Dirt

Chapter 9

The gardens were lovely now, Amanda noticed, half in sunshine and half in shadow. A lone gardener knelt and pulled at weeds.

“Amanda?” Stone said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Amanda replied, returning her full attention to him. “I was just admiring the light in the garden.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Stone said. “I’ve sat whole days watching it.”

“Please ask me your questions,” Amanda said, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt. She was aware of Stone’s glance at her legs, which she knew were one of her best features.

Stone knew he had been caught looking at her legs, but she didn’t seem to mind. “How many people knew you were going to spend the weekend at the Trent?” he asked.

“Only my secretary, Martha,” Amanda replied. “Martha always knows where I am, in case of emergency.”

“Last name?”

“McMahon.”

“And how long has Martha been with you?”

“For fifteen years; she’s my most trusted employee.”

“Do you think Martha could be bought?”

“Absolutely not. Anyway, she’s extremely well paid. She earns on a par with a secretary to a top corporation head.”

“Who else besides Martha knew?”

“No one.”

“How did you travel to the hotel?”

“Oh, well, Paul, my driver, took me.”

“So Paul knew where you were going?”

“Not exactly. I mean, he knew the address, but I don’t think he could have known the significance.”

“Did he know you were supposed to be in Saint Bart’s?”

“Well, yes; he had been told that, in case anyone asked.”

“So he knew you didn’t go to the airport, that you were doing something unusual.”

“Yes, I suppose, but he never asked any questions. Paul never does.”

“Last name?”

“Brennan.”

“How long with you?”

“Nine years.”

“Trustworthy?”

“Absolutely.”

“So that’s two people who knew something. How about at the hotel? Whom did you see there?”

“No one; the desk clerk had turned his back when I ran for the elevator.”

“No maid, no anyone?”

“A maid did bring some sheets and towels a couple of times, and, of course, there were room service waiters, but I was always in the bathroom when they arrived.”

“They knew that Mr. Bell was with someone, though.”

“I suppose they did; the meals were for two, after all, but they would have no reason to know it was me.”

“Did you carry a handbag there?”

“Yes, a small clutch.”

“Where did you place it in the suite?”

“I… dropped it on the floor when I entered the first time.”

“Did it remain there?”

“No, when I left, it had been put on a table, by the maid, I suppose.”

“Might she have had time to open it?”

“Possibly; my driver’s license was inside, and some credit cards.”

“I see.”

“I’m beginning to see, too, I think,” she said. “It’s hard to go anywhere without someone knowing, isn’t it?”

“It is. With that in mind, can you think of anyone else who might have known?”

“I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Bill Eggers?”

“No; I told him nothing.”

“Let’s look at the Saint Bart’s end, then.”

“How do you mean?”

“In the same way that certain people in New York knew you were remaining in the city, certain people in Saint Bart’s would have known of your absence there.”

“Oh, I see. Well, certainly my, ah, putative host, the Duke, knew of my absence, though he didn’t know why. The staff at the house would have known I was not there, had anyone asked. They would have known about my message on the answering machine, conceivably.”

“Was the Duke in residence at that time?”

“No, he was in London. I believe he’s in Saint Bart’s this week.”

“I think you might call him and ask if anyone inquired about your presence or absence there during the time you were at the Trent.”

“Good idea,” she said, making a mental note.

“Have you visited the Duke’s house before?”

“Twice.”

“How many staff?”

“A butler, a housekeeper, three maids, and a cook and kitchen staff. Oh, a driver. They’ve all been with the Duke for years, and he made a point of their discretion.”

“Good.”

He was very thorough, Amanda thought, and she liked that. She liked his looks, too – tall, slender, blond hair going gray. She liked the good suit and shirt – not custom-made, perhaps, but fine quality. She liked the house. She could make this man very well known, if she chose to. He was the sort of man she might like to be seen with. She would think about that.

“You would have made a good police detective,” Stone said.

Her eyebrows went up. “Why do you think so?”

“You’re very observant, very analytical,” he replied. “At least as much so as I.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Only an observant person would see that.”

“Amanda, I think you may have it in you to solve this mystery without my help. Certainly you know the people involved better than I. You know who might wish to hurt you.”

Amanda laughed ruefully. “They are legion,” she said. “In my business I make enemies every week, even though I try very hard not to.”

“I can see how it might be difficult not to make enemies.”

“Not difficult, impossible. I run the most innocuous item about someone’s marriage or divorce and, at the very least, I’m perceived as having taken sides in the matter, sometimes by both parties.”

Stone laughed, and she joined him. She had seemed a bit stiff at first, but now she had loosened up, and she was charming. He was forty-two, and he tended to be attracted to women a decade younger, but she must be around his age, he thought, and he found her appealing. Careful, this was business, at least for the moment. He had been on the point of offering her a drink.

Amanda glanced at her watch.

“Am I keeping you from something?” Stone asked. “I think we’re about finished for now, if you have to leave.”

“I have another hour,” she said, “if you do; and the sun is well over the yardarm. I wonder if I might have a drink?”

“Of course,” Stone said. Mind reader! “What would you like?”

“Oh, something light.”

Stone picked up the phone and pressed a button or two. “Helene, there’s a bottle on the bottom shelf of the small refrigerator. Would you bring that and a couple of glasses?”

Helene appeared with a bottle of champagne in a silver wine cooler and a pair of flutes.

“Just set it on the desk; I’ll open it,” Stone said.

Helene departed; Stone opened the champagne and poured.

“Veuve Clicquot,” Amanda said. “My very favorite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied.

Amanda lifted the thin glass and took a sip. And Baccarat crystal, too, she thought. “Enough of business,” she said. “Tell me about you.”

“Not much to tell. Grew up in the Village; P.S. Six, NYU, law school, joined NYPD, made detective, took early retirement, practiced law. That’s me in a nutshell.”

“Stone,” she said, “men like you don’t fit into nutshells.”

He laughed.

“I’m having some people for dinner on Friday evening. Will you come?”

“I’d be delighted.”

She dug a card from her purse and handed it to him. “Come at six-thirty; that’ll give us time to talk a bit before the others arrive.”

“All right.”

She looked around the rooms. “Your books tell me more about you than you do.”

Stone shrugged. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

“We’ll see,” she replied.