Hot Mahogany (18 page)

“He might, if he had no part in Charlie’s stealing the original.”

“We don’t know if Charlie stole the original,” Barton pointed out. “He may just be selling Ab a copy, identified as such.”

“I guess I still have more work to do on the original theft, then.”

“I guess you do.” Barton hung up.

Joan buzzed again. “Dino on line one.”

“Good morning.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Charlie Crow is on the move today.”

“Where?”

“He’s in Bristol, Rhode Island, right now. Drove up this morning.”

“You have an address?”

“It’s Water Street, which is only a block long, but I don’t have eyes on him, so I don’t know which house or building.”

“I wish we had somebody up there,” Stone said.

“Wait a minute,” Dino said. “I know a retired police captain in Providence who will do anything for two hundred bucks. He’s not that far away. Let’s see if he’ll drive down there.”

“Call me back.”

Dino hung up, and Stone ordered in a sandwich; he didn’t want to miss this call.

Nearly two hours passed before Dino called back. “Hey. My guy knows somebody in Bristol, and he went down there. We’ll give them a hundred each, okay?”

“Okay. What do we know?”

“Crow’s Rolls was parked in front of number eleven Water Street, and he left half an hour ago. He answered to the description of Crow. Hang on, call on the other line.” Dino put Stone on hold.

Stone worked on the
Times
crossword for three minutes.

“I’m back. You there?”

“I’m here. What’s a four-letter word for a Siouxan tribe?”

“Otoe.”

“Right.” Stone wrote that in. “What did he find out?”

“Our guy made some calls. The owner of the house is a Mrs. Caleb Strong, first name, Mildred. She’s a widow in her nineties, a prominent member of Rhode Island society for many decades. Her late husband was the last of a New England shipping family that goes back more than two hundred and fifty years.”

“Listen, give this guy a hundred and fifty; he does good work.”

“Does all this mean anything to you?”

“Not a fucking thing.”

“So why do I have to give him an extra fifty?”

“Because he’s thorough.”

“As long as it’s your fifty.”

“I’m good for it. Don’t let Charlie fall off your computer screen,” Stone said. “I want to know where he goes next.”

“We’ll know until the batteries run out on the GPS unit,” Dino said. “He seems to be headed back to New York now.”

“Maybe you’d better send a man to change the batteries.”

“I’ll do that as soon as Charlie gets back to town.”

“By the way, what’s the name of the doctor that Eliza is marrying?”

“Edgar Kelman.”

“Thanks.”

“See you at the wedding?”

“Oh, shut up.” Stone buzzed Joan. “You’ve got a Tiffany catalogue, haven’t you?”

“Sure. A girl never knows when a friend will suddenly get remarried.”

“Can I borrow it for a minute?”

“I’ll bring it in.” Joan came in with the catalogue. “Anything else?”

“Hang on a minute.” Stone leafed through the catalogue. “Order this silver bowl, and have the initials EK engraved on it,” he said. “Then send it to Eliza at the hospital.”

“Eliza is getting married to a K?”

“She is.”

“I thought she was pretty much your girl.”

“She was, pretty much, until she decided to marry a doctor.”

“You might leave off the initials, in case she changes her mind.”

“That’s why I want the initials on it,” Stone said. “So she won’t be able to return it to Tiffany.”

“That’s mean,” Joan said.

“It is not. It just means that I fully accept her decision to marry a bloody doctor, something she said she’d never do.”

“And they talk about a
woman
scorned,” Joan said as she left Stone’s office.

Stone phoned Bill Eggers.

“Hello?”

“Bill, I might have something for you on that mahogany secretary you’re interested in.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you know a guy named Charlie Crow?”

“Yeah, I’m doing some work on a deal between Crow and Harlan Deal.”

“He may have what you’re looking for.”

“Okay, I’ll call him.”

“Bye-bye.” Stone hung up. He would be very interested to know the result of Eggers’s call to Crow.

41

Stone and Dino were having dinner at Elaine’s when Barton Cabot walked in. Stone pushed back a chair for him.

“I thought I might find you here,” Barton said.

