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  Stone snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said.

  “You can see it next Sunday afternoon; she asked me to invite you. She’s not sending out formal invitations.”

  Dino spoke up. “I think you should send her a wedding gift – something nice from Tiffany.”

  “If I did, she’d just have to return it when she calls off the wedding.”

  “You doubt her commitment?” Genevieve asked.

  “Gen, less than a month ago, she was telling me she’d rather perform major abdominal surgery on herself than marry a doctor.”

  “Things change.”

  “Like wedding plans.”

  “This particular doctor is the most brilliant surgeon at the hospital.”

  “Good, then she won’t have to perform surgery on herself.”

  “Half the celebrities and rich people in this city have gone under his knife.”

  Stone turned to Dino. “If I ever need surgery, put me in a different hospital.”

  “I’ll just shoot you,” Dino replied.

  “Eliza has dangled this marriage possibility before me, looking for some response,” Stone said.

  “A response would be nice,” Genevieve replied.

  “She’s expecting me to charge down the aisle when the minister gets to the part ‘if any man can show cause why this woman should not marry this man’…”

  “How romantic that would be,” Genevieve said. “Shall I tell Eliza to expect you?”

  “To charge down the aisle?”

  “To come to the wedding.”

  “I suppose it would be churlish of me to decline.”

  “Very churlish.”

  “Well, okay. I’ll send some sort of gift. What would be appropriate?”

  Genevieve stared at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. “I don’t think there is an appropriate wedding gift from a man who has disappointed a woman,” she said finally.

  “Disappointed? That assumes that I’ve appointed… uh, that I’ve made promises I didn’t keep.”

  “Promises are often implied,” Genevieve said.

  “That’s right,” Dino said. “Promises are often implied.” Genevieve patted his hand. Dino might finally get laid.

  “You stay out of this,” Stone said to him. He picked up a menu. “Let’s order dinner.” He waved his empty glass at a waiter.

  Elaine came and sat down. “So, you going to the wedding?”

  Stone didn’t look up from the menu. “I’m a victim of a conspiracy,” he said.

  “We’re just all concerned about you,” Dino said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  Stone closed his menu. “Am I going to have to dine down the street somewhere?”

  Elaine glared at him. “Not unless you want your legs broken,” she said.

  A waiter appeared with Stone’s bourbon, then whipped out his pad. “What may I get for you?”

  Stone ordered the green bean salad and the spaghetti carbonara and a bottle of the Mondavi Cabernet for the table.

  “Elaine,” Genevieve said, “after next Sunday, you’re going to have to put crow on the menu for Stone’s benefit.”

  Elaine laughed heartily. “Stone, you don’t think she’s gonna go through with it?”

  “I have accepted her invitation to the wedding,” Stone said, “and I will accept whatever she decides next Sunday.”

  Elaine laughed. “He doesn’t think she’s gonna go through with it.”

  “Of course not,” Dino said.

  Stone sipped his drink.

  36

  Stone got home late that night, having been somewhat overserved at Elaine’s. He reset the alarm system and took the elevator upstairs to his bedroom.

  He took off his jacket and reached to hang it up with his other jackets, but something was wrong. His suits hung where he ordinarily hung his jackets. He shook his head, disoriented, then looked around: His jackets hung on the opposite wall, where he kept his suits. He felt slightly nauseated, as if he were on a rolling ship.

  He opened the top drawer of the built-in chest of drawers, where he normally kept socks and found shirts. He opened the third drawer, where he kept shirts, and found sweaters. He had begun to sweat. Stone went into the bathroom and threw up.

  He blew his nose, splashed cold water on his face and reached for a towel on the ring beside the sink. He found his cotton bathrobe there. The hand towels were lined up on the edge of the bathtub. He did not throw up this time; instead, he got angry.

  He went back into his bedroom and looked around. Four oil paintings by his mother, Matilda Stone, that normally hung to his left were on the opposite wall. The nonmatching lamps on either side of his bed had exchanged places. He reached into a bedside table drawer for tissues to mop his brow and found condoms. The bedspread had been reversed. The small rug beside his bed was now at the foot.

  He went back to his dressing room and undressed, hanging his clothes on hooks, to be dealt with the next day, then, after trying half a dozen different drawers, he found a nightshirt and put it on. He got into his bed and discovered it had been short-sheeted. He remade the bed, got into it and fell asleep.

  He had nightmares.

  Stone met Bob Cantor for lunch the next day at P. J. Clarke’s. “How was the Mayflower Inn?” he asked.

  “Just lovely,” Cantor said. “Bonnie and I had a fine night there. Good dinner, too. You’re looking a little peaked, Stone. Drink too much last night?”

  “Maybe,” Stone said glumly. “You know that circuit board you changed in the Connecticut alarm system?”

  “Yes.”

  “Change the one in my Turtle Bay house, too.”

  “Uh-oh, somebody get into the house?”

  “Yes, and more.”

  “What?”

  “Whoever got in rearranged my bedroom and dressing room. Helene is over there now, trying to straighten everything out. It’s a mess.”

