Cold Paradise 07

by Stuart Woods

  “I don’t know him, either.”

  “A first novel, the review said. You had breakfast?”

  “No, I was considering waiting for lunch.”

  “How about brunch? I’ll take you to the Breakers.”

  “Isn’t that a hotel?”

  “Yes, and it has a nice beach club.”

  “Am I dressed properly?”

  “Very.” She stood up. “I’ll get into some real clothes.” She put down the book and walked off toward her cabin.

  Stone sat down and picked up the book. He read a couple of pages, and by the time she returned, he had read thirty. “You’re right,” he said. “It starts well.” He looked up at her. “You look wonderful.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She was wearing a yellow shift that set off her tan.

  They walked through the main house, and as they were about to get into her car, a small procession of Mercedes convertibles pulled into the driveway behind them, and a man got out of one and came toward them, carrying a clipboard.

  “Where could I find Mr. Shames?” he asked.

  “He’s on his way to Palm Beach, but he won’t be arriving until this afternoon.”

  “Are you Ms. Hodges?”

  “I am.”

  “Oh, good. You can sign for the cars.”

  She looked at the three convertibles. “Sign for them?”

  “I’m delivering them from the dealer,” the man said. “Mr. Shames ordered them some time ago.”

  “Sure, I’ll sign,” Callie said, and did so. “Just leave the keys in them.”

  “They’re all registered. You want me to show you how everything works?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said, getting into her car. She pulled out of the drive and headed toward the beach.

  “Thad has bought three Mercedes convertibles?”

  “He does things like that. Come to think of it, he mentioned this a few weeks ago, and I had forgotten. He bought them for himself and the guests on the yacht to use.”

  “I’m unaccustomed to people who buy expensive cars three at a time.”

  “Well, if you’re going to work for Thad, you’d better get used to that sort of thing.”

  “Actually, my work here is nearly done,” Stone said. “I thought I’d fly home tomorrow.”

  She glanced at him. “Whatever your work was, it seems to have been conducted in restaurants. You haven’t been anywhere else here, have you?”

  “I guess I haven’t,” Stone replied, “and you’re right.”

  “Can you tell me about it now?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “This is all very mysterious.”

  “It isn’t, really, or at least, it wasn’t until I got here.”

  “This has to have something to do with the lady in the restaurant the other night.”

  “Could be.”

  “What’s her name again?”

  “Elizabeth Harding.”

  “That wasn’t what you told me the other night. It was Alice, or something like that.”

  “Allison. Allison Manning.”

  “Oh, yeah, Paul Manning’s wife.”

  “Widow.” Then it occurred to Stone that she wasn’t Manning’s widow, since he was still alive. He made a mental note to think about that later.

  A guard let them through a gate and they drove down a narrow road beside a golf course.

  “The Breakers has golf, tennis, the beach, the works,” Callie said. She parked the car. “Come on, I’ll show you the inside of the place before we eat.” She led the way into a huge, twin-towered building and into a lobby that looked like some part of an Italianate cathedral.

  “Jesus,” Stone said.

  “Yeah. It was built by Henry Flagler, the railroad magnate, who seems to have built just about everything on the east coast of Florida. Come on, let’s get some lunch.” She led him out of the hotel and through another security gate, where she flashed a photo ID. A minute later, they were seated on a broad terrace, overlooking a huge swimming pool and the sea.

  The sun shone brightly, but the breeze made it cool, and Stone put on his sweater.

  “You dress well,” she said.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  “Are your suits, by any chance, made by Doug Hayward?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I’ve met a number of men who go to him, and I dragged Thad in there once and made him have a suit made. Doug’s a nice man, isn’t he?”

  “I’ve never met him.”

  “Oh? How can he make your clothes without meeting you?”

  “I inherited a lot of stuff from a friend who died last year. It was all from Hayward.”

  They ordered lunch.

  “Nice friend,” she said.

  “Well, I’ve known his wife for a while. She insisted I take the clothes. In fact, she just shipped them to me and said I could send them to the Goodwill, if I didn’t want them. She was afraid they’d end up in some celebrity auction.”

  “Celebrity? Who was he?”

  “Your favorite movie star, Vance Calder.”

  “Holy mackerel. I’ve been dining with Vance Calder’s clothes?”

  “You have, indeed.”

  “Who killed Vance Calder, anyway?”

  “Good question. There were suspects, but no conviction.”

  Their lunch came, and Stone dove into a chicken Caesar salad. “How much time do you spend here?” Stone asked.

  “Quite a lot, it seems. Thad does more entertaining here than in New York, so I’ve just camped out on the yacht.”

  “Does he have a New York apartment?”

  “He keeps that suite you saw at the Four Seasons.”

  Stone shook his head.

  “Yes, I know, it’s a lot of money. Thad would really prefer to live in hotels full-time, but he thought he ought to have a home somewhere, so he bought the Palm Beach house. I think he bought it as much for dockage for the yacht as for the house, but he’s got a big-time designer doing the place up. There’s a warehouse in West Palm already bursting with stuff that’s ready to move in, as soon as the builders are gone.”

