“Laurence, it is. I’m Stone, and this is Bob.” Bob came over and sniffed the young man, accepted a scratching of the ears, then went to his bed and lay down. “How can I help you, Laurence?”

“I’m being pursued,” Laurence replied.

“Pursued by whom?”

“Everybody.”

Oh, God, Stone thought, not one of those. He took a deep breath. “Well, Laurence, why don’t we start with your telling me about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Sixty-second bio.”

“All right. I’m thirty years old. I was born in West Palm Beach, Florida. When I was eight, my mother, who was the manager of a small hotel in our community, was swept off her feet by an Englishman, who was an investor in the hotel. She subsequently divorced my father, married the Brit, and he took the two of us to live in England, where, except for summers, when I visited my father, I grew up. In fact, I became, for all practical purposes, English, including my accent.”

“I thought I caught a bit of that.”

“My American accent comes back when I’m here.”

“Go on.”

“I was educated at my stepfather’s old schools, Eton and Oxford, and after I graduated, I became a tutor at Eton, later an assistant master, teaching English and art history. My stepfather has a successful advertising agency, and I had no interest in a career in his company or any other business.”

Fred knocked on the door and stepped in. “Shall I take your bags up, sir?”

“Please, Fred. Oh, and this is Mr. Laurence Hayward.”

“How do you do?” Laurence said, becoming English, and they shook hands.

“Fred, what is Laurence’s accent?” Stone asked.

“Eton and Oxford, I should think,” Fred replied.

“Thank you, Fred. You can take the bags up. I’ll be here for a while.”

Fred departed.

“That was remarkable, the way Fred picked up on my accent.”

“Fred is very good at speaking and recognizing British accents of all sorts,” Stone said. “On with your bio.”

“I took a leave of absence from Eton and came home to Palm Beach a couple of months ago, after my father fell ill. He had moved to the island from West Palm some years ago as his legal practice grew.”

“What sort of legal practice?”

“Real estate. He spent most of his day closing sales and mortgages. Did quite well at it, and used the job to find good investment opportunities in real estate. He died three weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. He was good friends with the Chalmerses, who were his neighbors until they bought the big house on the beach, and they visited him often during his illness. I’ve known them most of my life.”

“All right, let’s get to the pursuit part.”