Worst Fears Realized

10

STONE WAS AWAKENED FROM A SOUND sleep by the doorbell. He rolled over, glancing at the clock – 9:00 A.M. He picked up the phone and punched the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Joan Robertson, from Woodman and Weld. Bill Eggers sent me over to do some secretarial work for you.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll buzz you in. Wander around until you find the kitchen, and make yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.” He pressed the button that opened the front door.

He struggled out of bed, shaved, showered, and dressed, then ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. A woman with streaked blonde hair, trim, in her forties, sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

“Good morning,” she said. “Join me? I made a pot.”

He shook her hand. “Thanks, I will,” Stone said. He got a cup and sat down. “You look a lot like… what’s her name? The actress?”

“June Allyson?”

“That’s the one.”

“I get that all the time.”

“You even have that husky voice. Is she your mother?”

“Not unless my parents have been lying to me for the past forty-five years.”

“Did Bob tell you anything about what I need?”

“He said you needed a secretary, maybe for a few weeks. He also said that you should not get to like me too much, because he has no intention of letting you steal me.”

Stone laughed. The phone rang, and he went to the wall set and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Stone? It’s Sarah Buckminster.”

The English accent rang like a bell, and parts of Stone were ringing, too.

“You’re obviously an impostor,” he said. “The real Sarah Buckminster is in Tuscany, probably treading grapes for the new Chianti.”

“She was until yesterday.” Sarah laughed.

“Are you really back?”

“I am.”

“God, it’s been, what…”

“Six and a half years. How the hell are you?”

“I’m extremely well.”

“So am I. Buy me lunch?”

“You bet. The Four Seasons at one? We’ll celebrate.”

“We certainly will. See you then.”

“Bye.” Stone hung up and came back to the table. “Sorry about that,” he said to Joan. “An old friend has turned up unexpectedly.”

“You certainly sounded happy to hear from her,” Joan said.

“It showed, huh? I guess I am very happy to hear from her. Now, I was telling you about-” The doorbell rang. “Excuse me again.” He picked up the phone. “Yes?” He heard footsteps going down the front steps. “Hello?” He hung up and turned back to Joan. “Let me see who that is.”

He walked through the living room to the front door. Nobody there. He looked up and down the street but saw no one who looked interested in his house. He closed the door and turned to go back to the kitchen. On the floor of the entrance hall was a small, yellow envelope. Somebody had apparently put it through the mail slot. He picked it up. A Western Union telegram. He walked back into the kitchen, tossed it onto the table, sat down, and picked up his coffee, which was getting cold. “A telegram,” he said, picking up the envelope.

“That’s odd,” Joan replied.

“How so?” he asked, opening the envelope.

“There are no telegrams anymore. I mean, you can send a mailgram, I think, but I thought fax machines put telegrams out of business a long time ago.”

Stone unfolded the single sheet of yellow paper. It was an old-fashioned telegram, with strips of message glued to the paper. It read:

SORRY I MISSED LAST NIGHT. IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.

BY THE WAY, DID YOU KNOW THE POLICE ARE WATCHING YOUR HOUSE?

YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE

Stone stared at the message, rereading it.

“Mr. Barrington,” Joan said. “Are you all right? You’ve turned pale.”

Stone realized that he felt pale. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Is it bad news?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Will you wait right here, Joan? Whatever you do, don’t leave the house or go near the front door.”

“All right,” she said, looking at him curiously.

Stone went to his study and called Dino on his private line.

“Bacchetti.”

“Dino, it’s Stone.”

“Morning. You feeling better?”

“I was until a minute ago.”

Dino’s voice changed. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve had a message from our perp.” Stone read the telegram. “It was pushed through the mail slot five minutes ago.”

“Hang on,” Dino said, putting him on hold.

Stone waited, feeling a little sick at the thought of what he might have gotten Joan Robertson into.

“You there?” Dino asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve put out a new APB in your neighborhood,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“There is something else,” Stone said.

“Shoot.”

“I’ve made a big mistake. When Alma was killed, Bill Eggers offered to send somebody over to help out until I can hire a new secretary. She arrived this morning; I had completely forgotten about it.”

“Oh, shit,” Dino said.

“Exactly.”

“We’re going to have to get her out of there,” Dino said.

“What do you suggest?”

Dino thought for a minute. “Can a car get into that garage of yours?”

“Yes. I was thinking of buying a car, and I moved a lot of boxes out of the way.”

“I’ll send an unmarked car over there; you watch for them and open the garage. They can pull inside, then you can put your lady in the backseat, and they can drive her somewhere. I’ll tell them to make sure they’re not followed.”

“Very good,” Stone replied. “Have them call me when they turn into the block.”

“Right.”

Stone hung up and went back to the kitchen. “Joan, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to use you – not for a while, anyway.”

“Whatever you say,” she replied, standing up.

“No, have a seat. A car is being sent to take you back to your office.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Mr. Barrington. It’s not much of a walk, and it’s a nice day.”

“I’m afraid it is necessary,” Stone said. “It’s a police car that’s coming for you.”

“A police car? I don’t understand.”

“It wouldn’t do any good to explain; just trust me on this.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

“It’s Andy Anderson. We’re coming up the street now.”

“Thanks; I’ll open the door.” He hung up. “Please follow me,” he said to Joan Robertson.

She stood up. “All right.”

Stone led her down the back stairs, through his exercise room, and into the garage. He pressed the button, and the door rose noisily. Instantly, a car drove inside, with Mick Kelly at the wheel and Andy Anderson in the passenger seat. Stone opened the door and helped Joan in. “I want you to lie down on the backseat until Detective Anderson tells you it’s all right to sit up.”

Joan laughed. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said.

“Believe me, this is for your protection. Thanks for coming over; I’ll let you know when it’s a better time.” He closed the door and gave Anderson a thumbs-up sign. “Go,” he said. The car backed into the street, and Stone closed the garage door behind them.

He was halfway back to the kitchen when it occurred to him that he had a lunch date that he didn’t dare keep.