.” He opened the robe and pulled her to him, then closed the robe around her. “Jesus! You’re a living iceberg.”
“Don’t move,” she said, backing all the way up to him. “It’s going to take me a few minutes before I can walk.”
“The hell it is,” he said grabbing her shoulders and walking her up the catwalk to the backyard. In half a minute they were inside the back door. He kicked it shut, grabbed a cashmere throw from a chair, and wrapped it around her.
“Mary has laid a fire. I’ll start it.”
“Hurry!”
Stone went to the mantel, found a box of long matches, then reached down, turned on the gas jet, and tossed a lit match into the fireplace. It made a whomp noise and began to burn. Rocky elbowed him out of the way, opened the throw, and held her body as close to the fire as she could and turned herself like a chicken on a spit.
Stone sat down on the sofa and waited for her to thaw.
“Now,” he said, “could you please tell me what you were doing in the bay, butt nekkid, in full sight of the yacht club dock?”
“Swimming,” she said.
“You know, I was just elected to membership there, and I don’t want to get thrown out the first week.”
“I woke up and you were still sound asleep, so I had a look out the back, and it was deserted, so I ran down to the dock, dove in, and swam a ways out. It was cold but bearable, as long as I was swimming. Then I heard a screen door slam and a lot of voices, and when I looked around there were boys pouring out of the club.”
“I think there’s a sailing class, or something,” he said.
“I made it back to the dock right before you came out, and the boat had too much freeboard for me to climb aboard. I wanted to scream for you, but that would have attracted way too much attention. Then you came outside, and after a very long time, rescued me.”
“I didn’t want to run. That would have attracted attention, too.”
She cast off the throw and sat down beside him. “There, now I’m warm and dry.” She tugged at his robe. “And you’re naked under there, aren’t you?”
“I’ll be naked when we get upstairs, too, and we won’t have to worry about Mary coming into the room.”
“I’ll race you,” she said, jumping up and running for the stairs.
Stone did the same.
* * *
—
Down the road apiece, Ed Rawls sat on his dock with his Czech sniper’s rifle lying across his lap and looked out across Penobscot Bay. There was a small noise behind him, and he jerked around to find Sally there, wrapped in a blanket. “Young lady,” he said, “don’t go sneaking around like that. There could be disastrous consequences.”
“Scoot over,” she said, and he made room on the bench.
“Fishing?” she asked.
“Yeah, I want a big one, too.”
“Have you seen the boat again?”
“There’s something way out there,” he said. “I saw a glimmer of something.”
“Are you nervous, Ed?”
“Always. They’re nervous, too. They’re afraid to come in closer, and I like that.”
“I’d rather they weren’t there at all,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“If this were London, and I still had the job, I’d have a squad of coppers in combat gear scattered around.”
“Well, this time, all you’ve got is me.”
“I guess I’ll just have to make do, then.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m glad I’m here and not in London,” she said.
“Me, too. Do you think you could get used to it here?”
“Not year around,” she said. “Brrrr!”
“I don’t blame you.”
“You know, Ed, I’ve got quite a bit of money from my late husband’s estate. We could buy a place in Florida for the winters.”
“I’m not crazy about Florida,” he said, then he was quiet for a moment. “I like New York, though.”
“That’s a thought.”
“I’ve got some money lying around, too,” he said.
“Oh, good.”
49
Stone was having an afternoon nap on a living room sofa when a phone rang. He opened an eye. It didn’t sound like his cell phone. It rang a couple more times, and he realized it was the landline. He picked up a phone on the sofa-side table. “Hello?”
“Stone?”
A familiar voice, but he couldn’t place it. �
�Yes?”
“It’s Egon Pentkovsky—well, for a little longer, anyway.”
“Oh?” Stone was fully awake now.
“I hope you’re back in the country. I’m going to be in your neighborhood, house hunting, and I wondered if we could meet briefly.”
“Haven’t we already had this conversation?” Stone asked.
