A Safe House

46

Stone awoke with something on his mind, but he couldn’t remember what. Jenna was of no help, being sound asleep still. His stomach spoke to him, then he remembered that he was in Bill Eggers’s house, and no one was sending up breakfast in a dumbwaiter. He showered, shaved, and went downstairs, following the call of frying bacon.

Eggers was standing at the stove, wearing a colorful apron, scrambling eggs. “Just in time,” he said, loading a plate and handing it to Stone. “What sort of day do you have ahead?”

“I never seem to know anymore,” Stone replied. “There’s a familiar-looking woman in my bed, but I can’t place her.”

“That would be the ex — Mrs. Wallace Slade, if memory serves.”

“Ah, yes,” Stone said.

“Did you see the piece in that newspaper about Slade getting an honorary doctorate from some podunk Bible college?”

“That’s what I couldn’t remember. Hearthrug Bible College!”

“Sounds right.”

“Bill, do you have a road atlas in the house?”

“If you had one when you still owned the place, it will still be here.”

“Then you don’t.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where Hearthrug is.”

“Google it on your iPhone.”

“Ah!” Stone did so. “Here it is on the map. It’s about twelve miles north of here.”

“Why do you care?” Eggers asked.

“Because he’s Harley Quince’s master, and we know Quince is around somewhere.”

“In Washington, Connecticut? Already?”

“He followed Jenna up from the city. He even had a room at the inn, and we found his motorcycle in the woods and hid it from him.”

“Well, if he’s still here, he’s pissed off,” Eggers said. “People don’t like having their motorcycles hidden from them.”

“You’re certain of that, Bill?”

“Fairly certain. Would you?”

“I guess not.”

“Where were we?” Eggers asked.

“Hearthrug Bible College.”

“Oh, yes. Do you want to go up there and hear Senator Slade expel hot air?”

“Good God, no!”

“Then eat your breakfast and shut up.”

The kitchen door opened and an agent came in. “Stone,” he said, “there’s a bum in your woodshed.”

“I beg your pardon,” Eggers said, “that would be my woodshed. Stone surrendered all legal rights to the woodshed in our sales agreement.”

“It’s his woodshed,” Stone said, jerking a thumb at Eggers. “Make your complaint to him.”

The agent turned to Eggers. “Mr. Eggers, there’s a bum asleep in your woodshed.”

“We can’t call them bums anymore,” Eggers said. “They’re ‘homeless’ now.”

“Well, one of them has made a home in your woodshed.”

“How do you know this?” Eggers asked.

“Because it seemed like a nice day for a fire, but we were out of kindling, so I looked in the woodshed.”

“Did you find any there?”

“Well, if you have any, it’s under a homeless bum.”

Stone looked up to see someone flash past a kitchen window, headed toward the street. “Maybe not,” he said. “Take another look.”

When the man opened the door, they heard the sound of a motorcycle cranking up and roaring away.

“I think the kindling may be available to you now,” Stone said to the agent.

“Do you have some idea who was in my woodshed?” Eggers asked.

“Harley Quince, I suspect. At least, he has a motorcycle. Who else would in this neighborhood?”

The agent came back with an armload of kindling. “Thanks for clearing the shed,” he said.

“Did you get a shot at him?” Stone asked.

“What, do folks in these parts shoot at people who sleep in their woodsheds?”

“Let me put it this way,” Stone said. “Would you have taken a shot at him, if you’d known he was Harley Quince?”

“Is that who he was?”

“It’s my best guess.”

“Well, shit. I could have saved us all a lot of trouble,” the agent said, then continued on his journey to the fireplace with his kindling. “I’ll nail the bastard next time,” he called over his shoulder.

“Don’t bother,” Stone said. “He’d be more useful in handcuffs than dead.”

“I’ll make a note of that.”

“Are you counting on Quince to lead you to Slade?” Eggers said.

“Not exactly. I know where to find Slade: at Hearthrug Bible College. I just want to stop Quince from killing Jenna.”

“Wouldn’t killing him take care of that?”

“Bill, are you forgetting that you’re an attorney-at-law?”

“Well, I could turn my head for a minute, so as not to be a witness.”

“I was referring to how much more trouble it is to kill somebody than to just detain him.”

“I guess you have a point there,” Eggers replied. “But not for Jenna, maybe.”

“As it happens, she’s armed, so she can take care of it herself.”

“She’s carrying a gun in my house? Does she have a license for it?”

“Maybe in Texas, where I think you have to be licensed not to carry a gun.”

“Well, then, you’d better explain to your client that she shouldn’t be found with that weapon in Connecticut.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Stone said.