Family Jewels (11 page)

25

T
hey arrived at the Eagle residence at the cocktail hour, and Juan brought them drinks.

Nicky waited until they were served, then asked his question. “Did you see Carrie?”

Stone took a deep breath. “Yes, but I was too late.”

“To late for what?”

“To keep her safe.”

“You mean . . .”

“Yes. I found her at her house, on the bed. The medical examiner for the county said she had been beaten and strangled.”

Nicky’s drink slipped from his grasp and spilled on the floor; Juan rushed over with a towel. “If only . . .” he began, then stopped.

“There are always ‘if onlys,’” Stone said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, just what she asked you to do.”

“I heard her voice on the phone, but I couldn’t understand her.”

“She was probably killed shortly after that. We couldn’t have gotten there in time, and even if we’d been able to warn her—well, she’d been warned before.”

“Where is Harvey?”

“In the wind. The sheriff up there put out a statewide all-points bulletin on him, and the airports in Santa Fe and Albuquerque are being watched. He could be anywhere.”

Ed Eagle spoke for the first time. “Anything I can do to help?”

“If you think of something, let me know, Ed. I’ve been over it, and I think what can be done is being done. One thing, though—I’ve got to call Dino. Excuse me.” He got up and went into the study.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone.”

“Where are you? I left a couple of messages.”

“I’m in Santa Fe, at Ed Eagle’s house.”

“What took you out there?”

“Just a getaway. Yesterday was Susannah’s birthday, and there was a big party last night. There’s a guy named Nicky Chalmers here, a new client of mine and a friend of Carrie Fiske. He was shopping in Santa Fe yesterday and saw Harvey Biggers in the plaza. Nicky finally admitted that Carrie was out here—about fifty miles north, a place called Abiquiu.”

“Where Georgia O’Keeffe painted.”

“Right. I called her, but the cell service was poor, so I went up there this morning and found her dead.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, exactly. The police are looking everywhere for Biggers, but I think he’s gone. I think it might be a good idea for you to have the airports covered. The guy’s about six-six and thickly built. He shouldn’t be hard to spot, and it makes sense that he’d go back to New York.”

“How long has she been dead?”

“Maybe twenty-four hours.”

“If he’s coming back here he’s had plenty of opportunity to get past the airports, so that would be a waste of time. I’ll send some people around to his place—maybe he just went home.”

“Could be—it’s not as though he’s been behaving rationally.”

“Give Ed Eagle my best.”

“Right. See you.” They both hung up, and Stone went back to the living room. “Okay, New York is covered. Nicky, think about this—is there somewhere else where Harvey might run?”

Nicky thought about it, then shook his head. “I don’t know him well enough to know where that would be.”

“Do you know if he has any family?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Neither does Carrie, for that matter.”

“He probably has a rental car,” Ed said. “He could have just
continued north to Denver. He could fly just about anywhere from there.”

“Nicky, did Carrie own any other properties other than New York and East Hampton?”

“She has a house in Palm Beach, on Ocean Drive.”

“Does anybody live there when she’s away?”

Nicky shook his head. “Just a housekeeper, but she’s not a live-in.”

Stone’s cell phone rang, but the calling number was blocked. “Hello?”

“Is this Stone Barrington?” A woman’s voice.

“Yes.”

“This is Monique Sullivan, at CNN. I’m calling about the death of Carrie Fiske, and I understand you’re her attorney.”

“Hang on a minute. Excuse me, I’d better take this.”

He walked into the study. “Ms. Sullivan?”

“Yes. Can you tell me what happened? And don’t spare the details.”

“You should call Sheriff Martinez at the Rio Arriba Sheriff’s Office. He’s the man in charge.”

“I’ve already spoken to him, and he didn’t give me much. All I know is she’s dead and they’re looking for her ex-husband, one Harvey Biggert.”

“Biggers. That’s what I know, too. It would be helpful if you could report that on the air.”

“Love to, but I need details. Where are you right now?”

“I’m in Santa Fe.”

“Great, so am I. Could we meet for a drink?”

“I’m sorry, I’m spending the evening with friends. You can call me tomorrow. Goodbye.” He hung up, and his phone began to ring again, almost immediately. He switched it off and put it back into his holster.

26

T
hey had dinner with the Eagles, then Gala went home. “Call me tomorrow,” she said to Stone as she left.