  “I’ve got a circuit board in the van,” Cantor said. “I’ll do it as soon as we leave here. You got any idea who’s behind these two break-ins?”

  “My best guess is Harlan Deal.”

  “The guy we met at the inn? Why would he do that?”

  “It’s about a woman.”

  “Carla?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know her.”

  “I didn’t know you were a music buff.”

  “It’s not that. I installed a security system in her grandfather’s house last year and met her there a couple of times.”

  “Her grandfather’s house?”

  “You remember, you sent me out there.”

  Stone was feeling nauseated again and asked the waiter for a beer. “Bob, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You recommended me to her grandfather.”

  Stone raised his beer. “Hair of the dog,” he said, then drank deeply. “Who is her grandfather?”

  “Eduardo.”

  “Eduardo who?”

  “Your friend, Eduardo Bianchi.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, you sent me to him.”

  “Not that, the part about grandfather.”

  “Well, she’s his granddaughter. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “That’s impossible; she’s Swedish.”

  “Half,” Cantor said. “Her father was Eduardo’s son.”

  “He has a son?”

  “Had. He caught a number of bullets when Carla was about to start music school at Juilliard. She stopped using her last name after that.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “My old man knew the family, and so did I. Eduardo’s son, Alberto – Carla’s father – was a couple of years ahead of me in school. I knew him to speak to, that’s all. My old man didn’t want me making friends with mafiosi.”

  “Who was her mother?”

  “Her, I didn’t know. Somebody Alberto met in the city, I heard. Swedish immigrant, apparently.”

  Stone spent a few sips of his beer trying to r
eorient himself. His world seemed to have been shaken and stirred.

  “How do you know Carla?” Cantor asked.

  Stone told him the story.

  “So now this Harlan Deal is on your case?”

  “Apparently.”

  “How much on your case?”

  “Enough to be annoying.”

  “Enough to hurt you?”

  “I don’t think so. He may have his suspicions, but he can’t put me together with Carla. And I handed her off to the Colonel yesterday.”

  “To the Colonel?”

  “I was feeling crowded by Deal, and I feel even more so now. She’s spending a couple of nights with him, and he’s bringing her back to the city.”

  “Well, that’s good, I guess. The Colonel always liked the ladies.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that; it’s what gave me the idea.”

  “You’re well rid of her, if it gets Deal off your back.”

  “Who might he have sent to break into both my houses?”

  “A pro, I can tell you that much.”

  “Somebody like you?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Cantor smirked. “Somebody with a sense of humor.”

  Stone ignored that. “Somebody you might know?”

  “Well, there isn’t exactly an American Association of Semilegal Techs that meets every Tuesday for lunch, but I know a few guys. You want me to check around?”

  Stone thought about that. “No, forget it; what good would it do? As soon as Harlan Deal finds out Carla is seeing the Colonel, he’ll get off my back.”

  “And onto the Colonel’s back?”

  Stone frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that, but no, I don’t think so. Deal is pissed off at me, because I did the prenup job for him, and he paid me well. He figures I’ve betrayed him in some way, which I haven’t. Carla’s a big girl, and she makes her own decisions. This will blow over.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Cantor said.

  “Listen, on another subject, Dino’s guys put a GPS tracker on Charlie Crow’s Rolls-Royce, and it was parked outside Ab Kramer’s house for three hours the other night.”

  “Well, that’s interesting. You think they were sitting cross-legged on the floor, addressing invitations to our little upcoming reunion?”

  “Not for three hours. You remember that time you tapped a phone for me through the phone company?”

  “Yeah, I’ve still got my guy on the inside.”

  “I want you to tap Charlie Crow’s phone. See what we can come up with.”

  “Okay, but it’ll cost you a grand up front plus five hundred a day for as long as the tap runs. My guy puts his pension at risk.”

  “All right, I’ll buy that for three or four days. How about his cell phone?”

  “I’ve got a scanner that will pick that up, but I’d have to follow him around; the range is short.”

  “Let’s keep that in reserve.”

  “Okay. Can we order lunch, now?”

  Stone ordered the soup; it was all he felt like eating.

  37

  As Stone was leaving Clarke’s his cell phone vibrated, and he flipped it open. “Yes?”

  “It’s Eggers. Where are you?”

  “Just leaving P. J. Clarke’s.”

  “Come see me.” Eggers hung up.

  Stone walked over to the Seagram Building and took the elevator upstairs. The receptionist was on the phone, apparently with a girlfriend. She thumbed him toward the corner office.

  Stone walked through Bill Eggers’s open door and tossed his coat on a chair. “What?” he demanded.

  “You’re in a shitty mood,” Eggers said.

  “Somebody is fucking with me, probably Harlan Deal.”

  Eggers looked over Stone’s shoulder. “Hello, Harlan,” he said. “Come in.”

  Harlan Deal walked around Stone and sat down. Eggers waved Stone to a chair.

  “Now,” Eggers said, “what’s going on with you two?”

  “He stole my girl,” Deal said.

  “He had my house, ah, houses broken into.”

  “You stole his girl?”

  “Certainly not. If he lost her, that was her decision, not mine.”

