by Stuart Woods
“I do, when I can.”
They got out of the car, and Daisy immediately bounded into some bushes. Stone got the bags out and unlocked the front door. “Welcome to Washington,” he said.
“It’s lovely,” Holly replied, walking in and looking around. Daisy joined them and seemed to approve. “Who decorated it?”
“I sought various counsel,” Stone said.
“You mean various women.”
“Now I’m going to fix us a drink, then we’ll take Daisy for a walk on the property next door.”
“Will the owner mind?”
“He is not in residence. A writer used to live there, but he sold it to a producer, who never moved in. It’s back on the market.”
“How much?”
“You couldn’t afford it.”
“You forget: I have five million seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars stashed in a tree.”
“That might do it, but then you couldn’t afford the taxes. This place used to be the gatehouse, but the properties got separated fifty years ago. Bourbon?”
“Good.”
He made her the drink and handed it to her. “Now I want you to take three deep breaths.”
She did.
“Now drink your drink and stop thinking about what’s in New York.”
“Did those guys follow us?”
“I don’t think so. My guess is, they didn’t expect us to drive away.”
“Neither did I,” she said, sipping her bourbon.
24
STONE LED HOLLY and Daisy through an opening in a hedge, and they emerged onto a broad lawn decorated with magnificent old trees before a large, comfortable-looking, American shingle-style house.
Daisy ran here and there, sniffing the ground and poking her nose into bushes.
“I could live here,” Holly said.
“So could I, but I’ll never be that rich.”
“No hope at all?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Can we break a window and see the inside of the house?”
“You’re suggesting breaking and entering? And you a law enforcement officer? As your attorney, I advise against it.”
“Oh, all right.”
Daisy had discovered the large swimming pool and was sniffing the surrounding bushes when a deer rocketed out of the brush and ran across the lawn, sending Daisy fleeing back to Holly.
“She’s never seen a deer before,” Holly laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, patting the dog, “I won’t let the bad deer get you.”
After half an hour’s walk they left Daisy in the house with her dinner and drove to the Mayflower Inn.
“Don’t you lock the door?” Holly asked.
“No need, it’s a peaceable sort of place.”
They drove past a pond and up a steep driveway, emerging from the trees to find a large, shingled building with broad porches on two sides.
“It’s beautiful,” Holly said. “It reminds me of the house we just saw—what was it called?”
“The Rocks. It belonged to an architect named Ehrick Rossiter, who designed twenty-seven houses and public buildings in this little village, twenty-two of which still stand. The Mayflower is one of them, and it’s been gorgeously renovated.”
Stone and Holly sat at a table overlooking the back lawn and garden, which were surrounded by old trees.
“So, is a country house a big part of living in New York?” Holly asked.
“A very big part of it. A lot of people have houses out on the eastern end of Long Island, in the Hamptons, but that’s too expensive and too crowded for me. Washington is just perfect—nice village, maybe the most beautiful in Connecticut, lovely countryside, and interesting people.”
“Nobody in Florida has a country house,” Holly said. “I wonder why?”
“Not enough contrast between first and second houses.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
They dined on salads, veal chops, and a bottle of California Cabernet. The waiter had just brought coffee when Holly suddenly sat up straight. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
“Didn’t you like the food?”
“No, not that. Something’s wrong back at the house.”
“Are you telepathic?”
“No, but Daisy may be. We have to go.”
Stone signed the bill, and they hurried back to the car. “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”
“No, never before, but it’s a very strong feeling. Drive faster.”
Stone did the best he could, and five minutes later they turned into his drive and got out of the car. The door to the cottage stood wide open. “I didn’t leave the door open. Did you?”
“No. Where’s Daisy?”
They arrived at the front door to find Daisy sitting in the front hall, staring at the door. She ran to Holly.
“Hey, baby,” Holly cooed. “What’s wrong?”
Stone reached down and picked up a piece of blue cloth dotted with blood. “Somebody’s missing part of his pants,” he said. “Is my Walther in your purse?”
She dug it out and handed it to him. “I don’t think anybody could still be here, not with Daisy sitting calmly in the hall. Not unless our intruder is dead.”
“He did some bleeding,” Stone said, handing her the spattered piece of cloth. “I just want to be sure.” He left her in the hall with Daisy, looked around, and came back, handing Holly the gun. “All clear.”
“Who do you think belongs to this?” Holly asked, holding up the fabric.
“One of the men outside my house in New York was wearing blue coveralls,” Stone said, fingering the cloth. “This is the same sort of utilitarian fabric.”
“I don’t like this,” Holly said.
“Neither do I,” Stone replied.
Later, in the middle of the night, Stone came awake. He had heard something downstairs. He eased himself out of bed, so as not to wake Holly, rummaged quietly in her handbag until he found the Walther, then tiptoed down the stairs and looked around the rooms. Nothing.
