by Stuart Woods
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, and quickly ran a handheld wand over the man’s clothes.
“Probably my house keys,” the man said, holding up a large clump.
“I expect so, sir,” the cop replied. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“That was handled well,” Dino said quietly.
“That’s the Palm Beach Police Department for you,” Stone replied.
The three dozen wedding guests had been asked to arrive early, and by six-thirty they were all present with drinks in their hands. At six thirty-five, there was a murmur from the group as Liz descended the main staircase, resplendent in a beautiful ivory lace wedding dress. She was met at the bottom of the stairs by Thad, who towered over her a good eighteen inches, Stone reckoned. He escorted her into the living room to the fireplace, where a judge was waiting to perform the ceremony.
“Let’s go out back,” Stone said.
“What, you want to miss the wedding?”
“Nobody in that room is going to bother them. If there’s a threat, it’ll come from outside.”
“Okay.”
They walked into the garden and had a look around until Stone was satisfied. There was applause from inside, and Stone turned in time to see, through a tall window, the bride and groom kissing. “That’s one possibility down,” Stone said.
“What do you mean?”
“If Manning wanted to stop the wedding, he’d have already made his move.”
“I guess so,” Dino replied. “But if he wants to create a very rich widow, he’s got all evening.”
“That’s the scary part,” Stone agreed. He looked up to see Guido and two other men approaching. They were carefully dressed in rented tuxedos, and Stone was relieved to see that the jackets were sufficiently loose-fitting not to reveal any weapons. “Evening, Guido,” he said.
“Yeah, you, too,” Guido said. “Everything cool?”
“So far.” Stone dug into a pocket and came up with three yellow lapel pins. “Put these into your buttonholes,” he said. “They will let security know you’re okay.”
The three men complied.
“Where you want us?” Guido asked.
“Wherever you think best. All the security people are looking for a tall man, but not for a beautiful woman, so you’re on your own, if she turns up.”
“Way I figure it,” Guido said, “if she’s coming, she’s coming for you. We’ll stick close.”
“Not too close,” Stone said. He didn’t want to have to explain to anybody who they were.
“Got it.” They wandered off.
At seven, the reception guests started to arrive, and the crowd became thicker.
“Jesus,” Dino said, “this is a hell of a lot of people.”
“Just two hundred of their closest friends,” Stone said. A big dance band began to play tunes from the thirties and forties in the garden. Stone liked the music. It was a beautiful night, and a handsome crowd of people. They wandered through the house and gardens, sipping champagne and chatting with people they knew, and everybody seemed to know everybody. Stone began to relax a little.
The party wore on into the evening. The guests talked, danced, congratulated the bride and groom and did all the other things people did at parties. Some were drunk, but not too drunk. Then, late in the evening, Stone turned toward the house and saw Arrington. She was leaving the main house on the arm of a tall, handsome man of about forty, beautifully dressed. After the shock of recognition, Stone’s next reaction was jealousy.
“Easy, pal,” Dino said. “You look like you want to shoot the guy.”
The tall man had already attracted the attention of a couple of security people, who looked at Stone inquiringly. He shook his head.
“Yeah, that’s all we need,” Dino said. “For security to shoot Arrington’s date.”
“Yes, that would be too bad,” Stone said. Arrington saw him and started toward him, leaving her companion at the bar.
“Hello, Dino,” she said, beaming at him and giving him a kiss on the lips.
“Hiya, kiddo,” Dino said, beaming back.
“Hello, Stone,” she said, almost shyly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I behaved badly the last time we saw each other,” she whispered. “I know we can work this out. I’m at the Breakers. Call me late tonight. I don’t care how late.”
Stone nodded, then a voice entered his ear.
“Crasher at the front door,” the voice said.
“Arrington, please excuse me,” Stone said. “I have to attend to something. I’ll call you later, I promise.” He made his way toward the front door, closely followed by Dino.
“Don’t you want me to handle the thing at the front door?” Dino asked. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here and talk to Arrington?”
