Criminal Mischief

36

Lance called back to confirm that Zanian would be staying with the Sultan of Saud. Stone wondered how easy it was to get a sultan on the phone, but Lance always found a way.

Stone was still finding his way through Earth’s time zones, but he thought it best if he operated on the information contained in his wristwatch, which he had been resetting periodically. He went upstairs, unpacked his clothes, and filled the laundry hamper with what had to be laundered, then he got into a shower.

He had gotten out and was drying himself when someone called.

“Yoo-hoo.”

Stone wrapped a smaller towel around himself and walked into his bedroom; Brio was sitting on the end of his bed. “ ‘Yoo-hoo’? In what decade of this century are we operating?”

“The present day. Anyway, it had the desired result, which was to bring you out of hiding.”

“I suppose it did, if you consider the shower hiding.” He sat down beside her on the bed.

“That’s far enough,” she said. “More than that, it’s close enough.”

Stone reached behind him and pointed a finger between his shoulder blades. “I have an itch where I can’t quite reach it. Could you help, please?”

She looked at his back, then scratched the correct spot for him.

“Thank you,” he said. Her touch was not unaffectionate. “That is a feeling of relief.”

“I had a hint that you were seeking relief of some sort,” she said, drily.

“What else is on offer?” he asked.

“I had hoped to be offered a drink,” she said.

“If you can wait a couple of minutes while I dry my hair and dress, I will take you by the hand and lead you to the watering hole.” He got up and walked to the bathroom door, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “You can watch, if that would please you.”

“Oh, please!”

“Another cliché from another era. You’re full of them!”

“You’re full of something, too,” she said, “but it’s not clichés.”

Stone blew his hair dry and brushed it, then went into his dressing room and got into underwear, trousers, shirt, shoes, socks, and a tweed jacket. He walked back into the bedroom. “The sun is officially over the yardarm, somewhere, so come with me.”

They walked down the stairs, which gave Ness an opportunity to view the pictures hung there.

“Very nice paintings,” Brio said. “Who chooses them for you?”

“Oh, please!” he said. “To coin a cliché. I am the son of a painter of great accomplishment. I learned about art at her knee, from watching her create it.”

They walked on toward the study. “You seem to have a number of canvases signed by a Matilda Stone. Any relation?”

“I had the good fortune to be her son.”

“You’re right. She’s a painter of great accomplishment.”

“My mother thanks you.” They walked into the study, where Fred had already lit a fire. “You said you were dying for a drink, I believe? What will you have?”

She pointed at a bottle of Talisker. “That,” she replied, “if you please.”

“Over ice?”

“Please.”

He poured it and then a Knob Creek for himself. He put both drinks on a small, silver tray and took it to the sofa, where she had settled herself.

“You have a nice mix of period pieces and the more recent,” she said.

“I inherited the house and its contents from my great-aunt. I sold off some of her pieces for cash to do a complete remodel and kept the others in storage, along with the china and silverware and some pictures. The rest I have added over time.”

“That little tray on which you served our drinks is a lovely thing,” she said.

“It was made by a Boston silversmith named Revere,” he replied.

“Not that Revere,” she said.

“That Revere. My great-aunt had a complete tea service and some table serving pieces of his, too.”

“Well, if you’re ever broke, those would bring a pretty price.”

“I’ve been broke, and I didn’t like it,” Stone said, “but I managed to hold on to the silver. May I get you another drink?”

“Let’s give the first one a little more time to do its work,” she said.

“No rush. I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m pursuing a lead on Mr. Zanian.”

“Oh, don’t call him ‘Mister,’ ” she said. “He doesn’t deserve the respect.”