He went back to the entrance hall and bent over to pick up the scrap of blue cloth that Holly had apparently left there. As he did, something icy and wet made contact with his bare buttocks. Emitting an involuntary cry, he spun around to find Daisy standing there, looking at him as if he were crazy.
“You have a very cold nose,” he said, rubbing her head.
“What’s going on?” Holly asked from the stairs. She came down to join him, as naked as he in the moonlight filtering through the windows.
“I heard something down here,” Stone said, “and I came to investigate.”
“That would have been Daisy. She tends to patrol during the night.”
“She has a cold nose,” Stone said, rubbing his ass.
Holly laughed. “She certainly does, and she loves sticking it where it shouldn’t be. Don’t worry, there’s no one in the house. Daisy would have let us know.”
Stone looked her up and down. “You look very nice in the moonlight.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “You look pretty good yourself,” she said. “Daisy, guard.”
Daisy went and sat by the door, and Holly took Stone by the hand and led him back upstairs. She took the gun from him and dropped it in her purse, then she went to the bed and pulled Stone on top of her. “As long as we’re awake,” she said, wrapping her long legs around him.
“Funny,” he replied, “I’m not in the least sleepy.”
She reached down and put him inside her. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, thrusting.
25
STONE WOKE TO find Holly sprawled across his chest. Gently, he rolled her over until she was beside him, on her back.
“Am I awake?” Holly asked, her eyes still closed.
“Probably not.”
“I think I am. You must be, too.”
“I think we should go back to the city this morning,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t lik
e the idea of somebody following us up here, especially since I don’t know who or why.”
“Neither do I, come to think of it.”
“I’d feel better in the city. I’m not sure why.”
“I’ll trust your judgment.”
Stone showered, got dressed, and scrambled them some eggs, while Holly took Daisy for her morning walk around the Rocks, next door.
When they had finished breakfast, they put their things and Daisy into the Mercedes and drove away from the house.
“Why are you driving so fast?” Holly asked.
“Because I like driving fast; because for once, nobody is in front of me on these roads; and because if these people are still keeping tabs on us, I don’t want to make it easy for them.”
“All good reasons,” she said. “Anyway, you drive well, and I don’t see how anyone could drive this car slowly. Do you ever get tickets?”
“Not as long as I carry a badge,” Stone replied.
“You do? Let me see it.”
Stone reached into an inside pocket and fished out the wallet that held his ID card and badge. “It’s not the real thing,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s something like a seven-eighths reproduction. Most retirees carry one.”
“It says ‘retired’ down at the bottom of your ID card,” she said, “but in very small letters.”
“You learn to cover that with a finger, when you’re flashing it,” Stone said.
“Does this allow you to carry a weapon?”
“No, but the department gives you a carry license when you retire. It’s in the wallet, behind the ID, along with a Connecticut carry license.”
Holly looked at them. “Do you carry a lot?”
“Not a lot, just when I feel nervous about the situation.”
“I can’t imagine you being nervous.”
“All right, wary.”
“Wary is more like you.”
They turned onto the interstate just north of Danbury, and Stone caught sight of a black SUV a quarter of a mile behind them. “There they are,” he said.
Holly didn’t look back. “What are they driving?”
“Black SUV, probably an Explorer.”
“That sounds like government, not something Trini’s friends would drive.”
“You could be right. After all, your boyfriend is pissed off; he could be keeping tabs.”
“He’s probably jealous,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh.
“Good.”
“You enjoy annoying the Feds?”
“Always.”
“What do you have against them?” she asked.
“I find them untrustworthy. When I had to work with them as a cop, they always wanted the collar and the press, and they usually got it. They were lousy at sharing information, and you couldn’t trust it when they did.”
“That pretty much sums up my experience, too,” she said. “Why do you suppose they’re that way?”
“It’s the federal culture, I think. They think they’re the pinnacle of law enforcement, and they tend to look down on anybody at the local level as backward children.”
She laughed.
“I don’t find them all that good at solving crimes, either.”
“Stone, you’re driving nearly a hundred miles an hour.”
“It’s Sunday morning, and the traffic is light.”
“Doesn’t this car attract cops like flies?”
“If they’re around, and if they feel like a pursuit.”
“Is the Explorer keeping pace?”
Stone glanced in his mirror. “So far.” He turned off I-84 and accelerated through a long curve and onto I- 684. “There’s a place a few miles down the road where the New York State cops like to lie in wait with their radar gun.” He accelerated some more.
“You just passed a hundred and twenty,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Our speed is electronically limited to a hundred and fifty-five.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “I feel better now.”
A beep sounded and a tiny red light on the steering column began to flash.
“Radar detector?”
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you slowing down?”
“I want to try something.” He pointed ahead. “There they are.”
A state police vehicle was parked in the meridian, a radar gun hanging out a window.