“I just want to see what’s going on,” Stone said. They arrived at the front door in time to see two Palm Beach PD officers hustling a man into a van.
Another cop approached. “Unauthorized photographer,” he said. “We know him. He’s a stringer for one of the tabloids.”
“Good work,” Stone said. “You had any other problems at the front door?”
“Not really. We’ve had to frisk a few people, but no problems. Nobody as tall as the guy you’re looking for. An old man in a wheelchair set off all the alarms, but he was on the guest list.”
“Wheelchair?” Stone asked. “What kind of wheelchair?”
“One of those electric jobs, almost like a scooter. He arrived in a van and had to be helped with it.”
“What’s his name?”
The cop consulted his list. “Walter Feldman.”
“Describe him.”
“White hair, kind of hunched over and frail-looking.”
Stone turned to look at Dino.
“A wheelchair is a good way not to look tall,” Dino said.
Stone lifted his left hand to his mouth. “Everybody, listen up. This is Barrington. Without leaving your stations, find a man in an electric wheelchair and report his position.” He released the talk switch. “Come on, Dino.”
They quickly checked inside the house, but did not see the man. “He must be in the gardens,” Stone said. He spoke into the microphone again. “This is Barrington. Anybody got a position on the man in the wheelchair yet?”
Nothing.
“Jesus, how hard can he be to find?” Stone asked.
Then a voice came over the radio. “Mr. Barrington, I’ve got the wheelchair.”
“Where?” Stone asked.
“At the pool, behind the hedge.”
“Describe the occupant.”
“There’s no occupant. The wheelchair is sitting empty by the pool.”
“Everybody, listen up,” Stone said. “Our subject has arrived. Locate him quickly.”
They were near the seawall, now. Dino spoke up. “Where’s the guard you put on the seawall, the bald guy?”
“Nowhere in sight,” Stone said. He arrived at the wall, walked to the stern of the yacht and looked at the water. The big security guard, Jason, was floating facedown in Lake Worth, a trickle of red coloring the water around him.
“Oh, shit,” Dino said.
Then gunfire broke out.
63
STONE TURNED AROUND TO FIND A MOB OF PEOPLE RUSH ing toward him, many of them screaming.
“Shots fired!” he said into the microphone. “Secure the bride and groom in the master suite now!” Then he and Dino did what cops always do, and other people don’t: They ran toward the gunfire.
They had trouble making headway against the onrushing crowd, but after a couple of minutes they were nearing the house. A man and woman were huddled behind a huge shrub. “On the roof!” the man yelled at Stone, pointing.
“Detail at the front of the house,” Stone said into the mike. “Subject on the roof of the house. Watch the front drainpipes and apprehend.”
“He’s not coming this way,” Dino said. “There must be a way from the roof into the house.�
�
“Oh, God,” Stone said. He spoke into the mike. “Bride and groom detail. Where are you?”
“On the main stairs,” a voice replied. “We’ll have them secured in a minute.”
“Oh, no,” he said to Dino, “we’ve been suckered. Let’s get up there.” They started to run. “Don’t take the bride and groom upstairs!” he said into the microphone. He raced into the house and headed for the stairs. From the bottom, he could just see the wedding party disappearing down the upstairs hallway. “Wedding group,” he said into the mike. “Stop, and come downstairs.” No one came down. He ran up the stairs.
At the top he came to a sudden halt because the stairs were blocked by the bride, the groom, several guests and four Palm Beach police officers. They were standing there, rigidly, and Stone couldn’t see past them. He stopped a few steps from the top and listened.
“Step away from the bride and groom,” a man’s deep voice said.
Manning. Stone tiptoed up the remaining stairs. Then, blocked from Manning’s view by the group above him, he clambered onto the stair handrail and grabbed the banister built around the stairwell. He was holding onto the banister’s vertical risers, trying to pull himself up, and it wasn’t working very well.