  “Which is when?”

  “Shouldn’t be long, now. What will happen is, the painters will finish, and the next day a parade of moving vans will arrive, and by nightfall, the place will be furnished.”

  Stone laughed. “When I think of how long it took me to get settled in my house.”

  “And where is your house?”

  “I inherited one in Turtle Bay from a great-aunt, and I spent a couple of years renovating it. Did a lot of the work myself.”

  “You seem to inherit everything—clothes, houses.”

  “Just those things, nothing else.”

  “What sort of work did you do on your house?”

  “Carpentry, mostly, but a little of everything.”

  “And where did you learn to be a carpenter?”

  “Same place you learned to cook: at my father’s knee.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot; he was a cabinetmaker.”

  “He was more than that, really; he was a kind of artist in wood.”

  Somewhere, a cell phone rang. Callie picked up her straw handbag and rummaged in it, finally coming up with a phone. “Hello? Oh, hi. Where are you? Okay, I’ll be back at the house by the time you get there. Oh, and the cars came. The Mercedes convertibles? Remember? See you shortly.” She hung up. “That was Thad. He’s just landed.” She laughed. “He’d forgotten all about ordering the cars. Come on, eat up and let’s get back.”

  Stone ate up, wondering about the kind of man who could order three Mercedeses, then forget about it. The longer he hung around Thad Shames, the more bizarre things got.

  11

  STONE AND CALLIE ARRIVED BACK AT THE HOUSE SIMULTANEOUSLY with Thad Shames, who climbed out of the back of a limo and tossed two briefcases to Juanito.

  “Hey, Callie, hey, Stone!” Shames called out.

  “Hey, boss,” Callie said. She pointed at th
e convertibles. “There are your cars.”

  Shames looked them over. “Nice,” he said. He bent over, removed the keys and tossed them to Stone. “Use it while you’re here,” he said.

  Stone walked along with him toward the house. “Actually, I was hoping to get a lift back to New York with you on Sunday,” Stone said. “Not much more I can do here.”

  “Sorry. I’m headed to the Coast on Sunday,” Shames replied. “Why don’t you stick around for a few days and relax a bit? Callie could use the company, and I can tell she likes you. You got anything urgent waiting for you in New York?”

  “Nothing that couldn’t wait a few days, I guess,” Stone admitted.

  “It’s settled, then.”

  They walked through the house, and Shames inspected the work done on the central hallway. “Oh,” he said to Callie, “I think we’ll have cocktails and dinner in the house. Big buffet, okay?”

  “But Thad, the house isn’t finished being painted,” Callie replied.

  “It will be by morning,” he said.

  “But there’s no furniture.”

  “It’s on its way; I called from the airplane. The painters will work straight through the night, the furniture comes at eight A.M., and tomorrow evening we’ll turn our party into a housewarming.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  “It’s black tie, right?”

  “That’s what I put on the invitations.”

  “How many acceptances?”

  “Fifty couples, give or take.”

  “Nice-sized group. Feed them well.”

  “I thought Maine lobster, a bourride—that’s a garlicky French fish stew—and tenderloin of beef for the carnivores. Lots of other stuff, too.”

  “Whatever you say, Callie.” They had reached the yacht, and Shames led the way aboard, followed by Juanito with the two briefcases. He had apparently brought no other luggage. “Let’s talk a minute, Stone,” Shames said, beckoning to him to follow.

  Stone followed him to the owner’s cabin, the first time he had seen it. They walked into a large, gorgeously furnished sitting room. Juanito deposited the two briefcases on a big desk and left.

  “What do you think of Toscana?” Shames asked.

  “She’s a dream,” Stone replied. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

  “Neither has anybody else,” Shames laughed. “She’s my favorite thing. If I had to give up everything but one, I’d keep her.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I wish we had time for a cruise out to the Bahamas this weekend, but I really do have to be on the Coast by Sunday night. We’re having another announcement shindig out there on Monday morning.”

  “Just what is this new technology your company is going to make?” Stone asked.

  “It consists of a circuitboard that replaces the modem in a computer, plus some extraordinary software we’re developing for both e-companies and users that gives every customer what very nearly amounts to a T-1 Internet connection over ordinary telephone lines, twenty-four hours a day, for a monthly fee of less than fifty dollars.”

  Stone knew that a T-1 was the fastest Internet connection, and that it required a special phone line to be installed. “That’s very impressive,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already allocated your shares. Bill Eggers will buy them for you the day before the initial public offering.”

  “Thank you, Thad. That’s very generous.”

  “You’ll be tempted to sell them the first week, but don’t; hang on to them.”

  “I’ll take your advice.”

  Juanito appeared with two frosty gin and tonics. They touched glasses and drank.

  “Now,” Shames said, “tell me about Liz.”

  “I had lunch with her yesterday,” Stone replied. “She was apologetic about rushing away from Easthampton, but she had to come back here.”

  “She lives here?”

  “Here and in Houston. She’s a widow, not a divorcée.”

  “How long?”

