Wild Card

15

They were just saying good night to Ed Rawls and one another when Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Jamie. Where are you?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, but I’ve been traveling. I’m at my house in Maine.”

“You’ve abandoned me?”

“Only for a few days. Would you like to join me here?”

“Is it a business or pleasure trip?”

“You could turn it into a pleasure.”

“Well, that’s enticing. How do I get there?”

“I’ll arrange a flight for you from Teterboro. It’ll take an hour, a little more, if I can find a single-engine plane. It’s a short runway, too short for a jet.”

“What do I do?”

“Ask Fred to drive you to Jet Aviation, at Teterboro tomorrow morning at nine. You’ll take off at about ten and land on Islesboro an hour or so later.”

“What clothes will I need?”

“I like you in as little as possible.”

“On the occasions when I’m not naked?”

“Casual stuff. A sweater for the evenings. I’ll see you for lunch, then.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” she replied, then hung up.

Stone called the Strategic Services hangar and learned that an old airplane of his that he had sold to them was available, and so was a pilot. He scheduled it, then went upstairs to bed.

Stone drove to the airport, arriving a little after eleven and waited. A few minutes later his old JetProp, a single-engine turboprop, set down and disgorged Jamie and a couple of bags. He got her into the station wagon and headed for the house.

“Have we got time for a tour of the island?” she asked.

Stone glanced at his watch. “Sure, lunch isn’t until one.”

“Are there other guests?”

“Bob Cantor and a woman who’s on the run from the Thomases.”

“Why?”

“She worked there, near where the bomb went off, and she was suspected of being involved. She was not, but they shipped her up to a Thomas house near Rockland. I think she might have disappeared if she hadn’t escaped and called Bob.”

“Did Bob set the bomb?”

“We don’t ask that question. When you know the answer to an awkward question, sooner or later somebody you don’t want to lie to will ask you about it.”

“Got it,” she said.

Stone drove her around the periphery of the island, showed her the lighthouse and where a couple of movie stars lived, then took her home and installed her in the master suite. “Lunch in half an hour,” he said, leaving her to unpack.

Stone settled into a chair in the living room and answered his cell phone.

“It’s Joan.”

“Hi, any calls of importance?”

“Maybe. I’ve followed instructions and said you were unavailable. You might want to call Dino back.”

“Dino has my cell number. Anybody else?”

“Somebody who said he was a stockbroker — sounded like a cold call. He called twice.”

“Give me the number,” he said, and wrote it down. “Talk to you later.”

Jamie came down, then Bob appeared with Sherry from the direction of the hidden office. He introduced Sherry to Jamie.

“That’s some computer setup in there,” Bob said. “There was a password next to the machine, so I wandered around in there for a while. It’s like a cross between the Library of Congress and FBI headquarters. You can find out just about anything.”

The landline rang, and Stone picked it up. “Yes?”

“Who’s speaking, please?”

“You, first.”

“This is the communications center at Langley. I’m Evan Tilley, the duty officer. We’ve seen some activity on your computer station. Are you Stone Barrington?”

“Yes. I’ll be in the house for a few days, and I might use it again.”

“I’ll make a note of that for the next shift,” the man said.

Stone thanked him and hung up. Then Mary called them to lunch.

Halfway through their mussels, Stone said, “Bob, Sherry, I’d appreciate it if you would stay inside the house for the next couple of days, until I get a sense of who’s on the island.”

“This seems like a pretty out-of-the-way place,” Sherry said.

“It is, but it has a rich assortment of summer residents and visitors, and you never know who you might run into. You should especially avoid the yacht club and the village shops, and even the back porch, until I’ve had a report.”

“A report from who?” Jamie asked.

“A friend, Ed Rawls, who lives on the island. Bob and Sherry met him last night for a drink. He’s old-school CIA, and although he’s been retired for some years, he still likes to think of himself as on the job. He makes the rounds, and if there’s anybody on the island he doesn’t know or who doesn’t fit, we’ll hear about it.”

“That’s handy,” Bob said.

“It can be,” Stone replied. “Sherry, what’s the name of the caretaker at the Thomas house?”

“Hurd, and his wife is Heather.”

“Last name?”

Sherry stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Parker,” she said finally. “He introduced himself when he met me at the Rockland Airport.”

“Was there anything about him to make you think he was something other than a caretaker?”

“No, not really. They both did the chores around the house, and Heather cooked.”

“Well...”

“Wait a minute,” Sherry said. “Hurd wore a wide, thick belt, the kind that you see around shooting ranges, and there was kind of an indentation on the left side, where a holster might go.”

“Did you ever see a gun?”

“No.”

“Was he right- or left-handed?”

She thought again. “Right-handed, I think. He wrote my name down when I got there, and he used his right.”

“So, if it’s a gun belt, he uses a cross-draw.”

“Yes, if I’m right.”

“What about Heather? Anything unusual?”

“She was a fairly husky woman. She didn’t seem fat, just strong. I wouldn’t want to tangle with her.”

“You know,” Stone said, “I think the rock was a good idea. Do you have a lot of throwing experience?”

“High-school softball,” Sherry replied. “I played on a Thomas team in Central Park, too.”

“You seem to have a lot of relevant skills,” Stone said. “I hope you won’t need them again.”