“I said, clear away from the bride and groom,” Manning’s voice commanded.
Stone could see a couple of guests peel off from the group, but the cops stood their ground.
“Listen, Mr. Manning,” a cop said. “There’s more of us than you. More firepower, too. Why don’t you—”
“If any of you touches a gun, I’ll start firing,” Manning said, “and I’ve got thirteen rounds left. The happy couple will be the first to go.”
Stone swung his legs sideways and got a toe on the landing. Slowly, painfully, he muscled his way up until he could get a grip on the handrail. Then, as silently as he could, he pulled himself to the top of the railing and let himself down on the other side, striking the floor with a muffled thud.
“What was that?” Manning demanded.
“What was what?” the cop said. “Come on, Mr. Manning, you’re not getting out of here. Just drop the gun.”
“For the last time, step away from the couple, or I’m going to start shooting.”
Stone had the 9mm automatic in his hand by now, and he slowly pumped the first round into the chamber. On his hands and knees, he crawled to the edge of the group and, very quickly, stuck his head out and withdrew it. What he remembered seeing was a white-haired man in a dinner jacket who had assumed the combat position, pistol in both hands, at arm’s length.
The odds were not good on hitting Manning before he could fire, Stone reflected. He crouched, ready to leap to one side of the group and start firing.
Then Manning changed everything. He fired a single shot into the group, and everybody scattered. The women were screaming, and a cop had thrown Liz to the floor and was lying on top of her. The group parted like the Red Sea, leaving Stone exposed, but also leaving him a clear shot at Manning. He took it, firing four rapid rounds down the hallway.
Manning fired twice more as he was spun backward, but Stone was sure the rounds had gone into the ceiling. Stone rushed him, pistol out before him, yelling, “Freeze, Manning!” He could hear people moving behind him.
As he ran down the hallway, he saw Manning struggle to one knee and start to raise his gun. Stone stopped and aimed. “Don’t!” he yelled.
But Manning wasn’t listening. His hand kept moving upward.
Stone fired once more, and Manning fell backward. Two Palm Beach officers were all over him, kicking his gun away, rolling him over and handcuffing him. Stone put his gun away and walked forward. “Is he alive?” he asked.
An officer knelt beside the man, his hand at Manning’s throat. “I’ve got a pulse,” he said.
Stone looked down at Manning. He reached out and pulled the white wig off, then turned his head. At last, he had a full frontal view of the man’s face. It was unrecognizable, and for a moment he thought he had the wrong man, but he remembered that voice. He held the mike to his lips. “The subject is secured. He needs an ambulance, now.” He turned and looked back down the hallway. Liz and Thad were sitting on the floor, a Palm Beach officer leaning against Thad, holding his upper arm. “Make that two ambulances,” Stone said into the mike. He walked over to where the three sat, moved the cop’s hand and looked at his arm. He found a clean handkerchief and pressed it onto the wound. “Hold that,” he said to the man.
Then he turned to Thad and Liz. “Is either of you hurt?”
“No,” they both said, simultaneously.
“I’m okay,” the cop said. “Get them out of here.”
Stone helped them up and led them to the master suite.
“Is anyone else hurt?” Thad asked.
“A security guard is dead, back at the seawall,” Stone said. “And Manning doesn’t look so good. He got into the house in a wheelchair, then abandoned it at the pool. From there, hidden by the hedge, he must have gotten to a kitchen door and made his way up the back stairs. He fired a couple of shots into the garden to cause chaos and to get us to bring you two upstairs. You’ll be all right here. There’s no danger now. I want to get back downstairs and make sure no one else was hurt.”
“You go ahead, Stone,” Thad said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Is Paul dead?” Liz asked.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Stone thought she looked very worried. “No,” he said, “but he took two or three bullets. An ambulance is on the way. Don’t go out into the hall.” He left the room and closed the door behind him, then he started down the stairs. Where the hell was Dino? Stone had been sure he was right behind him when he entered the house.
