Black Dog

Fifty-One

Fred drove Stone and Joan back to his house, and they resumed work, as if nothing had happened. Stone thought it a good time to call Sandy Beech, and he did so.

“Ah,” she said. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Pleasant thoughts, I hope.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Dinner tonight? We might discuss those thoughts.”

“We might, indeed. See you at six.”

At ten minutes past six, Stone’s bell rang. He pressed the button and said, “Come in.” Then he walked toward the front door as she entered, looking around. “Oh, this is nicer than my house,” she said.

Stone led her to the study, poured her a drink, then took her on the ten-cent tour. They returned to the study with empty glasses, and Stone refilled them. “The bedrooms are upstairs. I’ll spare you looking at beds.” They sat down before a small fire in the hearth.

Stone raised his glass. “To second dates. They’re so much more fun than first ones.”

She raised her glass. “And to the absence of old boyfriends.”

“Have you broken it off with Bryce Newcomb?”

“Yes, but he probably hasn’t noticed yet.”

“How did you come to know him?”

“I met him at the bar at P. J. Clarke’s,” she said, laughing. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“I wish I’d met you first,” he replied.

“Oh, so do I. He just becomes more and more of a pest. I wrote him a nice note, suggesting he go fuck himself.”

“Do you think he’ll get your point?”

“Perhaps not. He can be quite dense at times.”

A beep was heard, and a face appeared on the screen that covered the front door.

“Goodness,” she said. “You have a video of Bryce?”

“No, that’s from a camera, live, pointed at the outside of the front door.”

“Did he ring the bell?”

“No.”

“It seems he’s taken to following me,” she said. “I believe that is the last stage of stalking.”

Stone thought the last stage of stalking was homicide, but he didn’t mention that. “Let’s hope so. Would you like me to go out and speak to him?”

“Please don’t. He will certainly take a swing at you, and then the police would come, and we’d be late for dinner.”

The doorbell rang.

“Oh, no,” Sandy said.

Stone pressed a button. “Good evening,” he said. “Go away.”

“That would take care of most people,” Sandy said, “but not Bryce.”

Stone looked up to find Fred standing at the door.

“Ms. Beech, Fred Flicker, who is my driver and factotum.”

“How do you do, Ms. Beech? Mr. Barrington, would you like me to speak to the gentleman?”

“Thank you, Fred. Try not to hurt him.”

Fred disappeared.

“Hurt Bryce? That little man?”

“Don’t underestimate Fred.”

“I hope he doesn’t underestimate Bryce!”

“We’ll see,” Stone said, pressing another button on the screen that gave them a wider shot from another angle. He turned up the volume a little.

Fred opened the front door. “Good evening,” he said. “May I help you?”

“I want to see Stone Barrington,” Newcomb said.

“Mr. Barrington is not receiving callers,” Fred replied.

“Listen, Shorty,” Newcomb said, reaching out and taking Fred’s lapels. There was a flurry of motion, then Newcomb was on his knees, and Fred was holding him there by a wrist, which was bent.

“I hope you are receiving me loud and clear,” Fred said. “Otherwise, I shall have to break a bone, and who knows where that could lead?”

“Okay, all right,” Newcomb said. “I’ll go quietly.”

“It would be a mistake for you not to do so,” Fred said, releasing the wrist. “Now go, before this takes a turn for the worse.”

Newcomb hurried away, holding his wrist. Fred came back inside and closed the door. “I don’t think we’ll hear from him again this evening,” Fred said to the camera.

“Thank you, Fred,” Stone said, then sat back and sipped his drink.

“That was impressive,” Sandy said.

“And effective,” Stone replied. “Fred is an ex — Royal Marine commando.”

Fred came to the door. “Cook has asked me to tell you that dinner will be served in this room,” he said, wheeling in a tray and setting things on the table behind the sofa, then opening and decanting a bottle of wine.

“Hungry?” Stone asked.

“Ravenous,” Sandy replied.