“A conversation. Not this conversation.”
“How do the two differ?”
“My associate and I have had a parting of the ways.”
“Well, you must be the better shot, since you’re talking to me.”
“I don’t shoot at people. I never have.”
“Plenty of others to handle that for you, huh?”
“Never with my agreement. I’m very different from the rest of my family.”
“In that case, let me ask you a question.”
“Anything.”
“Is Gromyko still alive?”
“Probably not.”
“Why is there doubt in your mind about that? Don’t you know how to find a pulse?”
“We are not in the same place,” Egon said. “I mean, more than geographically.”
“Where are you, geographically?”
“In Camden,” Egon said. “Looking at houses.”
“As an investment?”
“To live in. For the summers, anyway.”
“And where is the Greek?”
“Very likely at the bottom of Sheepshead Bay,” Egon said. “Not that I wish him ill.”
“You two have parted company?”
“Very well put. We won’t be seeing each other again.”
“I’m confused.”
“I know, it must be confusing. Look, I’m coming over to your island tomorrow morning, to look at a house there.”
“Who’s your real estate agent?”
“A fellow named Jimmy Hotchkiss. I understand he knows the island very well.”
“That’s an understatement,” Stone said. “What house are you seeing?”
“It was previously occupied by a Caleb Stone, now deceased. Did you know him?”
“He was my first cousin.”
“Then you know the house?”
“I spent a summer there when I was eighteen.”
“What sort of place is it?”
“I think if you ask Jimmy that, he’d say it has good bones.”
“That’s exactly what he did say. He also said that it has undergone a major renovation.”
“I didn’t know that, but then, the house isn’t visible from the road. Who renovated it?”
“An owner who bought it from the Stone estate, who himself died before it could be completed. Now his estate is selling.”
“What are they asking?”
“Three million.”
“If it’s a good renovation, it would be worth that, I think. You might get it for less.” Why am I having a perfectly normal conversation about real estate with this guy? he asked himself.
“I wonder if I could drop by your place around two pm? Jimmy will know where it is, yes?”
“Jimmy knows everything about everybody. If you’re going to buy here, you’d better get used to that.”
“May I see you then?”
“Who else is coming?”
“I’ll be alone. My wife and two girls will be joining me in a couple of days.”
“What are we going to talk about?”
“I hope I can ask your advice about some things.”
Stone was overcome with curiosity. “All right, two o’clock tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you then. Oh, by the way, I’m changing my surname to Greco, my mother’s maiden name, and I’ve already started using it. That’s how Jimmy will know me.”
Smart move, Stone thought, if he’s on the level. “See you then, Mr. Greco.” They hung up.
Stone got himself a glass of lemonade from the kitchen, to get his blood sugar up again, then he went to Dick’s office and called Lance on that line.
“Is everything all right, Stone?” Lance asked.
“I think so, but I’ve just had a weird phone call from Egon Pentkovsky, who is calling himself ‘Greco’ these days. I’d like to know everything I can about him before two pm tomorrow, which is when he is coming to meet me.” He told Lance the details of their conversation.
“I’m not sure that ‘weird’ is sufficient to describe that conversation,” Lance said. “Let me see what I can find out.”
“Okay, and see if you can find a recent live sighting of the Greek, will you? I’d especially like to know if he’s dead. Egon says he may be.”
“Oh, yes.” Lance hung up.
There was a rap on the door and Rocky stuck her head in. “You disappeared on me.”
“I’m sorry, I woke up, then couldn’t get back to sleep, so I came down here.” He brought her up to date on his conversation with Egon. They went back to the living room and took a sofa.
“Do you think Egon might be bringing reinforcements?”
“He’s bringing Jimmy Hotchkiss. He said his wife and two daughters will be here in a couple of days.”
“And this is the house where the evil twins once lived?”
“Yes, my cousin Caleb’s twin boys are housed at the Maine State Prison, serving, I think, a dozen or so consecutive life sentences for murder. If they ever get out, Connecticut and Massachusetts would also like to speak to them.”