He walked into the back garden and surveyed the damage. The members of the band had abandoned their bandstand, and a couple of instruments lay on the ground beside it. A large table used as a bar had been overturned, and the air smelled of spilled booze.
He saw Arrington and her date come from behind a huge banyan tree, where they had apparently been hiding. Then he saw Dolce.
64
SHE LOOKED VERY BEAUTIFUL, HE THOUGHT. SHE WAS wearing a short, tight dress of dark green silk. Her hair, nails and makeup were perfectly done, and she was smiling slightly, showing the tips of her perfect, white teeth. For a moment, he thought she had an evening bag in her hand, but on further examination it turned out to be a small semiautomatic pistol with a short silencer affixed to it. Where the hell did she get that? he wondered.
She was not looking at Stone but at Arrington, and her smile became broader. Stone squeezed his left arm against his side, to be sure the pistol was still there. I could shoot her right now, and this would all be over, he thought. Instead, he managed the best smile he could, in the circumstances. “Hello, Dolce,” he said, trying to work some delight into his voice. He held out his arms and walked toward her. I’ll just hug her. Then I’ll take away the gun, he thought.
She turned toward him, and her face lit up with a burst of recognition. “Stone!” she said. “It’s you!”
Then, to Stone’s horror, she brought the pistol up before her and aimed it at him.
“I could shoot you, and this would all be over,” she said.
Where have I heard that before? Stone wondered. “I’m glad to see you,” he said. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Why not?” she said. “I don’t want her to have you.” She nodded toward Arrington.
“I don’t want him, Dolce!” Arrington cried.
Stone looked at Arrington. Her handsome escort was edging away from her toward the banyan tree.
“Of course you do, Arrington,” Dolce said. “You’ve always wanted him. You only married Vance because you thought I wanted him.”
“That’s crazy, Dolce,” Arrington said, then realized her choice of words was poor. She pressed on, though. “I didn’t even know you knew Vance, when we were married. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know you.”
&n
bsp; Stone took the opportunity to edge closer to Arrington, his arms still outstretched.
“That’s a gorgeous dress,” Arrington said. “Where did you get it?”
Trust Arrington to bring up fashion at a time like this, Stone thought.
“At a little place on Worth Avenue. The shopping is very good in this town,” Dolce replied conversationally.
Stone edged closer.
Without taking her eyes from Arrington, Dolce said, “Stone, if you come any closer, I’m going to have to make a decision.”
Stone stopped moving, but he was afraid to lower his arms.
“You really don’t want Stone, Arrington?” Dolce asked, wrinkling her brow.
“I wouldn’t have him on a silver platter,” Arrington said with conviction. “I’m with Barry, here.” She turned to introduce her escort and discovered that he had vanished. “He must have had to go to the powder room,” she explained.
Stone was beginning to wonder which of them was the crazier.
“Did you get the shoes here, too?” Arrington asked.
“Oh, yes,” Dolce replied. “At Ferragamo.”
What’s going to happen when they run out of clothes to talk about? Stone wondered.
“And those earrings are a knockout,” Arrington said.
“I got those at Verdura,” Dolce said. “It’s down a little alley off Worth Avenue, and up a flight.”
“Wonderful shop,” Arrington said. “I know them from New York.”
“Dolce,” Stone said, “can we—”
“Shut up, Stone,” she replied. “Arrington and I are discussing shopping. I’ll get to you in a minute.”
“I’m so sorry,” Stone said.
“Yes, you are, and we have to talk about that.” She turned back to Arrington. “I love your handbag.”
“Oh, thank you,” Arrington said. “I got it at Bergdorf’s, at that little boutique just inside the Fifty-eighth Street door. I can’t think of the name at the moment.”
Dolce pointed the pistol at her. “Think of it, or I’ll shoot you.”
Arrington thought desperately. “Suarez!” she said, looking relieved. “That’s it.” She held out the handbag. “Would you like to have mine? Please take it as a gift.”
