Sex, Lies & Serious Money

35

Stone waited until they were in bed that night, on their second occasion, to mention casually that he was flying his own airplane to New York.

“Really? What airplane?”

“A Citation CJ 3 Plus.”

“How much total time do you have?”

“Around four thousand hours in half a dozen airplanes.”

“How much time in type?”

“A couple of hundred hours. I owned two other light jets before, so I’ve got around twelve hundred hours in jets. You sound very familiar with airplanes.”

“My father was a professional pilot, flew everything. The two questions he wanted to ask anyone who was flying him were total time and time in type.”

“So, I passed the test?”

“Not until I’ve experienced my first takeoff and landing with you. I have a private license that I don’t use very often, so I’ll know what to look for. Can I fly right seat?”

“Sure. Speaking of landing, a client of mine and his girlfriend have invited us to overnight in Santa Fe on the way home. Do you have time for that?”

“I’ll make time. I’ve never been to Santa Fe. Just one night?”

“Perhaps we’ll add another, if we’re invited.”

“Who’s the client?”

“A young man named Laurence Hayward.”

“Why does that sound familiar?”

Stone sighed. “He won the Powerball lottery last month.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve read about him in the papers. What sort of legal work do you do for him?”

“Pretty much everything. A fellow who’s suddenly come into more than half a billion dollars needs all kinds of advice and services. I happened to be well positioned to put him into the right hands for legal, financial, real estate, and other services.”

“What other services?”

“Whatever he needs.”

“What has he needed so far?”

“All of the above, plus aviation advice and help with publicity. He bought the same airplane I fly and has ordered the new Citation Latitude for delivery next year. Right now, he’s building time.”

“Lucky young man.”

“We’ll see. Lottery stories seem to end badly for too many people.”

“Do you think he’ll crash and burn?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it. Right now, he’s in the first rush of knowing he can buy virtually anything he wants. He’s bought a New York apartment, and he bought the Santa Fe house at first sight. Luckily, he seems to have very good taste and judgment in just about everything. He also did something very nice for his mother and stepfather — he bought their city and country houses in England and gave them lifetime occupancy, so they can retire in great comfort with a lot of cash.”

“That was sweet of him.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Enough of this chitchat,” she said. “Make love to me again.”

“No more chitchat,” Stone said, turning his attentions to her.

They took off from Santa Monica at mid-morning the following day, with Jinx in the copilot’s seat, handling the radios. She also started to learn the Garmin 3000 avionics.

“I’ve flown a Cirrus with the Garmin 1000 panel,” she said, “so it’s not entirely foreign to me.” By the time they landed in Santa Fe she had the rudiments down.

They took a rental car and drove out to Tano Norte. “I’ve been out here for dinner once,” Stone said, “and it’s a beautiful house, built by a woman with the reputation of being Santa Fe’s top designer/builder.” Fifteen minutes later they arrived and were greeted by Laurence and Theresa and shown into the guesthouse.

“The air is wonderful,” Jinx said, inhaling deeply.

“It’s also very thin. We’re at seven thousand feet here, so don’t overexert or drink too much until you’ve acclimated.”

“And how long does that take?”

“A day or two, for most people. Don’t go jogging.”

“I suppose I have to give up sex until then.”

“Certainly not. Sex is always good for you, no matter what the elevation.”

They had a nap, then turned up in the main house at six, for a tour and cocktails.

“It looks like you’ve lived here for a long time,” Jinx commented to Theresa.

“That’s the fault of our builder, Sharon Woods. She furnished the place, right down to the bedding and towels.”

They visited the bar for drinks, went into the living room, then Theresa took Jinx into the kitchen to get some canapés.

Stone and Laurence sat down on the living room sofa, and Laurence took out his iPhone. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said, switching on the phone. “Thanks to you I now have a hotshot security system both here and in New York. Mike Freeman’s people called me early this morning to tell me I had had an intruder at the Fairleigh in the wee hours. They put together a little video to show me.”

He went to a website and started the video, for which images from different cameras had been pieced together. It began just inside the front door of the apartment: the front door opened and a large man stepped inside and looked around, his face in the shadows. Then lights came on, and the image froze momentarily.

“Do you know him?” Stone asked.

“I do not, but he looks like that guy from the Three Stooges.”

“Curly.”

“Yes, but meaner-looking.”

“You’re right about that.”

The video continued as the man moved from room to room. He was searching Marge’s office, when something spooked him, and he ran for the door. Moments after he left, two hotel security men entered the apartment, and the video stopped.

“That’s it,” Laurence said. “He was in the apartment for less than two minutes.”

“Didn’t the alarm go off as soon as he entered?”

“No, the alarm is silent, ringing only at Strategic Services. I didn’t want to alarm the neighbors with sirens. The silent alarm didn’t go off until a minute after he entered, to give time for the code to be entered in the command module before it activated.”

“Have the police seen this?”

“Yes, and they’ve identified him as one Marvin Jones, who had already been into the apartment once before — they identified him at that time by a fingerprint. The police have been looking for him ever since.”

“He didn’t appear to steal anything.”

“I think he was looking for my checkbook again, but since his first visit, and after the checks he wrote, Marge has had a safe installed in her office and everything financial is kept in there.”

“He was looking very interested in that safe when he was rousted,” Stone said. “Don’t worry, they’ll haul him in eventually.”

The women came back with the canapés, and Laurence whispered to Stone, “Theresa doesn’t know about this, so don’t mention it. I don’t want to frighten her.”

Stone nodded and accepted a canapé. “Laurence, Theresa, I’ve just had a thought: You don’t know a lot of people in New York, do you?”

“I don’t,” Laurence replied. “Theresa, do you?”

“Mostly women I went to Mount Holyoke with.”

“Every year, Strategic Services throws a party for its key staff and a couple of dozen of their best clients. This year, it’s to be at my house, but my living room isn’t really big enough. I wonder if you’d consider hosting it at your apartment? At no cost to you, of course.”

The two young people exchanged a glance. “Of course. When is it?”

“In a couple of weeks. The invitations will go out in a couple of days.”

“We’ll be back by then,” Laurence said. “Just let me know what time and how many. I’ll hire waiters.”

“Mike Freeman, the CEO, will take care of that. All you’ll have to do is come to the party. Oh, and it will be black tie, so, Theresa, you’ll have an excuse to buy a new dress.”

“I can’t complain about that,” she said.