Worst Fears Realized

“Then you’re a rotten judge of character.”

“We’ll see in the morning,” she said, snuggling her naked body against his.

Stone fell asleep wondering where Herbert Mitteldorfer was.

22

STONE SAT IN THE FRONT PASSENGER SEAT of a black Range Rover and tried not to fall asleep. The car was being driven by a real-estate agent named Carolyn Klemm, and she had already shown them half a dozen houses, all charming, but not quite right. Sarah dozed in the rear seat. The car stopped, jarring Stone fully awake.

“What do you think of that?” the agent asked.

Stone focused on a very large, very beautiful shingle-style house in the medium distance.

“I’ve got the key in my pocket,” Carolyn said.

“Carolyn, I don’t want a house tour,” Stone grumbled. “I want to see houses I can afford.”

“Not that,” Carolyn said. She pointed. “That.”

Stone turned his head to the right. There, much closer, was a very much smaller relative of the large house.

“The big place is called The Rocks,” Carolyn said.“The little place was originally the gatehouse.”

Sarah spoke up. “Let’s see it.”

Carolyn pulled into the driveway, past a row of evergreens that partly shielded the little house from the road. It was a Victorian, or perhaps a Queen Anne, style, shingled, with a turret taking up half the front facade. “Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, garage, and in back, a very nice little pool.” She got out of the car, led them up the front path, and opened the front door.

Stone and Sarah stepped into a larger room than he had expected. A new-looking kitchen occupied a rear corner, and the wooden floors looked recently refinished.

“It was built in 1889, at the same time as the house,” Carolyn was saying. “When the original owner left, he sold it separately from The Rocks, and it’s changed hands two or three times since.”

“Let’s see the upstairs,” Sarah said.

They followed the agent up a handsome staircase and were shown a large master bedroom with a new bath and a second, smaller bedroom, with only a shower. They poked into closets and looked out windows. The bedrooms overlooked The Rocks, and the front windows took in the Gunnery School, across the street. They went back downstairs.

“This whole area is called The Green,” Carolyn was saying. “It’s the oldest part of town and the most sought- after.”

“What are they asking for the house?” Stone asked.

“You could get lucky here,” Carolyn replied. “The couple who own it are divorcing, and they’re highly motivated sellers. They want to get their money out and divide it.” She named a figure.

Stone looked at Sarah inquiringly; she responded with an almost imperceptible nod. Stone turned to Carolyn and quoted a figure twenty percent lower than the asking price.

“Let me use the upstairs phone,” Carolyn said.

When she had gone Sarah grabbed Stone by the lapels. “If you hadn’t made the offer I would have! It’s absolutely beautiful, and it’s just been renovated.”

“There are still a few things that need doing, but I could do them myself,” Stone said.

“And there’s a lovely little garden out back. Do you know what that means to an Englishwoman?”

“I can imagine. The garden’s all yours.”

Carolyn came back down the stairs. “Did you plan to pay cash or finance it?”

“I can pay cash,” Stone replied.

“Good; here’s the deal. Increase your offer ten percent and agree to close in two weeks, and the place is yours.”

“Done,” Stone said.

“Let’s go to my office and type up an offer,” Carolyn said, marching them out to the Range Rover. “And you’ll have to come to dinner the next time you’re up from the city. I’ll introduce you to a lot of people.”

Two hours later, the sellers had faxed back a signed contract, and Stone left with it in his pocket, having left a large check as deposit.

“Did that really happen so quickly?” Sarah asked.

“It certainly did.”

“Why were you so ready to buy it?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Of course, but…”

“I was way ahead of you. I’d been thinking about a country place for a while, and I spent a weekend up here a couple of years ago with… an acquaintance.”

“And who might that have been?” Sarah asked archly.

“A woman named Amanda Dart.”

“The gossip columnist? The one who was murdered outside the Plaza Hotel?”

“One and the same.”

“Did they ever figure out who killed her?”

“No arrest was ever made.”

“But they know?”

Stone shrugged. “Maybe, but it won’t ever be solved.”

“Why not?”

“Because the people who arranged it don’t make a practice of committing murders that can be solved.”

“Stone, tell me the house you just bought wasn’t Amanda Dart’s.”

“It wasn’t. I’m not even sure exactly where Amanda’s place is. I was only there a couple of times, and it was on some back road or other.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d been to Washington before.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Am I ever going to get to know all the nooks and crannies of your devious mind?” she asked.

“God, I hope not.”

“I’m going to have to start looking for furniture and fabrics.”

“Listen, Sarah,” he said, “we still have to be very careful.”

“With money?”

“With your safety.”

“Why? Hasn’t your suspect flown the coop?”

“Yes, but we don’t know where he’s flown to. You can’t tell anybody about this place for the time being, and maybe not for a long time.”

“But I want to tell everybody.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s okay. As far as decorating goes, I think we should buy a bed and some other necessities in the city, then furnish the place from the shops and antique shops around here. There are a lot of them.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Something else.”

“What?”

“I’m worried about your show. I know it would be difficult, but do you think you could cancel, or at least, postpone it?”

“Are you insane? Bergman has sent out a thousand invitations, at the very least.”

“I drove past the gallery yesterday; it’s very exposed, opening right onto Madison Avenue. I’d feel better if it were on a side street.”