Foul Play

Twenty-Six

Stone called Brooke.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone. Do you still want to contact Shep?”

“I do.”

“Give me your reason again.”

“I’d like to fix him up with a girlfriend of mine.”

“And what is her name?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because Shep is in a high-security situation, and anyone he communicates with has to be investigated first.”

“Investigated for what?”

“I can’t be specific. Let’s just say for nefarious activities.”

“Give me an example of a nefarious activity.”

“Any activity conducted for nefarious reasons.”

“And what does ‘nefarious’ mean?”

“What it sounds like.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Then look it up,” Stone said. “You have a dictionary on your phone, don’t you?”

“Hang on a minute.” She came back a moment later. “None of my friends are nefarious.”

“We’re not talking about your friends as a group, but this one friend that you want to meet Shep.”

“She is not nefarious.”

“Good. What is her name?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Then I’m not sure that this conversation shouldn’t end right now.”

“Oh, all right, it’s Phyllis. But she’s called Phil, by her friends.”

“Surname?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Then I wish you a good day.” Stone hung up.

After a count of about eight, Brooke called back. “It’s Phyllis Grant.”

“Name, address, phone number, Social Security number, and date of birth.”

“Why all of that?”

“Because that is the information necessary to run a security check. Cough up or hang up.”

Brooke coughed up.

“How is it that you know her Social Security number?”

“Because I figured you might ask me for it,” she replied, “and I was right.”

“Do you have a street address in Woods Hole, Massachusetts?”

“It’s not big enough for street names. Nobody does that.”

“Is she married.”

“Formerly.”

“To whom?”

“Jeffrey Clark, an investment banker.”

“Which bank?”

“Goldman Sachs.”

“Does she have a roommate, of any gender?”

“She lives alone in a nice little cottage.”

“Does she work?”

“She is a painter.”

“Does she have a gallery?”

“Yes, in her cottage. It’s called, the Grant Gallery.”

“Does she sell anyone else’s work?”

“No, why should she help the competition?”

Stone couldn’t argue with that. “Does she have any connections to Russians?”

“Russians? Like Smirnoff?”

“Or Stolichnaya. People, not vodka.”

“Not that I know of.”

“All right, someone will be in touch.”

“With whom?”

“With Ms. Grant.”

“What about me?”

“Is Shep expected to handle you both?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean by that.”

“What are his responsibilities?”

“To be nice, and to pay for dinner.”

“And why should you be a party to that? I’m sure Ms. Grant will furnish you with all the details. Good day.” Stone hung up. Now how was he going to handle this?

Stone had a thought. He called Mike Freeman’s cell phone.

“This is Mike Freeman.”

“It’s Stone.”

“Anything wrong?”

“Not that I know of. I’m trying to get Shep together with a woman for dinner, without blowing his location. Any ideas?”

“Where is the woman?”

“In Woods Hole.”

“Well, our mutual yacht is in Edgartown, and I’ll call the skipper. A crewman could pick her up, and they could dine aboard.”

“Brilliant idea,” Stone said.

“We’ll run a check on her, right?”

“Right.” Stone gave him her particulars. “Thanks so much. I’ll wait for news about her.”

They hung up.

Five minutes later, Mike called back. “Phyllis Grant is a painter with her own gallery and is divorced from a guy at Goldman. She’s clean. No Russian connections.”

“Good news. Thank you.” Stone called Shep.

“Yes?”

“It’s Stone. Got a pencil?”

“Yep.”

“Brooke Alley wants to fix you up with a woman.” He dictated the phone number. “Her name is Phyllis Grant, known to friends as Phil. She lives in Woods Hole.”

“How convenient.”

“Easy, you still have to maintain security.”

“How do I do that?”

“First, you call the captain of the yacht that I share with Mike Freeman and Charley Fox; she’s called Breeze, and she’s currently berthed in Edgartown. Can your dock take a largish motor yacht?”

“Up to one hundred fifty feet.”

“The captain will dock there, you go aboard, and you continue to Woods Hole. While the yacht stands off, a boat is sent to the town dock to pick up Ms. Grant and will deliver her to you. You dine while the yacht cruises up and down Buzzards Bay, then reverse the process. Whatever ensues in between is to be negotiated by the two of you.”

“What does she look like?”

“Listen, you’re horny enough not to care.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Be sure and frisk her for weapons.”

“That would be my pleasure.”

They both hung up. “All right, Shep,” he said to himself. “Ball’s in your court.”

Shortly after that, Dino called. “Did you remember what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to arrange an assignation, but it’s all taken care of now.”

“Between you and who?”

“Between Shep and a friend of Brooke’s, named Phyllis Grant.”

“How are you going to do that without getting him killed?”

“All we have to worry about is that Ms. Grant is not an assassin.”

“And how do we know she isn’t?”

“Because Mike Freeman checked her out and gave her a clean bill of health.”

“Where are they going to meet?”

“She lives in Woods Hole, and Breeze is docked nearby, so he’ll pick her up, and they’ll dine aboard.”

“That sounds secure enough.”

“We’ll soon find out.”