Stone sighed again. “All right, Manny.” He hung up. Tommy spoke up. “Is this the same Manny White from the Nineteenth?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“He was always a pain in the ass. Sit tight; I’ll be right back.”
Tommy got up from the table and disappeared through a door. A moment later he was back with a FedEx envelope and waybill. “Here you go; they’ll call it in from the offi ce.”
Stone put five hundreds in the envelope, addressed it and made a note of the tracking number, then Tommy took it to the offi ce. Stone called Manny White.
“Good day, Manny White Investigations,” Manny said.
“Isn’t this still the private line?” Stone asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Stone Barrington.”
“What do you want?”
“Manny, it’s what
“Yeah, gimme it.”
Stone recited the number. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“So what’s your information?”
“I haven’t had a chance to call FedEx and track it yet. I’ll call you back.”
“Manny, the package is in the office of the Key West Yacht Club, waiting for FedEx to pick it up.”
“So it’s not in the system yet?”
“I guess not, but it will be.”
“I can’t track ‘will be.’ ”
Tommy and Dino were laughing so hard they couldn’t eat.
“Look,” Tommy said, pointing out the front window. A FedEx truck was leaving the parking lot.
“Okay, Manny,” Stone said, “the truck just left; it’s in the system.”
“I’ll call you back.” Manny hung up.
“It would have been easier to go to Miami and look for the guy myself,” Stone said. His cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”
“Is this Barrington?”
“Yes, Manny.”
“Your package checked out.”
“Good, Manny, now what’s the information you have?”
“Here it is—after a thorough search, the name Evan Keating does not appear on any hotel register in South Beach.”
“That’s it?” Tommy and Dino were in new paroxysms of laughter.
“That’s it.”
“That’s what you call information?”
“It’s what I call very hard-won information,” Manny replied. “My agent had to go to every hotel to get it.”
“Okay, Manny,” Stone said, “cancel the rest of the search.”
“Whatever you say,” Manny said, and he hung up. Tommy spoke through his tears. “You gotta admit, it
Stone’s cell phone went off. “Hello?”
“It’s Cantor.”
“Good. What’ve you got for me?”
“Zip, I’m afraid. Nobody by that name has gotten new cell phone service in Key West for a week.”
Stone thought about that. “Anybody named Gigi Jones on the list of new customers?”
“Lemme see.” Cantor was shuffling papers. “Nope, nobody by that name, either.”
“Okay, Bob, thanks. Send me your bill.”
“In Key West?”
“Nope, in New York.”
“See ya.” Cantor hung up.
“Stone,” Tommy said, “if Evan Keating lost his old cell phone and is getting a new one, why would he get a new number?”
Stone smote his forehead. “Right! He’d just cancel the old phone and transfer the number to the new phone!”
“Why didn’t you think of that?” Dino asked.
“I don’t know. I should have.”
“Your brain is Swede-addled,” Dino said.
“Is this the doctor?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah. Stone has been sacrificing himself on that altar every night.”
“Some sacrifice,” Tommy said.
Stone ignored them; he was looking for Evan Keating’s old cell number in the list of calls in his phone’s memory. He found it and pressed the send button.
“Hello?”
“Evan?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Stone Barrington.”
Long pause. “What do you want?”
“I need to see you. There have been developments at home that you need to know about.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Key West Yacht Club.”
“Funny, so am I,” Evan said. “I’m parked within sight of the bar, which I figure is where you’re calling from.”
“Don’t move,” Stone said. He got up and started walking toward the door.
29
STONE BURST OUT the door and saw a beautiful little 32-footer moored at the end of the outer dock. Evan Keating was standing in the cockpit, looking at him. Stone hurried over and stepped aboard. Evan pointed at a cockpit seat, and Stone sat down. “How long have you been here?”
“Just a couple of minutes. I came in for fuel, but they don’t have fuel here.”
“I guess you’ll have to go down to Key West Bight.”
“What’s up?”
“First of all, the managing partner of my law fi rm got your grandfather out of the nursing home where your father had imprisoned him. He’s at home and being taken care of by his old secretary.”
“Hey, that’s great,” Evan said, without much enthusiasm. “What else?”
“It appears that your father may be trying to hire somebody to kill you.”
This got Evan’s full attention. “Why do you think that?”
“Because someone sounding like him, New England accent and all, called a private investigator of my acquaintance and inquired about having a dirty job done. Earlier, your father had hired him to fi nd you.”
“That sounds like the old man,” Evan said. “Any details of who he hired and how he plans to do it?”
“No, the P.I. hung up on him when it became obvious what he wanted.”