Stone gave him a menu and waved at a waiter. Barton ordered a drink and some dinner.

“Why were you looking for me?” Stone asked.

“I need a bed, and I wondered if you could put me up for the night.”

“Sure, but what happened to Carla’s bed?”

“The girl wore me out, and I don’t think I could have survived another night with her right away, so I told her I’m driving back to Connecticut tonight. I’m too tired for that, though.” His drink arrived and he sipped it gratefully.

“More news from today’s events,” Stone said.

“What?”

“Charlie Crow drove up to Bristol, Rhode Island, and visited the home of a woman named Mrs. Caleb Strong.”

“Mildred? I know her.”

“Why on earth would Charlie Crow be visiting a woman in her nineties in Bristol, Rhode Island?”

“Well, let me tell you about Mildred. She is the grande dame of Rhode Island society, at the very top of the ladder, but she’s penniless, for all practical purposes. Lots of assets, no cash to speak of, just the dividends on some bank stock she owns. She also has a house full of authentic and gorgeous things that have been handed down in the Strong family for more than two hundred years. We’re talking about pieces that have been in the same house for that long, and they’re worth, probably, many millions of dollars. Dealers have been circling her home for years, like vultures, waiting for her to die, but she seems to be in rude good health, and she won’t even talk to them let alone sell anything.”

“Doesn’t she have any children or grandchildren?”

“No, old Caleb was the last of the Strong line, and she’s outlived all the members of her own family. Nobody even knows who her heirs are. Museums have been kowtowing to her for decades, hoping to pull in her collection when she goes, but she won’t tell them anything.”

“The question now arises,” Stone said, “why is she talking to Charlie Crow? He spent a good two hours in her house today. What could he possibly have to offer her?”

“Now, that’s a very interesting question,” Barton said, sipping his drink. “What could a jerk like Charlie Crow have to offer Mildred Strong?”

Dino spoke up. “Money? You said she was penniless.”

“Yes, sort of, but she’s not without assets besides her furniture. Her husband was a founding investor in a thriving local bank up there, and she’s never sold any of his stock. Rumor has it that she has fifty-one percent, but nobody knows for sure. The bank has no choice but to carry her. If she writes a check, they pay it, and she must have a very big overdraft by now.”

“How do they explain that to the bank examiners?” Stone asked.

“I suppose the bank’s board members must be putting their own funds in her account to keep her in the black. They certainly don’t want to piss her off, because she holds all that stock. She could sell it to one of the big banking conglomerates in a heartbeat, and the board would suddenly find themselves out of their cushy seats and into the street. So they pay her checks.”

“I wish I had that kind of a relationship with a bank,” Dino said.

“Don’t we all?” Barton replied.

They were all quiet for a few minutes, eating their dinner.

“I can think of something Crow could offer her,” Stone said.

“What?” Barton asked.

“An annuity.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Suppose our Charlie approaches her — he gets an introduction through some mutual acquaintance — and Charlie says, ‘Look, Mildred, you’ve got some beautiful things here, and I never want you to be separated from any of them. I understand that you need funds, though, so I’m prepared to offer you an annual income for the rest of your life, if you’ll make me the heir to the things in your house.’ ”

Barton nodded. “Either that or he just offers her ten or twenty million now, and she keeps her lifetime ownership. After all, how much longer can she last?”

“My impression is that Charlie doesn’t have that kind of cash on hand,” Stone said. “He seems to have been sailing pretty close to the wind. For a long time. I don’t even know if he could raise the annuity.”

“An annuity is an interesting idea,” Barton said. “I wish I’d thought of it.”

“Is it too late?” Stone asked.

Barton shrugged. “Maybe not. Mildred likes me, and I think she might talk to me. If she does, that would give me a chance to find out exactly what she’s got in that house, too.”

“How long since you’ve spoken to her?” Stone asked.

“I saw her at a dinner party at Marble House in Newport last year, and she seemed very pleased to see me. We chatted for nearly an hour over coffee, and I was careful never to bring up anything about her possessions.”

Dino broke in. “All this is very interesting, but let’s get back to Charlie Crow. Why the hell would he be interested in antique furniture?”

