A Safe House

17

They had drinks and were seated for dinner before anyone noticed that Jenna wasn’t saying much.

“I watched on C-SPAN,” Viv said to her. “You did very well.”

Jenna shrugged. “I was doing all right until I saw the black Stetson in the audience, then I got a little rattled.”

“Nobody noticed,” Stone said. “That’s why Quince was there, to rattle you, and it didn’t work.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, and began to cheer up.

“So, Lance,” Stone said, “tell us the latest on the investigation into Wallace Slade.”

“That’s the FBI’s case,” Lance replied. “We come in only if we’re asked.”

“Have you been asked?”

“In small ways. The Feds haven’t asked us to shoot him.”

“A pity,” Stone said.

“Yes, it would be lots of fun, wouldn’t it?”

“Slade might be a good class project for the current crop of trainees at the Farm,” Stone suggested.

“I know you meant that to be funny, Stone,” Lance replied, “but it’s rather a good idea. It would give them some real-time experience, and it would scare the hell out of Slade, to see a bunch of kids in the bushes wherever he goes.”

Everyone chuckled.

“I’ll see to it tomorrow morning,” Lance said.

Dino had been uncharacteristically quiet. “What are the chances of pinning a major felony on Slade?”

“Fair to good, I should think. A few years in a room with bars would be character-building for him.”

Stone spoke up. “I was thinking more, like, Guantánamo. The balmy breezes might suit him better.”

“What a good idea!” Lance said. “Give him an opportunity to polish his Arabic.”

As Stone and Jenna got into bed, she snuggled close. “This is what I thought about today when I got rattled,” she said. “And it calmed my nerves.”

A burst of loud noise from the street made her hold him tighter. “Small-arms fire?” she asked.

“Firecrackers,” Stone replied. “Once in a while the local kids get ahold of some, and they want everybody to know it.”

He did what he could to make her forget the noise.

Jenna was in the shower the following morning when Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Lance. We didn’t have an opportunity to get into it last night, but I want to let you know where things stand.”

“Tell me.”

“Jenna’s testimony had the desired effect on Slade, but it has also created a backlash. Where Slade was angry before, he is now explosively furious. That is not what we want, and it’s not good for Jenna. I don’t think she should remain in New York. It might be too easy for Quince to find her.”

“What do you suggest?” Stone asked.

“Somewhere else.”

“Would you care to be more specific?”

“Paris, L.A., Key West, Maine?” Stone had houses in all those places.

“You’re still paying for the airplane?”

“Yes. I’ve already sent you a check for the last flights.”

“Maine might be the best choice. It’s cooler, and it’s easier to spot strange visitors than somewhere like Key West, where everybody is strange.”

“I tend to agree.”

“How soon?”

“The day before yesterday?”

“I’ll call you later.”

He lay back on the bed and waited for Jenna to emerge from the bathroom. When she did, she was naked. She knelt on the bed.

“Was that Lance?”

“It was.”

“What does he want me to do?”

“Disappear from New York and reappear in Maine.”

“I’ve never been to Maine. What’s it like?”

“Cool, green, and beautiful.”

“Sold! When do we go?”

He checked his watch. “This afternoon? Wheels up at two?”

“What sort of clothes do I need?”

“Think L.L.Bean.”

“Tweedy stuff?”

“Good. And cashmere sweaters. You can shop the catalogs for anything you need.”

“Then let’s do it.” She went to get dressed and pack.

Stone started making the preparatory phone calls, including one to Dino. “I don’t suppose you’re up for Maine,” he said.

“Always, but it depends on when.”

“Wheels up at two pm?”

“I can’t do that, but I can catch up with you this weekend. Viv will be God-knows-where.”

“Done. I’ve got more calls to make.”

The G-500 set down at Rockland airport, where Stone’s Cessna 182 was waiting for the short flight to the Islesboro Airport, which had too short a runway for the Gulfstream. Faith hangared the G-500 and locked the door.

Seth Hotchkiss, Stone’s caretaker, met them at Islesboro’s little airport in the beautifully restored 1938 Ford woodie station wagon that was Stone’s local car, and they were at the house ten minutes later.

Jenna unpacked, then came back downstairs in time for drinks. “So, how do you come to own this house?”

“I’ll try to make a long story short. I had a first cousin, Dick Stone, who built the place for himself, his wife, and their daughter. Sadly, they were all shot to death shortly after they moved in, and I inherited a lifetime occupancy, the title being left to a charity. I bought the house from the charity and have been here ever since.”

“I think you skipped a lot of details,” she said.

“I’ll explain as they come up,” he replied. “There’s a friend, Ed Rawls, coming for dinner with his current girlfriend. He specializes in attractive widows.”

“Oh, good.”

“Something else you should know: Dick Stone was CIA and had just gotten a big promotion when he died. Ed was CIA, too, and there are a few other Agency retirees on the island.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. If they’re all as nice as Lance...”

“Oh, nicer.”

The doorbell rang, and Stone opened the front door to find Ed Rawls standing there. “You’re early,” he said. “It’s only five o’clock.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Rawls said. “I suppose, since it’s you, there will be people looking for you.”

“That’s possible,” Stone admitted.

“They’re already here,” Rawls said.