“I want to hear that story. Where is the state prison?”
“In Warren, not very far from here.”
“Then tell me the story when we’re out of the state. I don’t want those boys in my head.”
“Good move,” Stone said. “I won’t enjoy telling you the story, since they are my only living cousins.”
Dino came into the room in time to hear the last snatch of that conversation. “You’re right, Rocky. You don’t want to hear that story while you’re here.”
“Now I’m getting curious,” Rocky said. “You two don’t often agree, but you agree on that.”
“We do,” Stone said.
“It’s not the sort of story you can disagree on. You know, a book has been written about those boys, and I saw a copy around here somewhere. It’s called Dark Harbor.”
“I saw it, too,” she said. “I’ll find it and read it on the way home.”
“That will save me a lot of painful recounting.”
50
Lance didn’t call back until the following morning, after breakfast. “Sorry about not getting back to you sooner, but I got sidetracked.”
“What have you learned about Egon Pentkovsky Greco?” Stone asked.
“Not a hell of a lot,” Lance replied. “That’s why I didn’t call sooner. I kept thinking there should be more, but there wasn’t.”
“Gimme whacha got!” Stone said.
“All right: born thirty-four years ago in Greenwich, Connecticut, local schools, followed by Groton, Yale, with a bachelor’s in accounting and business management, and Yale Law School, JD. Never practiced law, as such, but the degree helped him in advancement at Webb & Westfield, a largish New York accounting firm, now defunct. Mr. Westfield’s work habits consisted mostly of bringing in new business, then stealing from the clients. He is still in prison, in his seventh year of a twenty-year sentence.”
“Was Egon involved in any of that?”
“An investigation by the state authorities failed to provide any evidence to that effect. He mostly dealt with clients in the small-business sector of the firm’s client roster, and Westfield stole only from the bigger ones. He bailed out of the firm a year before it crashed and opened an office of his own, representing a couple of dozen businesses that, by our estimation, were operated by his three brothers, two of them no longer extant, a
s you know. He closed his office less than a week ago, and he has a net worth of ten million dollars, or so. His wife is from an extremely wealthy family, and her trusts matured when she was twenty-five, some six years ago, so the couple is very well-fixed. They live in a large townhouse in the East Sixties. They have two daughters, seven and nine, who attend a fancy school for girls in New York. He owns and flies a Citation CJ3-Plus, as you once did, I believe. A Mr. E. Greco is currently registered at an inn in Camden.”
“It that it? No murders, rapes, or parking tickets?”
“None. He’s as clean as a bird’s beak—on paper, at least. He appears, with the closure of his office, to have severed all ties with his associate, except through the businesses that are his clients.”
“I confess I’m baffled as to why he wants to meet with me.”
“I, as well. I suppose the thing to do is to take him at face value, a wealthy gentleman seeking the advice of another on the purchase of an island property.”
“Then that’s how I will receive him,” Stone replied, and they ended their conversation.
* * *
—
Stone had finished lunch and was reading a novel, and Rocky was taking a nap upstairs, when the doorbell rang. Stone checked his watch: two o’clock, straight up. He found Egon Greco, né Pentkovsky, standing alone at the door and let him in.
“Jimmy Hotchkiss dropped me off. He’ll come back for me after he runs an errand.” He handed Stone a New York Times. “He asked me to give you this, to save you a trip to the store.”
Stone admitted him and Mary brought them each a glass of her lemonade.
“I’ve seen the Caleb Stone house,” Egon said. “I would say that the renovation, now a day or so from completion, is a high-quality one.”
“Then it should make a very nice family home. Do you know if it was insulated? It never was before.”
“Yes, and new heating and air-conditioning installed. Lovely kitchen, built by an island cabinet shop.”
“I know their work,” Stone replied. “It’s good.”
“Stone, can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t make an offer on the property today?”
“None,” Stone replied.
