Stone got up and walked across the restaurant toward the bar, getting a closer look at the woman as he walked. She was, at the very least, in her early forties, he reckoned, and she had on more makeup than suited her.

“Stone,” Thomas said. “This is someone you might want to meet.”

The woman turned toward him. “Are you Stone Barrington?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” Stone replied.

She held out her hand. “I’m Allison Manning,” she said.

“How do you do,” Stone said. Then the name sank in. “Who did you say…”

“I’m Paul Manning’s widow,” the woman said, “and I’m not very well, if the truth be told. However, I expect to be a lot better quite soon.”

Thomas went upstairs with the bags, leaving Stone alone with the woman.

“I suppose you’re with the press,” Stone said wearily.

“I’m not with anybody,” the woman replied. “I used to be with Paul Manning, but I understand he’s dead. Can you confirm that?”

“Yes, I can,” Stone replied. “Why don’t we sit down?” he indicated his table. “You seem to have been traveling; would you like a drink?”

“Oh, God, yes,” she breathed and headed toward a chair. “A very dry Gibson would be lovely.”

Thomas came back down the stairs, and Stone ordered her drink. When they were settled at a table, Stone said, “I’m afraid you have me at something of a loss, Miss…”

“Mrs.,” she said. “Mrs. Manning. And yes, I suppose you are at something of a loss. You’re representing her, aren’t you?”

“I’m representing Allison Manning,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”

“What’s going on, Mr. Barrington, is that I’ve come to claim my husband’s estate.”

“You’re speaking of Paul Manning, the writer?”

“I am.”

“And you claim to have been married to him?”

The woman opened a large purse, extracted an envelope, and handed it to Stone. “I believe this will answer your question,” she said.

Stone opened the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of a marriage certificate stating that Paul Manning and Elizabeth Allison Franklin had been married in Dade County, Florida, some fourteen years before.

“And you are Elizabeth Allison Manning?”

“Call me Libby; everyone does.”

“May I see some sort of identification, please?”

She opened her bag again and handed over an American passport.

Stone examined it, and it confirmed her identity. He handed it back. “Thank you,” he said. “And when were you and Paul Manning divorced?” he asked.

“Never,” she replied. “Paul and I were never divorced; we were married until the day he died.”

“I see,” Stone said. He didn’t see at all. “And what brings you to St. Marks?”

“I read of Paul’s death in the papers,” she replied. “I told you, I’ve come to claim his estate.”