“Right.”
Stone hung up and went back to the kitchen. “Joan, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to use you—not for a while, anyway.”
“Whatever you say,” she replied, standing up.
“No, have a seat. A car is being sent to take you back to your office.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary, Mr. Barrington. It’s not much of a walk, and it’s a nice day.”
“I’m afraid it is necessary,” Stone said. “It’s a police car that’s coming for you.”
“A police car? I don’t understand.”
“It wouldn’t do any good to explain; just trust me on this.”
She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “Hello?”
“It’s Andy Anderson. We’re coming up the street now.”
“Thanks; I’ll open the door.” He hung up. “Please follow me,” he said to Joan Robertson.
She stood up. “All right.”
Stone led her down the back stairs, through his exercise room, and into the garage. He pressed the button, and the door rose noisily. Instantly, a car drove inside, with Mick Kelly at the wheel and Andy Anderson in the passenger seat. Stone opened the door and helped Joan in. “I want you to lie down on the backseat until Detective Anderson tells you it’s all right to sit up.”
Joan laughed. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said.
“Believe me, this is for your protection. Thanks for coming over; I’ll let you know when it’s a better time.” He closed the door and gave Anderson a thumbs-up sign. “Go,” he said. The car backed into the street, and Stone closed the garage door behind them.
He was halfway back to the kitchen when it occurred to him that he had a lunch date that he didn’t dare keep.
11
S TONE WAITED UNTIL TWELVE-THIRTY, then called the Four Seasons and asked for Alex von Bidder, one of the owners. “Hello, Alex, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Good morning, Stone; would you like a lunch table?”
“Yes, I’m supposed to meet a young lady at one o’clock named Sarah Buckminster.”
“The painter?”
“Yes.”
“I have two of her pictures; she’s very good.”
“Yes, she is. Trouble is, I’m not going to be able to meet her, so I’d appreciate it if you’d give her a table next to somebody interesting, so she can eavesdrop…”
Von Bidder laughed. “Of course.”
“…and if you’d give her a phone and ask her to call me.”
“Of course.”
“She likes champagne; give her half a bottle of something good and charge the whole thing to my house account.”
“I’ll see that it’s done, Stone.”