Stone flagged down the bartender. “I have to go. Put the drinks on my account.” He found Carla in the car, waiting for him.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “That man is
“He certainly is,” Stone said, starting the car. “I think we’ll dine elsewhere.”
Stone and Carla sat on the bed, watching a DVD of
“I love Gene Kelly,” Carla said.
“So do I.”
“I think he’s the best dancer this country has ever produced.”
“Better than Baryshnikov?”
“Baryshnikov was produced by Russia.”
“Oh, right.”
“I think he’s a terrific singer, too.”
“So do I, but he’s not as good as you, and as far as I know, he didn’t play piano, either.”
Stone’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He looked at the calling number in the little window. Bob Cantor was calling. What the hell did he want? He ignored it and let it go to voice mail. He considered telling Carla of Harlan Deal’s interest in The Rocks but thought better of it. That might put a damper on their sex life.
33
The following morning, Stone was contemplating getting out of bed when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dino.”
“Good morning.”
“It’s almost afternoon.”
“It’s ten A.M.,” Stone said. “What’s up?”
“I got a call to come in this morning about another case, and I reran last night’s GPS surveillance on Charlie Crow’s car.”
“Where did he go?”
“Just to one place: It was parked for a little under three hours at Abner Kramer’s house.”
“No kidding?”
“Well, he could have been next door or across the street, I guess. After all, the GPS unit is attached to his car, not to him, but that’s where his car was parked.”
“What was the time?”
“He arrived a little after eight and left a little before eleven.”
“Sounds like dinner,” Stone observed.
“Does Charlie Crow sound like the sort of guy an elegant fellow like Kramer would invite to dinner?”
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Stone reminded him. “Not even in dinner companions.”
“Yeah, I guess. I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Have you made up with Genevieve?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that she’s talking to me but not sleeping with me.”
“Have you found out what she was pissed off about?”
“Not a clue. I’ve wracked my brain.”
“She’ll get around to telling you, don’t worry.”
Carla stirred next to Stone.
“Gotta run,” Stone said. He hung up and gave his full attention to Carla.
When they had showered and dressed, Carla suddenly said,
“How about a picnic?”
“A picnic? What do you mean?”
“Well, you pack a lunch, put down a blanket in a pretty spot and eat.”
“Oh, that kind of picnic.”
“Is there any other kind?”
“I guess not.”
“Do you know of such a spot?”
Stone thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I do,” he said. “A clearing on a hilltop overlooking a fine landscape and a handsome house in the distance.”
“That should do nicely,” she said.
Stone found an old wicker basket with dishes and silver inside that he had discovered in a closet when he had bought the house. They drove down to the Village Market and bought a chicken, some salads and a cold bottle of wine, and Stone drove them to the hilltop road he had visited with Barton and Holly the week before. He parked the car, and they walked down a path to the little clearing.
“Oh,” she said, regarding the vista, “this is perfect.”
The weather was autumnal, but the sun warmed the clearing. Stone spread a blanket, and Carla busied herself arranging the lunch. “What are these for?” she asked, holding up Stone’s binoculars, which he had placed in the basket.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes they make the view more interesting.”
They sat cross-legged on the blanket, facing the distant house, ate their chicken and drank their wine. Stone lay back on an elbow and sighed. “This was a wonderful idea,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “I have them all the time.”
“Ideas?”
“Wonderful ideas.”
“Well, so far I have no complaints about your ideas, only your ex-boyfriends.”
“Harlan is a pig,” she said.
“What did you ever see in him?”
“He’s one of those men who can be perfectly charming when you first meet him, then, as time wears on, becomes first awfully boring, then finally just awful.”
“I’ve known women like that.”
“Really? I thought it was exclusively a male characteristic.”
Stone sat up on the blanket and picked up the binoculars.
“What is it?” Carla asked.
“A truck,” he replied.
“It is a very Harlanlike characteristic to find a truck more interesting than I,” she said, archly.
“Oh, I don’t find it nearly as interesting as you, but you’re too close for binoculars,” he replied, focusing more finely.
She pulled the binoculars away from his face and kissed him. “Does that help?”
“That was delightful, but they’re unloading something from the truck, and I’d like to see what it is, if you’ll give me just a moment, then you will have my undivided attention.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, handing him the binoculars.
Stone watched as four men removed a large crate from the back of the truck and began carrying it up the front steps of the house. The two men at the rear of the crate then hoisted it above their heads and climbed the steps.
“It’s light,” Stone said.
“Swell.”
“And it’s bigger at the bottom than at the top.”
