Hot Mahogany

17

That evening Barton took Stone and Holly to dinner in Litchfield, ten miles away.

“I think you’ll like this place,” Barton said as Stone parked the car on the pretty street. “It’s called the West Street Grill.”

He led them inside, where they were greeted by and introduced to the owners, James and Charles, and given a booth in the center of the restaurant. They ordered drinks, and menus were brought. They had just ordered dinner when a couple stopped at their table.

“Good evening, Colonel,” the man said. He was tall and slim, with iron-gray hair. Stone thought he had seen him before. The woman was very beautiful, with shoulder-length chestnut-colored hair and a lithe and curvaceous body.

“Good evening, Ab,” Barton replied. “Charlotte, how are you?”

“Very well, Barton; we had a wonderful dinner.”

“May I introduce my friends Stone Barrington and Holly Barker? This is Abner Kramer and his wife, Charlotte.”

Hands were shaken all around.

Barton moved over a bit in the large booth and signaled Stone to do so as well. “Please sit and have a drink with us.”

The couple sat down, and brandy was brought for them.

“How have you been, Bart?” Kramer asked.

“Oh, I was under the weather for a few days, but I’m fine, now.”

“Are you ready to sell me that Goddard-Townsend secretary?”

“Oh, I’m not sure I’ll ever part with that, Ab. If you’re very nice to me, maybe I’ll bequeath it to you in my will.”

Kramer laughed. “I’m not sure I could wait another fifty years for it.”

“Well, maybe I can find you something to substitute until I kick off.”

“You’ll outlive me, Bart.”

“I promise not to do that, Ab. I’ve been telling Stone and Holly about your place up here, and they’ve expressed an interest in seeing it. Would it be convenient if I brought them by for a while tomorrow some time?”

“I’m afraid not, Bart; we’ve got the painters in as part of an extensive project, and the place is a mess. We only came up here for the night just to have a word with the painting contractor; we’ll go back tomorrow morning. It’s difficult to sleep with the smell of paint in the house, and the stuff has been custom-mixed to match the original eighteenth-century formula and takes forever to dry. Perhaps another time.”

“Soon, I hope,” Stone said.

“I’m afraid it may be a while before the house will be viewable.”

“I have a place in Washington, and I’m up here from time to time. I hope I’ll have another opportunity.”

“We’ll see that you do,” Kramer replied. “I know your name, I believe.”

“I’ve had the place here for a while, now.”

“No. I mean from New York. Are you an attorney?”

“I am.”

“Something about your involvement with the death of that Mafia guy… What was his name?”

“Carmine Dattila?”

“That’s the one. Dattila the Hun they called him.”

“I wasn’t involved with his death; I just represented the man who was accused of shooting him.”

“But he was never tried, was he? Was he innocent?”

“Innocent is too strong a word,” Stone replied. “Let’s just say that the D.A. decided that they didn’t have sufficient evidence – or perhaps the inclination – to bring him to trial.”

“That’s an interesting locution,” Kramer said. “Perhaps at our next meeting you would be kind enough to tell me the details.”

“I’d be happy to,” Stone said. “At least those details that don’t violate the confidence of my client.”

“The Colonel and I are both very interested in situations where a crime has been committed but gone unpunished,” Kramer said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll get home and try to sleep for a while in our paint-scented atmosphere.”

Stone shook both their hands. “It was good to meet you. I look forward to seeing your house when it’s back together.”

“And we look forward to showing it to you,” Kramer said. They shook the hands of Holly and Barton, then left.

“I wonder what he meant by that?” Holly asked.

“By what?” Barton asked, innocently.

“That business about both you and he being interested in unpunished crimes.”

“Oh, that was just a little joke,” Barton said. “He often talks that way when we’re together.”

“Barton,” Stone said, “is Ab Kramer the only one of your former men that you see in the ordinary course of things?”

“Yes, he is, I suppose, and I ran into him only because he bought a place here and asked me to advise him on some of the pieces he was collecting. He has a fine collection of American furniture, perhaps one of the dozen best in a private home.”

“A home he doesn’t want Holly and me to see,” Stone said.

“I wonder why,” Holly said.

“Maybe he has a new piece of furniture in his collection, one that he doesn’t want us to see,” Stone replied.

“So,” Barton said, “you think Ab Kramer might be behind the theft of the secretary?”

“It’s cheaper than buying it at auction, isn’t it?”

“Ab is a very wealthy man; I’m sure he could write a check for the piece if it came on the market.”

“Yes, if it came on the market. On the other hand, if he thought that you were never going to sell it… Well, it’s one of only two in private hands, isn’t it? And the other is on the West Coast?”

“You have a point,” Barton said. “Certainly, Ab is accustomed to getting what he wants, one way or another.”

“Are you aware of any circumstances in which he acquired some possession by means other than strictly legal?” Stone asked.

“Well, not for the last twenty-odd years,” Barton replied, “but, of course, I haven’t seen all that much of him since Vietnam.”

“Exactly how much have you seen him?”

“I was invited to dinner once, along with a large table full of people. I went to the house on another occasion to see a piece he’d bought; I think he wanted to know if he’d paid too much for it. He had. That’s about the extent of our recent acquaintance.”

“How did he know you had the secretary?”

Barton looked a little sheepish. “I think I may have mentioned it when I bought it. I was very excited about it, and it was difficult to keep it to myself.”

“Who else did you tell, Barton?”

“No one. No one at all.”

“That’s very interesting,” Stone said. “I wonder how we could get a look inside that house.”