  Eggers turned to Deal. “You had his houses broken into?”

  “I’ve nothing to say on that subject,” Deal said.

  Stone opened his mouth, but Eggers held up a hand. “Stone, did you have anything to do with Harlan’s girl leaving him?”

  “I did not,” Stone said. “I saw her when I was in Connecticut, though.”

  “Aha!” Deal shouted, pointing a finger at Stone.

  “She was at the home of a friend of mine, Barton Cabot.”

  “The antiques dealer?” Eggers asked.

  “You know him?”

  “My wife and I have bought a few pieces from him over the years. We’re collectors of American furniture.”

  Deal spoke up. “Are you saying that Carla left me for an antiques dealer?”

  “Not that kind of antiques dealer.”

  “What kind, then?”

  “One who likes women more than antiques.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Deal said.

  “Well, she was there when I arrived at Colonel Cabot’s house yesterday afternoon, and she was there when I left. My impression was that she was staying over.”

  “Colonel Cabot?” Eggers asked.

  “He was a career officer in the Marines before he was an antiques dealer.”

  Deal looked at Stone as if he were insane. “A former Marine is an antiques dealer? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “I don’t care if it makes any sense,” Stone said. “It’s true.”

  “Then you didn’t steal my girl?”

  Stone reminded himself that it had been Carla’s idea to sleep with him. “I did not.”

  Eggers spoke up. “Harlan, it appears that you’ve been misinformed.”

  Deal blinked, literally and figuratively. “Then I must apologize to Mr. Barrington.”

  Stone waited for him to do so. “All right, apologize.”

  “I apologize.”

  “For having my homes broken into?”

  “I know nothing about that.”

  Eggers looked at him sharply. “Harlan?”

  Deal threw up his hands. “My people just had a look around.”

  “They rearranged my bedroom and dressing room,” Stone said.

  “That was not part of my instructions,” Deal said. “My man has… a whimsical nature.”

  “Well, you tell him that if I catch him being whimsical in any residence of mine again I will make a point of curing his whimsy.”

  “Now, Stone,” Eggers said. “Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding all around, and Harlan has apologized. Will the two of you now shake hands and forget this?”

  Stone and Deal stared at each other. Finally, Stone extended a hand, and Deal shook it.

  “I have to get back to my office,” Deal said, rising. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.” He walked out.

  Eggers got up and closed the door behind Deal, then looked at Stone. “You fucked his girlfriend?”

  “Bill, didn’t you hear anything I just said?”

  “Stone, I know you.”

  “Tell you what, pick up the phone and dial this number.” Stone read from the jotter in his jacket pocket.

  Eggers dialed.

  “Ask to speak to Carla.”

  “What’s her last name?”

  “She doesn’t have one.”

  “Oh, come on, Stone.”

  “She’s Eduardo Bianchi’s granddaughter, and she doesn’t like using his name.”

  Eggers put down the phone in haste. “You fucked a woman who is both Harlan Deal’s fiancée and Eduardo Bianchi’s granddaughter? I don’t know why you’re not somewhere in a shallow grave.”

  “She isn’t Deal’s fiancée anymore, and she wasn’t when I fucked her, and Eduardo and I get along just fine, thank you.”

  “Does
Eduardo know you’re fucking his granddaughter?”

  “I am not fucking his granddaughter… anymore. Barton Cabot may be, but I’m not.”

  “How the hell do you know Barton Cabot, anyway?”

  “We both have houses in the same town; why shouldn’t I know him?”

  “It’s just bizarre,” Eggers said.

  “What’s bizarre about it?”

  “Well, I’ll bet he’s the only former Marine colonel you know and the only antiques dealer, too. Am I wrong?”

  “Well… no.”

  “Then it’s bizarre.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Listen,” Eggers said, “as long as you know Cabot, maybe you could run down a rumor for me.”

  “What sort of rumor?”

  “Word around town is Cabot has got hold of a very fine eighteenth-century mahogany secretary.”

  “Where the hell did you hear that?”

  “If the rumor is true, I’d be interested.”

  “Bill, please tell me where you heard that rumor.”

  “Stone, the number of people in New York who would be interested in a piece of that caliber is very small. We talk to each other.”

  “Tell me the name of the person who told you this.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Is there anything else, Bill?”

  “No.”

  “Then I bid you good day.” Stone got up and headed for the door.

  “Let me know if you hear anything about that secretary,” Eggers called after him.

  38

  When Stone arrived at home his housekeeper, Helene, was picking up her paycheck from Joan. “I got your bedroom back like it was,” Helene said.

  “Thank you, Helene.”

  “Except for those things in the bedside drawers,” she sniffed.

  “I’ll deal with that, thank you.”

  “You must have had some weekend upstairs, to get it like that.”

  “Helene, I was in Connecticut this weekend. Somebody got into the house and did that as a joke.”

  Helene muttered something Stone didn’t quite hear, then left for home.

  “She was really pissed off,” Joan said.

  “I was pretty pissed off, myself. The guy who had this done just apologized to me in Bill Eggers’s office, though.”