Worst Fears Realized (25 page)
“Well, we’ll have to have a few single women to dinner,” Carolyn said. “There aren’t many around, but there are a couple of very nice divorcées.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” Stone said.
“No, we’d like to have you to dinner; we entertain a lot. Leave it to me.”
They ordered dinner, and a procession of arriving diners stopped by their table. The Klemms introduced Stone to a dozen people in a matter of minutes, giving a running account of who they were. Most of them were New Yorkers, up for the weekend, like Stone.
“Do you know anyone at all up here?” Carolyn asked.
“Just some people from California who have a house in Roxbury.”
“That would be the Calders.”
“Why, yes; how did you know?”
“I sold Vance the house about four years ago. Of course, he’s pulled it apart and put it back together since then. He’s a charming man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“How do you know them?”
“A mutual friend introduced me to them a couple of years ago at a dinner party. Then I saw something of them in LA last year and got to know Vance a little better.”
“Oh, I haven’t met Mrs. Calder yet; her name is Arrington, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
Dinner was served, and they began to eat.
“I hear she’s lovely; she was a writer before they married, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she wrote for several magazines.”
“And I read in the paper that they have a new baby.”
“Right, again. You don’t miss much, Carolyn.”
David spoke up. “You might say that Carolyn is the unofficial historian of Litchfield County.”
“You’re going to love Vance’s house,” Carolyn said.” It’s really something.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Stone replied. They finished their first course. Stone looked into the back room and saw Warkowski’s companion leave the table, apparently for the ladies’ room. Stone stood up. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back.”
He walked into the back room and stopped at Warkowski’s table. “Good evening,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit down for a moment?”
Warkowski looked up at him. “Suit yourself.”
Stone slid into the booth opposite him. “You live around here?”
Warkowski shook his head. “Just a weekend outing with the wife.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you the last time I was at the prison.”
“I was pretty busy at the time,” Warkowski said.
“Look, I know that Dino got off on the wrong foot with you, but there’s something really serious going on, and we need your help.”
“We?”
“Dino and I are both involved.”
“What is it?”
“We need to find Herbert Mitteldorfer, and quickly”
“I’ve no idea where he is,” Warkowski replied. “He didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
“Is there anyone you know who might have a way of contacting him?”
Warkowski shook his head. “Nope.”
“I’m surprised that you would so quickly lose contact with him. After all, you were pretty close, weren’t you?”
“Not really; in my work, you don’t get close to prisoners.”
“That’s what I would have thought, but it’s my information that Mitteldorfer handled all your financial affairs for several years.”
Warkowski looked at him sharply. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Look, Captain, we think that Mitteldorfer has been involved in half a dozen murders since he got out.”
Warkowski burst out laughing. “You’ve gotta be kidding! Herbie Mitteldorfer wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“He murdered his wife, didn’t he?”
“That was a kind of temporary insanity; you can hardly blame the guy, in the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“His wife was screwing half the men in New York.”
“Anybody in particular?”
“I don’t know the details,” Warkowski replied.
“Look, Captain, this is a very serious matter. It wouldn’t look good for it to get into the papers that a serial killer performed personal services for officials at the prison.”
“Are you threatening me?” Warkowski asked. “Because if you are, you’d better be able to back it up.”
“I’m not threatening you; I’m just saying that we need your help in finding Mitteldorfer.”
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff? You’re not a cop, and Bacchetti hasn’t asked for my help. If I get an official request from the NYPD, I’ll respond to it. I’ve got nothing at all to say to you, except that I have no knowledge of Mitteldorfer’s whereabouts. I will give you a piece of advice though: Herbert Mitteldorfer is a sweet guy, a decent man who deserves to be able to live out his life with some privacy I don’t believe he could ever be involved in killing anybody, and I’ll testify to that in court, if necessary.”
Stone looked up and saw Mrs. Warkowski returning. He got up. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Captain. I hope you don’t end up with blood on your hands.” He walked back to his own table.