Stone awoke the following morning to the ringing of his cell phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Joan.”

“Why so early?”

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Not in Santa Fe.”

“Oh, well, you’re up at seven every morning anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Your new client, Ms. Fiske?”

“Yes?”

“You did a will for her, remember?”

“Yes, and we sent it to her a few days ago.”

“Well, she executed it—properly, I might add. All the
signatures in the right places—but she made a change at the end.”

“What was that?”

“She crossed out the name of the bank she had named as executor, and wrote in your name and initialed it.”

“Oh, shit, that’s a job I don’t want.”

“Well, you can always get her to change it.”

“I’m afraid not—she died the day before yesterday.”

“Uh-oh, the husband?”

“Highly likely. If he turns up, don’t let him in and call the cops. Try not to shoot him.”

“Whatever you say. When are you coming home?”

“I was coming home today, but now I have arrangements to make. I forget, did she name a burial place?”

“Palm Beach, in her back garden, next to her parents.”

“Got an address?”

“It’s on Ocean Drive.” She gave him the number.

“All right.” He hung up, shaved, showered, and dressed and went down to breakfast. Nicky and Vanessa were already there. Stone greeted them, sat down, and reached for the eggs.

“I got a phone call this morning from my secretary. Carrie executed the will I drew up for her, but she changed the executor from her bank to me.”

“From your mien, I take it that’s a job you don’t want.”

“You are correct. You have a place in Palm Beach, as I recall.”

“That’s right.”

“Carrie expressed a wish to be buried in her garden there.”

“Yes, I remember that her parents are buried in a plot there.”

“Can you recommend a funeral director in Palm Beach?”

Nicky came up with a name. “That’s the society gravedigger, which means it will cost three times as much as it would in West Palm Beach, but Carrie would expect you to use them.”

Ed and Susannah came in. “I heard that last part. You’re her executor?” Ed asked.

“I’m afraid so. Can you recommend a funeral director here to collect the body and ship it?”

“Sure.” He wrote down a name and gave it to Stone.

“Is the estate going to have to go to probate?”

“No, I drew up a revocable trust for her.”

“I’ll order some certified copies of the death certificates for you. How many do you want?”

“I don’t know, fifty? I’ve handled exactly one estate since Arrington’s death, and I needed that many then.”

“I’ll send somebody over from my office to collect them. I’ll speak to the ME, too. I can’t see any reason why he shouldn’t release the body immediately, since there’s no doubt about the cause of death.”

“Thanks. Could you FedEx them to New York? Looks as though I’ll be making a stop in Palm Beach before going home. Nicky, if you want to be there for the burial, I’ll be happy to have you fly with me, then back to New York, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“Thank you, Stone, we’d like to be there, and we appreciate the ride.”

Stone finished his breakfast then went into Ed’s study and started making calls. Inside an hour he had made the necessary arrangements, received a faxed copy of the will from Joan, and was packed and ready to go. He called Gala.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” he said.

“You aren’t going home today, are you?”

Stone explained his new duties. “How would you like a free trip to Palm Beach and New York for a few days?”

“I think I could handle that.”

“Pick you up in an hour?”

“What shall I pack?”

“Something for a funeral, and whatever else you would like.”

“I think I’ll travel light. I haven’t been shopping in New York for a long time. In an hour, then.”

Stone said goodbye to Susannah. “I don’t remember if I wished you a happy birthday.”

“Neither do I,” she replied. “It was that kind of party.”

“I’m grateful for the introduction to Gala.”

“So is she. Take good care of her, she needs it.”

“Certainly.”

Ed drove them to the airport, picking up Gala on the way. He had a good look at Stone’s airplane and approved. They shook hands.

“Your turn to come to New York,” Stone said.

“We’ll surprise you.”

“I’ll count on that.”

Stone had filed direct to Palm Beach International, and half an hour later they were at flight level 410, with a stiff tailwind.

27

S
tone landed at Palm Beach International and got a rental car. Nicky had arranged for him and Vanessa to be picked up. “I called Carrie’s housekeeper as you requested,” he said, handing Stone a slip of paper. “You and Gala are perfectly welcome to stay with us.”

“Thank you, but I suppose I’m going to have to dispose of Carrie’s house, so I’d better have a look at it.”

Nicky took out a notepad and wrote down another number. “Here’s a local man, an antiques dealer, who specializes in selling estate property, and the name of a real estate agent you might consider for selling the house.”

