“How about my address?”
“Know your address.”
Stone picked up a map of the area, signed for the tools, and went back to his car, figuring that he had a lot to learn about small, New England towns.
He spread out the map and recognized a familiar name: New Preston. He’d heard something about antiques there. Following the map, he drove up a hill, down another, crossed a highway, and came to an attractive village. An hour later, he’d bought two lamps, three pictures, all local landscapes, and a shopping bag full of small items.
He continued along the road and came to a large lake – Lake Waramaug, the map said. He followed the winding road around the lake, enjoying the sun on the water and the views of the hills, and ended up back where he started. He drove back to Washington and had lunch at the Pantry, a restaurant and kitchen supply shop, where he bought a few more things for his kitchen, plus a couple of cheeses from a large display.
Back at the house he hung the pictures, plugged in the lamps, and started looking for things to fix with his new tools. He didn’t find much. The place was newly renovated, and everything appeared to have been taken care of.
He fixed himself a lunch of bread and cheese, then stretched out for a nap on the living-room sofa, to await the arrival of the reputedly evil Dolce.
44
STONE WAS AWAKENED BY A NOISE RESEMBLING the start of the Indianapolis 500. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on. The noise died, and he heard a car door slam; by the time he got to the front door, Dolce was standing there, her arms full of things. A bright red Ferrari was parked next to Stone’s car.
“Is this the Barrington mansion?” she asked, peeking inside.
“It is,” Stone replied. “Won’t you step inside, madam?”
“Try mademoiselle,” she said, coming into the house, “or better yet, signorina.”
Stone took her packages inside, while she went back to the car. She returned with an armful of flowers and a large vase. “I suspected the place would need brightening,” she said, handing him the vase. “Fill that two-thirds with tepid water.”
Stone did as instructed, and she quickly arranged the flowers and set them on the living-room coffee table. “There; makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does. What’s in the packages?”
“Housewarming gifts,” she replied. “Open.”
Stone opened the packages and found two beautiful oils, a Venetian scene and a landscape he didn’t recognize, with a Roman ruin prominently featured.
“They’re beautiful,” he said, kissing her. “Where’s the landscape?”
“Sicily, where else?”
“They’re both wonderful. I’ll get some tools, and you can hang them for me.”
Soon both paintings were displayed to good effect. Stone thought that with the walls no longer entirely bare and the lamps in place, it was looking a good deal more like home.
Dolce walked around the place, looking at details. “I like it,” she said. “It’s very Connecticut, and in some ways, it’s very you.”
“You’ll have to come often,” Stone said.
“I intend to,” she replied. “Will you get my bag from the car and show me the upstairs?”
Stone went out to the Ferrari and found a surprisingly small bag on the front seat. There was hardly anyplace else to put it in the car. He brought it inside and led her upstairs.
“Oh,” she said, “
“Our host says it’s very casual.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dolce laughed. “For men, maybe.”
Stone slipped his arms around her and pulled her close.
“My goodness,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “you’re ready, aren’t you?”
“You betcha.”
She broke away. “Well, you’re just going to have to wait; I have a lot of questions.” She led him downstairs, and when they had settled on the sofa, she began. “All right, now; a girl doesn’t like surprises; who’s the movie star?”
“Vance Calder.”
She nodded as if she had dinner with movie stars every evening. “And his wife is Arrington.”
Stone blinked. “You’re way ahead of me.”
“Get used to it,” she replied.
“Ah, yes, I forgot about Mary Ann.”
“A girl’s best friend is her sister; remember that.”
“Believe me, I will.”
“Now, who are the other guests?”
“I’m not aware that there are any, but there could be.”
“A girl likes to know what the competition will be like.”
“Competition?”
“The other women. But since you’re ignorant of these things, just tell me how Arrington is likely to dress.”
“Jesus, how would I know that?”
“Well, how did she dress for casual dinner parties when she was living with you?”
“For casual parties? Well, simply, but elegantly, I suppose.”
“You’re a gigantic help. I’ll just have to go middle of the road, I guess. Does she wear a lot of jewelry?”
“Not a lot, as I recall.”
“Yes, but she wasn’t married to Vance Calder then, was she?”
“Well, no.”
“Her jewelry box will be much better stocked by now. Did she get her figure back after the baby?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t seen her since the baby.”
“Well, she’s a Beverly Hills wife, now; I’ll assume the worst.”
“That she’s fat?”
“That’s she’s svelte and in top shape. What about her hair and nails?”
“She has hair and nails.”
“How much hair, dummy, and does she lacquer her nails?”
“About as much hair as you, last time I saw her; she kept her nails long, but she seemed to paint them only on special occasions.”
“Then they will be painted tonight,” Dolce said. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” She went out to the car and came back with a train case.
Stone couldn’t imagine where she had stored it in the car.
“There is a small trunk,” she said, reading his mind. “What time are we due there?”
“At seven.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get started,” she said, heading up the stairs.
“It’s only five o’clock,” Stone said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink or something?”
“No time,” she said, disappearing up the stairs.
After a moment, he heard the tub running.
She came halfway back down the stairs. “You can have the bathroom at six-thirty,” she said. “I don’t want to see you up here before then.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