  “Last year sometime. She seems excited about seeing you again.”

  Shames grinned like a schoolboy. “That sounds good.”

  “Thad, I have a lot else to tell you about Liz Harding,” Stone said, adopting a serious mien.

  “That sounds bad.”

  “It’s not, necessarily, but there are things that, since you’re my client, I have to tell you about her.”

  “I’ll just shut up and listen,” Shames said.

  Stone started at the beginning and told Shames the story of Allison/Liz—all of it, leaving out nothing except his own affair with Allison. When he had finished, he polished off the rest of his drink, sat back and waited for questions. There weren’t any.

  “That’s extraordinary,” Shames said. He got to his feet. “I think I’ll have a nap before dinner. Will you excuse me?”

  Stone got up. “Of course. Thad, I want to be sure you understand about the husband, Paul Manning.”

  “Ex-husband, isn’t he?”

  “Ex-Paul Manning. She doesn’t know what he’s calling himself these days.”

  “Well, if he’s legally dead, she’s twice-widowed, isn’t she?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I’m not sure what the legal ramifications are. I’ve never run into anything quite like this before.”

  “She considers herself single?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Then as far as I’m concerned, she’s single, and that’s an end to it.”

  “It is,” Stone said, “unless Paul Manning turns up. I think you have to consider him a dangerous man.”

  “Well, he doesn’t sound stupid, so I don’t think he’s dangerous. He’s gotten away with a triple murder and major insurance fraud, so I think he has to count himself lucky, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Don’t worry about Manning, Stone. He’s not going to risk screwing up his life by exposing his own past.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Stone said.

  “You will pick up Liz tomorrow night? I have a lot on my plate, what with all these guests coming.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.” Shames disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Stone went back to his own cabin. Thad was right, of course. Paul Manning wasn’t stupid, and, if Stone could just find him and talk to him, he’d be a rich man from the settlement Allison/Liz wanted to make with him. And then, he thought, sighing, he’d be free of this whole business, Thad Shames would have the girl of his dreams, and everybody could get on with the business of living happily ever after.

  Sometime after midnight, Stone was wakened from a deep sleep by someone crawling into bed with him. He had been dreaming, and what was happening seemed an extension of his dream.

  “Arrington?” he said sleepily.

  “Whoa!” Callie said, sitting up and crossing her legs.

  Stone shook himself fully awake. “Callie? What’s happening?”

  “You were about to get made love to,” she said, “but you spoke to the wrong girl.”

  “I’m sorry. I was dreaming. I thought you were … somebody else at first.”

  “Stone, I know very well that Arrington is Vance Calder’s wife—rather, widow. The whole world knows. Why would you be dreaming of her crawling into bed with you?”

  “I don’t remember exactly what I was dreaming,” Stone said, sitting up in bed and dragging a couple of pillows behind him.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” she said. “But if it’s none of my business, tell me so, and I’ll get out of here.”

  “No, no,” he said, stroking her hair. “Arrington and I were … close, before she married Vance. We don’t have a relationship now, at least not a very good one.”

  “You’re sure about this? I don’t want to intrude where I’m not wanted.”

  He pulled her head down onto his shoulder, and she stretched out beside him. “You’re wanted,” he said.
>
  She ran a hand down his belly until it stopped at his penis. She held it in her hand. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s alive!”

  “Alive and well,” he replied.

  She rolled on top of him, sat up and guided him inside her. She bent down and put her lips close to his ear. “You’d better be telling the truth about Arrington Calder,” she whispered, “or this will never happen again.”

  12

  STONE WAS AWAKENED BY CONFLICTING SMELLS—ONE chemical, one culinary. He sat up in bed in time to see Callie enter his cabin, bearing a covered tray, kicking the door shut behind her.

  “Smells good,” he said. “But what’s the other odor?”

  “Paint,” she replied. “The painters finished their work last night, and all the windows in the house are open. The decorators and moving people are in there now, working like beavers.” She set the tray on the bed between them and whipped off the cover. “Voilà!” she said. “Brie omelettes!”

  Stone picked up a plate and dug in. “Fantastic!” He sipped some orange juice.

  “We’ve got the yacht to ourselves this morning,” she said. “Thad has already made a lot of phone calls and had a business breakfast aboard and has taken a party into town for some shopping.”

  “I can’t believe he’s putting that house together in a day,” Stone said.

  “Oh, he’s had the designers shopping for a year. They’ve planned out every room, right down to the pictures on the walls.”

  “It took me a year to get my house to that state.”

  “You must not have been newly superrich,” she said.

  “Good guess.”

  “What are your plans for today?”

  “Plans? Me? I never have plans. I just sit back and let you and Thad do it for me. I don’t think I’ve made a decision of any kind since I met the two of you. What do you have planned for me today?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I plan to get some sun, do some reading and rest up for tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re going to be pretty busy, aren’t you?”

  “Not if the caterers don’t want to get fired. They’re turning up at five, and I’ll show them the kitchens and where to set up. After that, they’d better not bother me because I’ll be partying.”