“Money,” Stone said. “Charlie is very interested in money.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Dino said, “but why furniture? Why does he even know anything about it? I saw a picture of his apartment in a magazine a few weeks ago, and it was full of a lot of awful gilded tables and chairs and huge chandeliers. Why would a guy like that know about or have any interest in eighteenth-century American furniture? If he were buying it, how would he know what to pay for it? And I find it hard to believe that Charlie and this Mildred would have
any
mutual acquaintances.”

“Good point,” Barton said. “It’s a mystery.”

“Barton,” Stone said, “do you have Mrs. Strong’s phone number?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why don’t you call her tomorrow morning and tell her you’ll be passing through Bristol tomorrow and that you’d like to stop in and see her?”

“I could do that.”

“And maybe, if Crow has made her some kind of offer, you could top it.”

“That would depend on what he’s offered her,” Barton said.

“You might find a way to slip something into your conversation that would give her doubts about dealing with Crow.”

“I’d be doing her a favor,” Barton said. “Charlie is the kind of guy who’d screw her out of everything she’s got, if he could find a way, and he’s good at finding a way.”

Stone nodded. “Think of it as a rescue mission,” he said.

42

Stone was having breakfast in the kitchen the following morning when Barton came down.

“Good morning,” Stone said.

“Yes, good morning,” Barton replied. He seemed preoccupied.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Oh, just toast and coffee.”

“You sure you wouldn’t like some eggs? Helene does wonderful scrambled eggs.”

“Perhaps just a plain omelette and orange juice.”

“Yes, sir,” Helene said, then went to work.

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night,” Barton said.

“And what have you concluded?”

“I think it’s worth a shot, assuming she doesn’t live forever.”

“How old is she, exactly?” Stone asked.

“At that dinner party where I last saw Mildred, another woman there told me she was ninety-six, and that was last year.”

“Well, if she’s ninety-seven and still healthy, she might live another ten years, maybe more.”

“Not unless she’s a freak of nature,” Barton said.

“You could assume that as a downside. How long could you afford to go on paying her?”

“If you can get my stolen secretary back, I could afford to pay her for a long time.”

“Decisions, decisions,” Stone said.

Barton dug into his omelette. “Delicious,” he said to Helene. “Stone, would you draw up a contract for me?”

“What kind of contract?”

“I’d like to say something like this: ‘I, Mildred Strong, agree to sell all the items listed on the attached list to Barton Cabot for the sum of blank, to be paid at the rate of blank annually until my death, at which time the residue would become payable to my estate, and Mr. Cabot would take possession of all the listed items. Until my death all the items would remain in my possession in my home. I instruct my executor to honor this contract within ten days of my death, upon receipt of the residue of funds from Mr. Cabot.’ ”

“That’s a pretty good contract right there,” Stone said. “Best to keep it simple, to one page, if possible, and you’d want at least one witness. You’d need to catalogue the goods, of course, and get her to sign the list, as well. How long would an inventory take?”

“To do a thorough job, probably a day or two. I’d want to get any documents she might have to provide provenance.”

“Is she likely to have eighteenth-century receipts?”

“That depends on whether Caleb Strong’s ancestors were sticklers for keeping records. Some of those old New England families never threw anything away.”

“Finish your breakfast and come into my office. I’ll draw up something for you.”

Barton read the document and set it on Stone’s desk. “Perfect,” he said.

Stone tapped a few computer keys, printed out some copies and put them into an envelope. “Here you are,” he said, handing over the envelope. I’ve put in some blank pages for the inventory which, I suppose, you’ll have to do by hand.”

“I suppose,” Barton said. “May I use your phone?”

“Of course,” Stone replied. “There’s one on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Would you like some privacy?”

“No, that’s all right.” Barton took an address book from his pocket, walked to the sofa and dialed a number. “May I speak to Mrs. Strong, please? This is Barton Cabot calling.”

Stone’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Yes?”

“A woman who says her name is Carla is on line one for you.”

“Tell her I’m with a client, and I’ll call her back in a few minutes.” He hung up.