“Don’t count on it.”

“One thing that surprises me is how quickly he got those two cops on my tail. I had a cab waiting when I talked to him, so they must have been at the opening, and I can’t figure out what two cops were doing at that opening. Does he ever have bodyguards?”

“He has on a couple of occasions that I know about, when he was having disagreements with people: his landlord, once, and a gallery owner another time.”

“Good to know. Why don’t you put the seat back and get some sleep?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said, pressing the Recline button.

Stone drove on into the night.

26

Stone woke with sunlight streaming into the bedroom and the phone ringing. Telemarketer, he thought; nobody knew he was here. He let the machine get it.

Celia never cracked an eye; she snored on, lightly. Stone got up, went downstairs and found a can of coffee in the freezer. Ten minutes later, Celia came down the stairs, almost dressed, in a robe that he kept for guests.

“Good morning,” she said, yawning. “Where are we again?” They had fallen into bed on arrival, both exhausted.

“In Washington, Connecticut, a village in the upper left-hand corner of the state.”

“I’ve never been to Connecticut. You got anything for breakfast?”

Stone looked at the kitchen clock: eleven-ten a.m. “Nope, we’ll have to pick up some things. I’ll buy you lunch, though.”

“Have I got time for a shower?”

“Sure. We’ll go to the Mayflower.”

“The moving company?”

“The country inn, maybe the best in the United States.”

“I’d better look nice, then.” She took her coffee and headed upstairs.

Stone noticed the message light blinking on the kitchen phone, and he pressed the button.

“Mr. Barrington, this is Seth Hardaway. I noticed you were missing a few shingles after that storm last week, so I replaced them and a section of gutter. I’ll fax the bill to New York.”

Next message: “Stone, it’s Joan. I don’t know if you’re there, but your cell is off. Call me; Herbie Fisher has surfaced.”

Stone erased the messages and called home.

“The Barrington Practice.”

“Good guess,” Stone said.

“Well, it is your only other home, not counting Maine.”

“Only because I’m not rich enough yet. When the Finger divorce is over, maybe I’ll think about something in Santa Fe.”

“Dream on.”

“Did Bernice sign the document?”

“She did, and so did her soon-to-be ex-husband.”

“Thank God,” Stone sighed. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“When do we get a load into your bank account?”

“What’s the matter, isn’t the hundred-grand retainer enough to satisfy you?”

“After taxes, you’ve got eight grand and change left.”

“Where’s the rest?”