Traffic was screwed up on the bridge, and it took forever before they were waved across and Callie was able to drive quickly again. They passed between a double row of very tall royal palms.

“This your first trip here?” she asked.

“Yes, it is. In fact, the only place I’ve ever been in Florida is Miami—twice, both times to pick up people in handcuffs.”

She looked at him. “What kind of lawyer are you?”

“One who used to be a cop.”

She made a few quick turns and suddenly, they were on the beach, driving past huge, ugly stucco mansions. “Thought I’d give you a little tour on the way to the house,” she said. “That’s Mar a Lago over there—the home of Marjorie Meriwether Post, now owned by the awful Donald Trump. He’s turned it into a club. Some of these palaces have tunnels to the beach.” She turned down Worth Avenue. “This is the shopping heart of Palm Beach,” she said. “All the famous stores are here.” They drove past Saks Fifth Avenue, Ralph Lauren and dozens of smaller shops.

“Where is the Everglades Club?” he asked.

“Down at the end. Why do you ask?”

“I have a lunch date for tomorrow at a place called Renato’s, which is supposed to be across the street.”

“Here comes the Everglades Club on the left,” she said, “and on the right is a little alley full of shops, and Renato’s is at the end.”

“What’s the Everglades Club?”

“Palm Beach’s most desirable club, or the snottiest, depending on your point of view.”

“And what is your point of view?”

“It’s the snottiest. Not only are Jews not allowed as members, they can’t even visit as guests, and I’m half-Jewish.”

“I didn’t know that sort of thing still existed in this country.”

“You’ve led a sheltered life,” she said. She turned left and began driving through a series of quiet streets lined with large houses and sheltered by tropical vegetation.

“This is beautiful,” he said.

“Certainly is. The most desirable houses are either on the beach or on the Inland Waterway, which in Palm Beach is called Lake Worth. Thad’s place is on Lake Worth. It’s more sheltered for the boat.” Shortly, she turned the Jaguar through a large gate into a circular drive and stopped before a palazzo that seemed to have been airlifted from Venice. “Here we are. Leave the luggage. Somebody will get it.”

Stone followed her to the huge double front doors. She pushed and a door swung back to reveal a central hallway that ran straight through the house. The hall was a gallery, hung with large oils. Stone recognized a Turner.

“Oh, good,” she said. “They’ve finished redoing the hall.” She led Stone out the back door and into gorgeously planted gardens.

Stone looked back. “You’d never know the house was under construction,” he said.