Stone took out his wallet, rolled down the window a bit, and held his badge in the slipstream, creating wind noise. They flew past the police car, and Stone rolled up the window and checked his mirror. “They’re not budging,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. Hang on, there go the cops.”
Holly looked back. “They’re after the Explorer,” she said.
“I guess they’re not flashing a badge,” he said, checking the mirror again. “Yep, light’s on, they’ve got him.” He accelerated again.
“A hundred and forty,” she said. “Do you always drive this fast on the interstate?”
“Well, we know the cops are all involved with the Explorer,” he said, “so unless they radio ahead for a trap, we’re home free. Something else: If the guys in the Explorer are Feds, they’ll call ahead for somebody to pick up the tail at the other end. The goombahs wouldn’t think of that.” He pressed on through the light traffic, passing cars doing eighty as if they were standing still.
In what seemed an incredibly short time, they were turning into Stone’s block.
“Two guys on my front steps,” Stone said, slowing.
“It’s Ham!” Holly said. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who’s Ham?”
“My father.”
“Oh, God,” Stone said.
“You don’t want to meet my father?”
“The other guy on the steps is Herbie Fisher.”
“Who?”
“The guy Lance had me represent in court. I told you about him.”
“What does he want?”
“I dread to think.”
26
HAM BARKER WAS taller than Stone, and skinnier. Stone stuck out his hand. “Hello, Ham, I’m Stone Barrington.”
“Good to meet you,” Ham said gravely.
“Herbie,” Stone said, “what the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the Virgin Islands.”
“I just thought I’d drop by,” Herbie said, offering his hand.
Stone ignored it. “Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Drop by.”
“Aw, Stone . . .”
Ham spoke up. “Stone, there are two men in your block, watching this house.”
“Oh, my God!” Stone said. “Herbie, they’re after you!” He stuck a hundred-dollar bill in Herbie’s hand. “Get out of here, quick!”
“Where am I going to go?” Herbie wailed.
“Go to your mother’s place, in Brooklyn. They’ll never think of looking for you there. Get out of here!”
Herbie sprinted down the block and was gone.
“Sorry about that,” Stone said to Ham. “Herbie’s a pest, hard to get rid of.”
“Quick thinking, there,” Holly said. “Ham, what are you doing here?”
Stone picked up Ham’s bag. “Let’s talk inside. The Feds may be able to read lips.”
“Is that who those two guys are?” Ham asked as Stone unlocked the front door and turned off the burglar alarm.
“Yep,” Stone said. “Holly’s boyfriend put them on us. Where are you staying, Ham?”
“Haven’t figured that out.”
“We’ve got room here.” He punched the elevator button and set Ham’s bag in the car. “Third floor, second door on your right.”
“Why, thank you,” Ham said.
“When you’re settled, come down and we’ll have some lunch.”
Ham got onto the elevator and started upstairs.
“Is your stuff out of my bedroom?” Stone asked Holly.
“Mostly. There are some things drying in the bathroom.
Why?”
“Because if your father spots them, I’m dead. He’s a killer. You can see it in his eyes.”
“Oh, stop it, Stone. Ham knows I’m a grown-up.”
“He’s a father, and you’re his little girl; that’s all he knows. You’re sleeping in your own room while he’s here. Why is he here?”
“I don’t know. When he comes downstairs, I’ll ask him.”
“Why are you here, Ham?” Holly asked. They were eating pasta that Stone had prepared.
“Somebody messed up your place,” Ham said.
“What?”
“I went by to check on the house, and the front door was off the hinges. The place had been ransacked.”
“Anything missing?” Holly asked.
“How would I know? They had a go at your safe, but didn’t get in.”
“Not much in there—some papers and a couple of handguns.”
“Oh,” Ham said, reaching into an inside pocket. “I brought you a piece; thought you might need it.” He handed her a small pistol.
“Sig-Sauer P232,” she said, hefting it. “Nice. Thanks, Ham.”
“The magazine’s full, and there’s one in the chamber. The rest of a box of cartridges is upstairs, when you need it.”
“How’d you manage to get it here?”
“I showed the airlines my badge and declared the weapons. They were locked in a little case inside my bag.”
“What badge?” Stone asked.
Ham put a wallet on the table.
Stone opened it. “Lieutenant, Orchid Beach PD?”
“Ham’s kind of a consultant,” Holly said. “Dollar-a-year man.”
“Good idea. Makes carrying firearms easier, doesn’t it? What are you packing, Ham?”
Ham reached under his tweed jacket and put a Beretta 9mm on the table.
“Can you hit anything with that?” Stone asked.
“I fired expert in the army with the old automatic,” Ham said.
“I couldn’t hit a wall with that thing,” Stone said.
“Ham fired expert with everything the army had,” Holly said. “He’s the best shot in the world.”
Ham shook his head. “No, just the best shot you ever saw.”
