Desperate Measures

38

Edie Beresford stood in the middle of Stone’s living room and turned 360 degrees, slowly. “I like the pictures,” she said, “they show good judgment.”

“I’m afraid they say nothing at all about my judgment,” Stone replied. “They were painted by my mother, so all they demonstrate is maternal loyalty. However, I like them, too.”

“Who was your mother?”

“Matilda Stone.”

“I remember that name. She has some work in the American Collection at the Met, doesn’t she?”

“She does.”

“Is the piano in tune, or is it there just as an objet d’art?”

“Both,” Stone replied.

“Then play me something.”

Stone sat down, opened the keyboard, and played some Gershwin.

“Very nice. Tell me about the rest of the house.”

“My study is over there. Would you like a brandy?”

“Yes, please.”

He took her into the room, seated her, lit the fire, and poured them both a Rémy Martin. “This room is very much you,” she said, looking around. “Who was your decorator?”

“I was.”

“Tell me about the rest of the house.”

“There are six bedrooms upstairs, on three floors, and seven baths.”

“Why more baths than bedrooms?”

“There are two in the master suite.”

“Very wise.”

“Downstairs are my offices — in what used to be a dentist’s office — a small gym, and a kitchen that opens onto the common gardens out back. There’s also a garage.”

“How did you find the house?”

“It found me. It belonged to my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, and she left it to me. I did the renovation, except for the plumbing and electrical work.”

“You mean you did the actual work?”

“I couldn’t afford to hire a builder on a cop’s salary.”

“How did you become a lawer?”

“By studying at NYU Law, before I was a cop. When I wasn’t a cop anymore, Bill Eggers offered me a job at Woodman & Weld, if I could pass the bar. After a two-week cram course, I did.”

“And the rest is history?”

“History in the making. It occurs to me that you have me at a disadvantage. You know nearly everything about me, and I know nearly nothing about you.”

“Pretty straightforward: born and raised in an antebellum house in northwest Atlanta; Daddy a judge; Mother a college professor; educated at Agnes Scott College, in Atlanta; came to New York looking for adventure, found it, married young — big mistake; married a second time — another big mistake, but he had the grace to die and leave me his fortune. Met a nice man at a dinner party, and that brings us up-to-date.”

“I’m sure a lot fell through the cracks in that account,” Stone said.

“Then you can explore the cracks for the rest.”

Stone’s phone rang and he checked the ID. “Please excuse me, I have to take this.” He walked across the room. “Hello?”

“It’s Faith.”

“How are you feeling?”

“More and more human. I’m receiving visitors tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Night, night.” She hung up, and Stone returned to the couch and his brandy.

“Not bad news, I hope,” Edie said.

“Good news. An employee of mine is in the hospital with extensive injuries; but she’s getting better, and I can see her tomorrow.”

“How was she injured?”

“She was attacked, but her attackers are in jail, awaiting sentencing.”

“What does she do for you?”

“She’s my chief pilot — sorry, my only pilot. I bought a new airplane, and it requires two pilots; I’m the other one.”

“Will she come back to work when she recovers?”

“I certainly hope so. She’s a very good pilot.”

Edie glanced at her watch. “Goodness, is it that late?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Then I have to go home; I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Fred will drive you,” Stone said. “Dinner next week?”

“Of course, call me.”

He walked her downstairs, kissed her, and put her in the car.

As he reached his bedroom his cell rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. You alone?”

“I just put her into the car.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know this one. Her name is Edith Beresford.”

“You’re right. Sounds old.”

“It only sounds that way. I have good news. Your guys can question Faith tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid she’s old news,” Dino said. “Her assailants have already pled out.”

“I heard that.”

“Still, we ought to have her on the record, so I’ll send somebody around.”

“You do that.”

“Dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’ve got plans: Cilla is cooking for me.”

“Later, then.”

They hung up, and Stone went to bed.

The following morning, TV news caught up to events and reported the guilty plea from the two perpetrators at the hotel. They also reported that Mike Adams had been released.

Stone had just finished breakfast when his phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Swifty,” a deep voice said.

“Good morning. I must thank you for introducing me to Edith Beresford. We had a very pleasant dinner last evening.”

“Are you going to represent her?”

“She’s far too beautiful for a business relationship. I’m going to turn her over to Bill Eggers.”

“That should be fine,” Swifty said. “I want to thank you, too.”

“For what?”

“My son-in-law, my grandson, and I had lunch together yesterday, and it went well. We went back to Howard’s office and went over the plans for the renovation of the hotel, and young Mike had some good suggestions to make. He’s now the project manager on the hotel for Adams & Adams, his father’s firm.”

“That’s very good news, Swifty.”

“Not as good as the news that he’s a free man.”

“For that you can thank Herb Fisher.”

“I have, and I will be in touch with him about more work.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about Edie. She has a good head on her shoulders.”

“I always knew that, I was just playing matchmaker.”

“Nice job,” Stone said, and they said goodbye.