The main course had been served, and Stone sat down.
“Another minute, and your food would have been cold,” Carolyn said.
“Looks good,” Stone said, digging in.
“Is everything all right?” Carolyn asked. “You look a little depressed.”
“I’m fine,” Stone said. “I was just thinking about something back in New York. This is delicious food.”
“Do you play golf?” David asked.
“No, golf is difficult if you live in Manhattan.”
“We’ve got a beautiful nine-hole course here. If you’d like to play sometime, let me know.”
“Thanks, perhaps I will.” Stone looked up to see Warkowski and his wife leaving the restaurant.
“Your friends didn’t seem to be here long enough for dinner,” Carolyn said.
“I guess he lost his appetite,” Stone replied.
S
TONE SLEPT WELL BUT WOKE UP DISORIENTED
. He sat up and blinked, wondering where he was, but after a few seconds it came to him. He was in his new cottage, in Connecticut, and he needed pictures on the walls.
He got up, showered, and made breakfast, missing the morning
Times.
He looked at Carolyn Klemm’s list and found the delivery service. He’d have to arrange that and also subscribe to the local paper, the
Litchfield County Times.
Then Warkowski came back into his mind. He picked up the phone and called Dino.
“Yeah?” Dino said sleepily.
“Come on, Dino, it’s nearly nine o’clock; wake up,”
“I’m awake,” Dino said. “You are one stupid son of a bitch, do you know that?”
“What, I get up too early for you?”
“I’m talking about Dolce.”
“What about her?”
“I warned you about her, but you just had to go and…”
“Oh, come on, Dino; she seems like a nice enough girl.”
“You’re way out of your depth there, pal, I’m telling you.”
“Dino, she’s a beautiful, bright woman.”
“She’s coming up there today, isn’t she?”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“She has a sister; she talks to her.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t, after all, asked her not to tell Mary Ann. “Listen, I ran into Warkowski at dinner last night.”
“Père or fils?”
“Père.”
“You had dinner at Sing Sing?”
“No, Warkowski and his wife were over here on what he called a weekend outing—the Mayflower Inn makes it a popular destination. We happened to be in the same restaurant.”
“Great. What did he have for dinner?”
“Dino, listen; you need to make an official request of Warkowski for information as to Mitteldorfer’s whereabouts.”
“I’m not going to ask that bastard for anything. And what makes you think he would help?”
“Even if he ignores you, the request will be on the record; you’ll have covered your ass.”
“And it’s worth covering. You’re right; I’ll fax him. You talked to the guy?”
“Yes, I asked him if he knew where Mitteldorfer
was, and he said no. He was unhelpful, but he said if you sent him an official request, he’d respond.”
“Yeah, I know what his response will be. What else did you tell him?”
“That I knew Mitteldorfer had done his investing for him.”
“Did he deny it?”
“No, but he didn’t confirm it, either.”
“Well, let’s see what you accomplished, then: first, now Warkowski knows everything we know, right? Second, in the event that Warkowski does know where Mitteldorfer is and is communicating with him, now Mitteldorfer knows we’re looking for him.”
“He’ll know that when the
Times
story comes out. But you’re right; I shouldn’t have told Warkowski that we knew about the investing. I thought it might help his memory, but it didn’t.”
“Something else, kiddo: if he does talk to Mitteldorfer, he’s going to tell him that you’re in Washington, Connecticut, and I thought you didn’t want him to know that.”
Stone winced. “Okay, I was stupid.”
“I believe I mentioned that earlier in our conversation.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
“Mitteldorfer is going to rub it in, if he finds out where you are. You’d better watch your ass.”
“I will, but Warkowski doesn’t know I have a house here; for all he knows, I’m just visiting for the weekend, as he is.”
“I hope you’re right, pal. And I hope you survive the weekend with Dolce.”
“Is there anything else I need to know about her?”
“I told you all you had to know to avoid trouble; the rest, you’re just going to have to learn for yourself.”
