“Hello,” a low female voice said immediately.

“May I speak with Mrs. Winston Harding, please? My name is Stone Barrington.”

“Oh, Mr. Barrington, this is Mrs. Harding. How good of you to ring me back so promptly. You sound a little funny. Are you in a car?”

“In an airplane,” Stone said. “Tell me, where is the five-six-one area code?”

“Palm Beach, Florida,” she said.

“Oh. Oddly enough, that’s where I’m flying to.”

“How convenient,” she said. “I wonder if we might meet while you’re here? I’m in need of some very good legal counsel.”

“Of course. Who recommended me, may I ask?”

“No one, really. It was something I read about you once. Let’s have lunch tomorrow. Do you know a restaurant called Renato’s?”

“No, this will be my first visit to Palm Beach.”

“It’s in the heart of town, in a little cul-de-sac off Worth Avenue, right across the street from the Everglades Club. Anyone can tell you.”

“I expect I can find it.”

“Twelve-thirty, then, in the garden?”

“Fine. How will I recognize you?”

“I’ll recognize you,” she said. “See you tomorrow.” She hung up.

Stone replaced the phone in the arm of the chair. Winston Harding. Sounded faintly familiar, but he couldn’t place the man. Hard to tell much about Mrs. Harding from her voice, even her age. He pictured her as in her fifties, but she could be younger, he supposed. Or older.

He settled back into his chair and returned his attention to the Times. Soon, he dozed off.

Chapter 5

5

STONE WAS WAKENED BY A SLIGHT JAR AND THE SCREECH of rubber on pavement. He opened his eyes to see airport buildings rushing past the airplane’s windows as the pilot deployed the thrust reversers.

“You slept very well,” Callie said. She was back in her seat.

“It’s one of the things I do best,” he replied.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out the other things for myself,” she said, with a little smile.

The airplane taxied to a stop in front of a terminal, and the copilot came out of the cockpit and lowered the airstair door. A lineman entered the airplane, and the copilot showed him where the luggage was stored.

Stone followed Callie down the stairs to a waiting car, a Jaguar XK8 convertible, top down. The lineman was stowing their luggage in the trunk and behind the seat.

“Hop in,” Callie said.

Stone got into the passenger seat, and a minute later they were out of the airport, rolling east. The temperature was in the mid-seventies, and the sun was shining brightly.

“Quite a difference from New York, huh?” Callie said.

“Where are we now?” Stone asked.

“We’re in West Palm, and in a couple of minutes we’ll cross onto the island of Palm Beach, if traffic isn’t too screwed up on the bridge. They’re replacing it, and it’s taking forever.”