“Thank you, Nicky. I’ll call you as soon as I hear from the undertaker and have a time for the service.”

They shook hands and departed. Bob, who had been waiting patiently, hopped into the backseat and looked for an open
window. Stone knew where Ocean Drive was and got them there, while Gala watched for the house number. “There!” she said. “The next one.”

Stone pulled into a gated drive; the gate was open, and they passed through. The house was set well back from the road; it was Georgian in style and reminded him of his property in England. He drove up, and a woman in a black uniform and white apron came out the front door and greeted them.

“I’m Hazel Sizemore,” she said, “the housekeeper here. I expect you’re Mr. Barrington?”

“That’s right,” Stone said, shaking her hand. “And this is Ms. Wilde.” A man in a black suit emerged from the house and took their luggage from the car. He was introduced as Oscar. “I know this must have come as a shock to you, Ms. Sizemore.”

“Hazel, please. Well, it did and it didn’t come as a surprise. I always thought that Mr. Biggers might harm her. Mr. Chalmers explained everything on the phone, and the undertaker has already called. His number is by the phone on the hall table. I’ve put you in the Magnolia Suite—that’s our nicest guest room.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind. We’ll try not to be too much trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Ms. Fiske always asked us to be ready for guests at any time. What time would you like dinner?”

“Say, seven-thirty?”

“Is there anything in particular you’d like?”

“No, whatever is convenient for you.”

“As you wish. May I give you a little tour?”

“Thank you, yes.” Hazel led them into a large drawing room that had had the attention of a very fine decorator, followed by a library, a billiards room, small and large dining rooms, and a broad rear roofed terrace that looked out over the extensive gardens, with Lake Worth at the end.

“Ms. Fiske had one of the few properties that run from the ocean to the lake,” Hazel said. “Her grandfather built it, and her father put in the dock and boathouse. It’s fenced in, if you’d like to let the dog out.”

Bob, delighted to be off his lead, began a systematic inspection of the gardens.

“It’s all very beautiful,” Stone said. He stopped at the hall table and called the undertaker, a Mr. Willis.

“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Barrington,” he said. “I’ve received word that Ms. Fiske’s remains have arrived in Atlanta and will be put on an early-morning airplane tomorrow and will arrive in Palm Beach around mid-morning. When would you like to have the burial?”

“Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient?”

“We have some work to do beforehand—say, four
PM
?”

“That will be fine.”

“You may leave the choice of flowers and a minister to us, if you like.”

“That’s fine.”

“There remains only the choice of the coffin. Would you like to come to our showroom?”

“Have you something in mahogany?” Stone asked, remembering the last time he had viewed coffins.

“We do. We have a very fine model—solid mahogany with a silk lining at sixty-nine thousand dollars. That price includes the shipping of the remains and all our work, the preparation of the burial site, with which we are familiar from the burial of Ms. Fiske’s parents, and a simple headstone with her dates, which we have. Is there some sentiment you’d like included?”

“I think not. I’m sure the coffin will be suitable.”

“Our people will arrive early tomorrow morning to prepare the gravesite. They will try not to disturb you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Willis.”

Stone whistled up Bob, and he and Gala followed Hazel upstairs to a large sitting room, with a bedroom and bath to one side. The view was of the gardens and the lake.

Stone thanked her, and they spent a few minutes hanging up their clothes.

“There is a lot of very fine American antique furniture in this house,” Gala said. “I mean, stuff that would bring millions at auction.”

“I thought there were some very good pieces,” Stone said.

“Virtually every bit of wood furniture we’ve seen,” Gala said, stroking a chest of drawers in the room. “I expect that her grandparents and parents must have bought most of it many years ago, before the prices skyrocketed. There are some valuable pictures, too. I swear I spotted a Rembrandt downstairs.”

“I handled the estate of a good friend a while back,” Stone
said. “He had a lot of very fine things and a big art collection. I was fortunate, as executor, that his house was preserved pretty much intact, and I didn’t have to dispose of the contents. This one is going to be different, I fear.”

“I think you’ll have to have everything very carefully cataloged and appraised.”

“Yes, and I know just who to bring in for that.”

“In the meantime, we have a day to enjoy the place,” Gala said. “Do you feel like a nap?”

“Not really.”

“Neither do I,” she said, kissing him.