Hot Mahogany

33

The following morning, Stone was contemplating getting out of bed when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino.”

“Good morning.”

“It’s almost afternoon.”

“It’s ten A.M.,” Stone said. “What’s up?”

“I got a call to come in this morning about another case, and I reran last night’s GPS surveillance on Charlie Crow’s car.”

“Where did he go?”

“Just to one place: It was parked for a little under three hours at Abner Kramer’s house.”

“No kidding?”

“Well, he could have been next door or across the street, I guess. After all, the GPS unit is attached to his car, not to him, but that’s where his car was parked.”

“What was the time?”

“He arrived a little after eight and left a little before eleven.”

“Sounds like dinner,” Stone observed.

“Does Charlie Crow sound like the sort of guy an elegant fellow like Kramer would invite to dinner?”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Stone reminded him. “Not even in dinner companions.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just thought you’d like to know.”

“Have you made up with Genevieve?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she’s talking to me but not sleeping with me.”

“Have you found out what she was pissed off about?”

“Not a clue. I’ve wracked my brain.”

“She’ll get around to telling you, don’t worry.”

Carla stirred next to Stone.

“Gotta run,” Stone said. He hung up and gave his full attention to Carla.

When they had showered and dressed, Carla suddenly said,

“How about a picnic?”

“A picnic? What do you mean?”

“Well, you pack a lunch, put down a blanket in a pretty spot and eat.”

“Oh, that kind of picnic.”

“Is there any other kind?”

“I guess not.”

“Do you know of such a spot?”

Stone thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I do,” he said. “A clearing on a hilltop overlooking a fine landscape and a handsome house in the distance.”

“That should do nicely,” she said.

Stone found an old wicker basket with dishes and silver inside that he had discovered in a closet when he had bought the house. They drove down to the Village Market and bought a chicken, some salads and a cold bottle of wine, and Stone drove them to the hilltop road he had visited with Barton and Holly the week before. He parked the car, and they walked down a path to the little clearing.

“Oh,” she said, regarding the vista, “this is perfect.”

The weather was autumnal, but the sun warmed the clearing. Stone spread a blanket, and Carla busied herself arranging the lunch. “What are these for?” she asked, holding up Stone’s binoculars, which he had placed in the basket.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes they make the view more interesting.”

They sat cross-legged on the blanket, facing the distant house, ate their chicken and drank their wine. Stone lay back on an elbow and sighed. “This was a wonderful idea,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “I have them all the time.”

“Ideas?”

“Wonderful ideas.”

“Well, so far I have no complaints about your ideas, only your ex-boyfriends.”

“Harlan is a pig,” she said.

“What did you ever see in him?”

“He’s one of those men who can be perfectly charming when you first meet him, then, as time wears on, becomes first awfully boring, then finally just awful.”

“I’ve known women like that.”

“Really? I thought it was exclusively a male characteristic.”

Stone sat up on the blanket and picked up the binoculars.

“What is it?” Carla asked.

“A truck,” he replied.

“It is a very Harlanlike characteristic to find a truck more interesting than I,” she said, archly.

“Oh, I don’t find it nearly as interesting as you, but you’re too close for binoculars,” he replied, focusing more finely.

She pulled the binoculars away from his face and kissed him. “Does that help?”

“That was delightful, but they’re unloading something from the truck, and I’d like to see what it is, if you’ll give me just a moment, then you will have my undivided attention.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, handing him the binoculars.

Stone watched as four men removed a large crate from the back of the truck and began carrying it up the front steps of the house. The two men at the rear of the crate then hoisted it above their heads and climbed the steps.

“It’s light,” Stone said.

“Swell.”

“And it’s bigger at the bottom than at the top.”

“Fascinating.”

Someone opened the front doors wide, and the men carried in the crate.

“It’s empty,” Stone said.

“What?”

“Four men are carrying a large, empty crate into Ab Kramer’s house.”

“Ab Kramer? The financial guy?”

“One and the same. Now why would they take an empty crate into his house.”

“Maybe they’re going to pack something in the crate and take it away.”

“Now that is an eminently sensible observation,” he said, putting down the binoculars, taking her into his arms and pulling her down to the blanket. “And you have my undivided attention.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of undressing me,” she said. “It’s chilly out here.”

“I was seeking only affection, not sex.”

“Well, it’s not as though we haven’t been getting any sex, is it?”

He laughed. “I’ve no complaints in that department.”

She sat up and looked toward the house, then picked up the binoculars. “They’re bringing the crate out,” she said.

“May I look?”

She handed him the binoculars.

Stone watched as the men reloaded the crate into the truck and was surprised that they coordinated their efforts and actually tossed the crate the last few feet. He could hear the noise when it fell into the bed of the truck. “There’s still nothing in it.”

“What?”

“They took an empty crate into the house, then brought it out again, still empty. Does that make any sense?”

“Not to me.”

“Nor to me, either.”