Hot Pursuit

35

At seven-thirty, Stone and Pat went down to the large, ground-floor drawing room for a drink before dinner. The establishment didn’t offer Knob Creek, but they had Blanton’s, which Stone found almost indistinguishable from his favorite, but without the 100-proof kick. They had taken their first sip when, in the company of a young woman, Paul Reeves entered the room. Reeves spotted them immediately, as Stone did him, and walked over to where he and Pat were sitting.

“What a surprise,” Reeves said, not sounding surprised.

Stone didn’t rise until the woman joined him. “And what a coincidence,” he said, his words seasoned with sarcasm.

“May I introduce Ms. Smith,” Reeves said, indicating the woman, who was much younger than he and very alluring.

“Ms. Smith, this is Ms. Frank,” Stone said, and sat down.

“May we join you?” Reeves asked.

“Please excuse us,” Stone said, “but I’ve seen quite enough of you for one week.”

Reeves turned crimson. “If you’re implying that—”

“I’ve never liked coincidences,” Stone said, “and I like them even less now. I would be grateful if we could get through the remainder of our stay in this country without accidentally encountering you.”

Reeves would not be dismissed. “That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard,” he hissed. “And after you refused to render me any assistance in my encounter with the police.”

“Are you aware,” Stone said, “that the pilot with whom you crossed the Atlantic is a fugitive from American justice, the only suspect in a double murder?”

“That’s nonsense — Kevin Keyes wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“So you knew about his fleeing the country and resisted telling the police?”

“I knew it was you who sicced them onto me!”

“You made the mistake, when following me around, of having dinner two tables away from the commissioner of Metropolitan Police and the commissioner of police of New York City,” Stone said. “How’s that for a coincidence? I’m surprised you’re not in jail.”

Reeves turned on his heel, jerked the arm of his girlfriend, and went to the farthest corner of the drawing room.

Stone was approached by the dining room manager. “Forgive me, Mr. Barrington,” he said, “but were you disturbed by that other guest?”

“I was,” Stone said. “I noticed that you have two dining rooms. Would you kindly see that that gentleman and I are not seated in the same one for dinner?”

“Of course, and I extend our apologies for the interruption of your evening.”

Stone thanked the man, and he left.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you angry,” Pat said.

“Stick around,” Stone said, “you may see more.”

“I don’t know what it is with that man,” Pat said.

Stone looked at her. “It has just occurred to me that Reeves may be following you, instead of me. Do you have some sort of history with him?”

“I told you, I took delivery of his airplane.”

“Was there something else?”

She sighed. “All right, he made a pass at me once — no, twice.”

“So, having been rebuffed, he’s in hot pursuit of you?”

“I suppose that might have something to do with all these ‘coincidences.’”

“The man is a stalker? And I flattered myself to think he was stalking me, when it was you all the time?”

“Stone, I don’t know. Now please calm down.”

Stone took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right, I’m letting him get to me.”

“I should have told you about this earlier,” she said, “but I was embarrassed. Paul has been pursuing me, in his ham-handed way, for a month or more. He’s been calling my cell phone incessantly, and I had been in my new house for less than twenty-four hours when he was calling there.”

“So you have two stalkers on your trail?” Stone held up a placating hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like it’s your fault.”

“Maybe it is my fault,” Pat said, taking a swig from her drink.

“You know, I’ve dealt with some crazy ex-husbands and boyfriends before, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything quite like this.”

“That makes two of us,” Pat said. “I moved to New York to lose both of them, and they found me in no time. I took this delivery job and flew across the Atlantic to get rid of them, and they beat me here.”

“I’m beginning to wish that I had brought a weapon,” Stone said.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Pat said, “or Paul Reeves would be dead by now.”