Foul Play

Fifty-Eight

Friday morning Stone was at his desk when Joan buzzed him.

“There’s a man on the phone who says that he’s your architect,” she said.

“I don’t have an architect,” Stone replied.

“Hang on.” She put him on hold for a few seconds, then came back. “He’s a Mr. Whitman of Whitman & Whitman in Edgartown, Massachusetts.”

“Ah, got it.” He pressed the button. “Mr. Whitman?”

“Yes, Mr. Barrington. I’m the second Whitman in our firm title, Ben. Twenty-five years ago, my father, Raymond, designed the three houses that were built for Rod Troutman, and his son, Shepherd. After they burned Shep had asked me to rebuild the three houses.”

“I see.”

“We’re now ready to begin reconstruction, and we’ve engaged the original builders to do the work. However, with the demise of the Troutmans, I’m without a client to give final approval, and I’m told that you are Shep’s executor and are authorized to do so.”

“That’s correct. I’m also Shep’s heir.”

“I wonder if it would be possible for you to pop up to the Vineyard for a couple of hours, to go over a few points with us. I don’t want to get it wrong, then have to start over.”

“When?”

“Monday, any time, would be good.”

Stone thought about it. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Lovely. We’re in Edgartown.” He gave Stone the address.

“Oh, Ben, a question for you. What sort of computers do you have in your office?”

“Apples.”

“Do you have a PC in your office?”

“Yes, my secretary has both.”

“Good. I’ll see you around two on Monday afternoon.”

“That’s perfect.”

They exchanged cell numbers, then hung up.

Stone called Mike Freeman and made arrangements to borrow another of his aircraft, a JetProp, a single-engine turboprop once owned by Stone, for the round-trip flight. He checked the five-day forecast, which promised fine weather for the trip.

Later in the day, Joan buzzed him again. “You won’t believe this, but Gregor Kronk is on the phone.”

“Record the call, then make some noises like a long-distance connection and put him on.” Stone waited a few seconds, then picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Ah, Mr. Barrington, I’m glad to have caught you in New York.”

“I’m not in New York, I’m abroad. My secretary connected us.” First step, pretend to be somewhere else.

“No matter. In the interest of making peace between us, I wanted to give you a useful and profitable piece of news: Troutman Industries is making a public offering on Monday, and since you are cash rich these days I thought I would give you an opportunity to make another fortune in a day. The stock is selling at eleven dollars a share, and after the initial public offering, it could go to a hundred, perhaps even two hundred dollars a share within a short time.”

“I have not the slightest interest in profiting from anything to do with you or your company,” Stone said, “and beyond that I do not deal with people who murder my friends and clients and attempt to murder me.”

“Mr. Barrington, I hope you do not think that I was behind that.”

“I certainly do think that, and I would not believe for a moment that you were innocent of it. You are a vile human being, Mr. Kronk, and I will not speak to you nor listen to you for a moment ever again.” Stone hung up with a feeling of some satisfaction.

Stone called Charley Fox. “Charley, have you had any communication from me the past couple of days?”

“Well, yes, I received your e-mail, instructing me to buy ten thousand shares of Troutman Industries.”

“Have you done so, yet?”

“I was about to.”

“The e-mail wasn’t from me; Kronk sent it. He’s trying to connect me to his IPO and frame me for insider trading, and I won’t have it. Respond to the e-mail saying that I have given no such instruction, nor will you accept such.”

“I’ll do it immediately.”

“Thank you, Charley.”

“You and I should get together soon to discuss what you want to do with your inheritance.”

“After probate. Bye, Charley.” He hung up.

Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone. Feeling like some lobster? Would you like to fly up to the Vineyard with me for lunch on Monday?”

“There are some words in that invitation that puzzle me,” Dino said.

“What are they?”

“ ‘Vineyard,’ and ‘fly.’ ”

“Coming over all queasy, are we?”

“Stone, I know you have a short memory at times, but try and remember what happened the last time those words appeared in the same sentence.”

“I’m taking precautions.”

“Precautions like having the New York City police commissioner in the airplane with you, in the hope that Kronk and his people will be put off by that?”

“That’s one of them. I’ll also have a security man stay with the airplane the whole time we’re there, to be sure that no one loads a little extra cargo in it.”

“Go on.”

“And you’ll get to see the plans for the new house you’re going to buy on the Vineyard.”

“Why should I buy a country house when you’ve got them all over the place, fully staffed and ready to feed me?”

“You have a point. Are you coming with me on Monday?”

“What time?”

“Pick me up at my house at nine am. You’ll be back in time for your first drink of the day. Oh, and we’ll be flying in my old JetProp, which Kronk doesn’t even know about.”

“See you then.” Dino hung up.

Stone called Mike Freeman.

“Yes, Stone?”

“I’d like to have a man to stay with the airplane at the Vineyard airport to be sure nobody stashes a bomb in it.”

“I’ve got a couple of men camping out on the burned-out property to keep it safe. I’ll have one meet you and stay with the JetProp.”

“Thank you, Mike.”

“The boys at Teterboro will give it a complete going-over to be sure it’s not carrying any unnecessary baggage.”

“I’d appreciate that, Mike.” They both hung up. Stone was already feeling a little queasy, and it was only Friday.