“Okay, Dino; I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good luck, Stone; you’re going to need it.”
Stone called about the newspapers, then got dressed and drove down to the Depot. He went into the Washington Supply, the hardware store, and bought a toolbox and an assortment of tools for the house.
“Guess you’re Stone Barrington,” the man at the counter said.
“That’s right,” Stone replied, surprised.
“Guess you’ll be needing a charge account.”
“Don’t mind if I do; can I have an application?”
“Don’t need an application.”
“How about my address?”
“Know your address.”
Stone picked up a map of the area, signed for the tools, and went back to his car, figuring that he had a lot to learn about small, New England towns.
He spread out the map and recognized a familiar name: New Preston. He’d heard something about antiques there. Following the map, he drove up a hill, down another, crossed a highway, and came to an attractive village. An hour later, he’d bought two lamps, three pictures, all local landscapes, and a shopping bag full of small items.
He continued along the road and came to a large lake—Lake Waramaug, the map said. He followed the
winding road around the lake, enjoying the sun on the water and the views of the hills, and ended up back where he started. He drove back to Washington and had lunch at the Pantry, a restaurant and kitchen supply shop, where he bought a few more things for his kitchen, plus a couple of cheeses from a large display.
Back at the house he hung the pictures, plugged in the lamps, and started looking for things to fix with his new tools. He didn’t find much. The place was newly renovated, and everything appeared to have been taken care of.
He fixed himself a lunch of bread and cheese, then stretched out for a nap on the living-room sofa, to await the arrival of the reputedly evil Dolce.
S
TONE WAS AWAKENED BY A NOISE RESEMBLING
the start of the Indianapolis 500. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on. The noise died, and he heard a car door slam; by the time he got to the front door, Dolce was standing there, her arms full of things. A bright red Ferrari was parked next to Stone’s car.
“Is this the Barrington mansion?” she asked, peeking inside.
“It is,” Stone replied. “Won’t you step inside, madam?”
“Try mademoiselle,” she said, coming into the house, “or better yet, signorina.”
Stone took her packages inside, while she went back to the car. She returned with an armful of flowers and a large vase. “I suspected the place would need brightening,” she said, handing him the vase. “Fill that two-thirds with tepid water.”
Stone did as instructed, and she quickly arranged the flowers and set them on the living-room coffee table. “There; makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does. What’s in the packages?”
“Housewarming gifts,” she replied. “Open.”
Stone opened the packages and found two beautiful oils, a Venetian scene and a landscape he didn’t recognize, with a Roman ruin prominently featured.
“They’re beautiful,” he said, kissing her. “Where’s the landscape?”
“Sicily, where else?”
“They’re both wonderful. I’ll get some tools, and you can hang them for me.”
Soon both paintings were displayed to good effect. Stone thought that with the walls no longer entirely bare and the lamps in place, it was looking a good deal more like home.
Dolce walked around the place, looking at details. “I like it,” she said. “It’s very Connecticut, and in some ways, it’s very you.”
“You’ll have to come often,” Stone said.
“I intend to,” she replied. “Will you get my bag from the car and show me the upstairs?”
Stone went out to the Ferrari and found a surprisingly small bag on the front seat. There was hardly anyplace else to put it in the car. He brought it inside and led her upstairs.
“Oh,” she said, “
lots
to do here. Nice closet space, though. We’ll have to find you some good wallpaper.” She unpacked her bag and hung up a dress. “That won’t need ironing,” she said.
“Our host says it’s very casual.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dolce laughed. “For men, maybe.”
Stone slipped his arms around her and pulled her close.
“My goodness,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “you’re ready, aren’t you?”
“You betcha.”
She broke away. “Well, you’re just going to have to wait; I have a lot of questions.” She led him downstairs, and when they had settled on the sofa, she began. “All right, now; a girl doesn’t like surprises; who’s the movie star?”
“Vance Calder.”
She nodded as if she had dinner with movie stars every evening. “And his wife is Arrington.”
