“And to you, as well. How did you do with the architects?”

“We’re in good shape there. They’re doing a quick review of the lower floors, and we’ll be ready to start in a week. The construction company is on hold.”

“I thought I would rent a car and go down to Positano for a couple of days. Can you proceed without me?”

“Of course, and I’ll lend you a car—no need to rent. When would you like it?”

“One o’clock?”

“The Hassler doorman will have it for you.”

They said goodbye and hung up. Stone called the concierge and asked him to book them into Le Sirenuse, in Positano, then he arranged to cash a check for three thousand euros at the front desk. Stone put a thousand into his pocket and the rest into his briefcase, along with his passport, international driving license and checkbook, laptop, and a spare wristwatch.

At one o’clock they and their luggage were loaded into a Mercedes S550, courtesy of Marcel. The bags went into the trunk, and Stone put his briefcase on the rear floor behind the driver’s seat, so that he would have ready access to it. He loaded the address of their Positano hotel into the GPS, and they drove away on schedule.

They left the city and got onto the autostrada, headed south. The weather was sunny and warm, and traffic moved freely.

“Where do you live in New York?” Stone asked.

“I have a loft in SoHo. I live and work there. Do you know the area?”

“Sort of. I get a nosebleed if I go below Forty-second Street, so I don’t hang out downtown.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Turtle Bay. Do you know it?”

“I once went to see Katharine Hepburn there,” she said. “I was supposed to paint her for Vanity Fair, but she didn’t like my preliminary sketches, and they replaced me with Annie Leibovitz. Ms. Hepburn preferred photographs. Nice neighborhood, though.”

“Ms. Hepburn was a neighbor, sort of. I didn’t know her, but I saw her come and go sometimes.”

They were somewhere east of Naples when Hedy expressed an interest in a pit stop. Stone pulled into an autostrada service area, and they both went inside. He used the men’s, then got a cup of coffee and went outside to meet her. As they walked across the parking lot, Stone stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?” she asked.

Stone pointed ahead of them. “Our car is gone.”

6

Maybe he had made a mistake, he thought. He looked over the whole parking lot: there was no black Mercedes S550 parked there.

“Are you sure?” Hedy asked. “Maybe we parked on the other side.”

“It was right there,” he said, pointing.

“Oh, I remember—a truck pulled in next to us as we were getting out of the car.”

“There’s no truck there, either.”