“No. What’s more, in order to cover up his new identity, he engineered a light airplane crash in which his ex-wife and two others died.”

“And he got away with it?”

“Fortunately, no. He turned up in New York a few weeks later, demanding his yacht.”

“What?”

“Didn’t I mention that Allison, by way of my fee, gave me the yacht?”

“No.”

“Well, she did.”

“And now Paul Manning wanted it back?”

“He did.”

“What did you do?”

“I’d been expecting him to show up, so I made a phone call, and the police came and took him away. He was extradited to St. Marks, where he was tried, then hanged for the three murders.”

“God, what a story. And what made you think of it tonight?”

“I thought of it because Allison Manning is sitting right over there by the windows.”

Callie’s head spun around.

Stone tapped her on the arm. “Don’t stare. I don’t want her to see me.”

“You’re sure?”

“She’s dyed her hair red, but that is Allison in the flesh, and very nice flesh it is.”

“How could she possibly be here if she was hanged in St. Marks?”

“I didn’t finish my story. Unbeknownst to me, Allison had, through the local barrister, arranged to deliver a cashier’s check for one million dollars into the prime minister’s hands. Accordingly, the execution was faked, and Allison departed the island in a fast yacht she had chartered for the purpose.”

“That didn’t make it into the Sixty Minutes report, did it?”

“It did not. And I may have violated attorney-client confidentiality by telling you.”

“Where did Allison get a million dollars?”

“Paul Manning had been insured for twelve million dollars, and the insurance company had already paid.”

“So she skipped St. Marks with all that money?”

“Much to the annoyance of her husband.”

“But he got his comeuppance.”

“He did.”

“And you got the yacht.”

“I did.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No. I sold it in Fort Lauderdale.”

“You said you’d never been anywhere in Florida except Miami.”

“I forgot about Lauderdale.”

“How much did you get for the yacht?”

“A million, six.”

“And what did you do with it?”

“I gave the IRS a large chunk, and the rest is in a sock, under my mattress.”

She threw back her head and laughed. When she had recovered herself, she asked, “Why do you suppose Allison Manning is in Palm Beach?”

“I have no idea.”

They got back to Toscana around eleven and stood on the afterdeck, watching the moon come up.

“If you will forgive me,” she said, “I’m going to turn in. It was a long day, and I’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I’m hurt,” he replied, “but I’ll get over it.”

She leaned into him and kissed him, just long enough to be interesting; creamy lips, warm tongue. “Sleep well.”