Worst Fears Realized

43

STONE SLEPT WELL BUT WOKE UP DISORIENTED. He sat up and blinked, wondering where he was, but after a few seconds it came to him. He was in his new cottage, in Connecticut, and he needed pictures on the walls.

He got up, showered, and made breakfast, missing the morning Times. He looked at Carolyn Klemm’s list and found the delivery service. He’d have to arrange that and also subscribe to the local paper, the Litchfield County Times. Then Warkowski came back into his mind. He picked up the phone and called Dino.

“Yeah?” Dino said sleepily.

“Come on, Dino, it’s nearly nine o’clock; wake up,”

“I’m awake,” Dino said. “You are one stupid son of a bitch, do you know that?”

“What, I get up too early for you?”

“I’m talking about Dolce.”

“What about her?”

“I warned you about her, but you just had to go and…”

“Oh, come on, Dino; she seems like a nice enough girl.”

“You’re way out of your depth there, pal, I’m telling you.”

“Dino, she’s a beautiful, bright woman.”

“She’s coming up there today, isn’t she?”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“She has a sister; she talks to her.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t, after all, asked her not to tell Mary Ann. “Listen, I ran into Warkowski at dinner last night.”

“Père or fils?”

“Père.”

“You had dinner at Sing Sing?”

“No, Warkowski and his wife were over here on what he called a weekend outing – the Mayflower Inn makes it a popular destination. We happened to be in the same restaurant.”

“Great. What did he have for dinner?”

“Dino, listen; you need to make an official request of Warkowski for information as to Mitteldorfer’s whereabouts.”

“I’m not going to ask that bastard for anything. And what makes you think he would help?”

“Even if he ignores you, the request will be on the record; you’ll have covered your ass.”

“And it’s worth covering. You’re right; I’ll fax him. You talked to the guy?”

“Yes, I asked him if he knew where Mitteldorfer was, and he said no. He was unhelpful, but he said if you sent him an official request, he’d respond.”

“Yeah, I know what his response will be. What else did you tell him?”

“That I knew Mitteldorfer had done his investing for him.”

“Did he deny it?”

“No, but he didn’t confirm it, either.”

“Well, let’s see what you accomplished, then: first, now Warkowski knows everything we know, right? Second, in the event that Warkowski does know where Mitteldorfer is and is communicating with him, now Mitteldorfer knows we’re looking for him.”

“He’ll know that when the Times story comes out. But you’re right; I shouldn’t have told Warkowski that we knew about the investing. I thought it might help his memory, but it didn’t.”

“Something else, kiddo: if he does talk to Mitteldorfer, he’s going to tell him that you’re in Washington, Connecticut, and I thought you didn’t want him to know that.”

Stone winced. “Okay, I was stupid.”

“I believe I mentioned that earlier in our conversation.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Mitteldorfer is going to rub it in, if he finds out where you are. You’d better watch your ass.”

“I will, but Warkowski doesn’t know I have a house here; for all he knows, I’m just visiting for the weekend, as he is.”

“I hope you’re right, pal. And I hope you survive the weekend with Dolce.”

“Is there anything else I need to know about her?”

“I told you all you had to know to avoid trouble; the rest, you’re just going to have to learn for yourself.”

“Okay, Dino; I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck, Stone; you’re going to need it.”

Stone called about the newspapers, then got dressed and drove down to the Depot. He went into the Washington Supply, the hardware store, and bought a toolbox and an assortment of tools for the house.

“Guess you’re Stone Barrington,” the man at the counter said.

“That’s right,” Stone replied, surprised.

“Guess you’ll be needing a charge account.”

“Don’t mind if I do; can I have an application?”

“Don’t need an application.”

“How about my address?”

“Know your address.”

Stone picked up a map of the area, signed for the tools, and went back to his car, figuring that he had a lot to learn about small, New England towns.

He spread out the map and recognized a familiar name: New Preston. He’d heard something about antiques there. Following the map, he drove up a hill, down another, crossed a highway, and came to an attractive village. An hour later, he’d bought two lamps, three pictures, all local landscapes, and a shopping bag full of small items.

He continued along the road and came to a large lake – Lake Waramaug, the map said. He followed the winding road around the lake, enjoying the sun on the water and the views of the hills, and ended up back where he started. He drove back to Washington and had lunch at the Pantry, a restaurant and kitchen supply shop, where he bought a few more things for his kitchen, plus a couple of cheeses from a large display.

Back at the house he hung the pictures, plugged in the lamps, and started looking for things to fix with his new tools. He didn’t find much. The place was newly renovated, and everything appeared to have been taken care of.

He fixed himself a lunch of bread and cheese, then stretched out for a nap on the living-room sofa, to await the arrival of the reputedly evil Dolce.