Shakeup

43

Stone was at his desk when Joan buzzed. “Dame Felicity Devonshire on one,” she said.

Stone pressed the button. “Good morning again, Felicity, or rather, good afternoon.”

“Good day, Stone. I had a thought about the reason for your break-in last night,” she said.

“I’d like to hear it,” Stone said. “It kept me awake.”

“You have a virtually identical system, that my people installed in Windward Hall, do you not?”

“I do,” Stone said.

“What if last night was a dry run for breaking into the Hall?”

Stone found the suggestion alarming. “I see.”

“What, in particular, do you have in the house that would be of great value?”

“Define ‘great value.’”

“Something that could be sold immediately for a lot of money.”

“Well, I think I left a couple of wristwatches in the watch winder in my dressing room.”

“Even greater value.”

“There’s wine that could be sold at auction.”

“Too easy to trace. I mean, Christie’s and Sotheby’s advertise those sales and keep records.”

“Well, I have a few of my mother’s paintings. They’ve gone up in value in recent years. I know, because I buy them when I can. But they would be easily traceable, too.”

“Not if the thief were working for an existing client who is an art lover, or a lover of your mother’s work, in particular.”

“You mean, someone who placed an order for the pictures?”

“And to enjoy them in his home or place of business. That’s what I mean.”

“Can you send a team in there to have a look around?”

“I’m afraid not. We’ve got something of a panic on that I can’t go into, but it’s all hands on deck, I’m afraid. Why don’t you call your security provider?”

“I’m speaking to her, as we speak.”

“Oh, yes, you are, aren’t you? How about your caretaker, Major Bugg?”

“He’s out for knee replacement surgery.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I suppose I could call Inspector Holmes, of the local constabulary.”

“I’m afraid they are also participants in the panic,” Felicity said.

“You think I should come over there?”

“That’s what jet aeroplanes are for, isn’t it? Coming over here?”

Stone thought about it.

“If we get our panic cleared up, I’ll be down tomorrow afternoon.”

A few days with Dame Felicity was an alluring notion. “I suppose I could pop over,” he said.

“How lovely. Will you give me dinner tomorrow evening?”

The cook lived on the estate. “Of course.”

“What time?”

“I’ll call you from the air when I have a firm ETA,” he replied.

“Shall I bring a toothbrush?” she asked, coyly.

“I can’t imagine that you would need more than that,” he said. “See you tomorrow evening.”

“I’ll go quell the panic,” she said.

Eddie walked downstairs from his guest suite and rapped on the door to Alfie’s study.

“Come!”

Eddie entered and found Alfie sitting at his desk. Next to that was something covered with a cashmere throw.

“Good morning, Eddie,” Alfie said cheerfully. “I trust you slept well.”

“I did.”

“I wanted to show you this last night, but I was knackered.” He handed Eddie some postcards. “These are the pictures we wish to, ah, borrow from Windward Hall.”

“From where?”

“Windward Hall is the name of the country house. In this country, they are always given names by their owners or their ancestors.”

“Gotcha.” Eddie riffled through the postcards. “Very nice,” he said. “I don’t know much about art, except how to steal it, but I’d buy these myself.”

Alfie stood up, took hold of the cashmere throw and pulled it away. It had covered four medium-sized oil paintings.

“Holy shit!” Eddie was amazed. “Did you already steal them?”

“Of course not,” Alfie said. “These are forgeries.”

Eddie took a closer look. “These look real to me,” he said.

“That’s because they are real. I have this guy who can copy anything, right down to the brushstroke. Not even a lot of experts can tell the difference.”

“Well,” Eddie said, “if he’s so good, why don’t you just give these to your Scottish guy and tell him they’re the real thing?”

“Because he’s smart enough to figure it out and mean enough to cut my throat — or have it done. He’s not a bloke you want to mess about. I have a good working relationship with him, and I don’t want to cock it up.”

“You know best, Alfie.”

“Thank you, my son.”

“So, when do we do it?”

“Tomorrow night. I need to get my man to check out the hangar at Windward Hall.”

“I’m game,” Eddie said.

Maren knocked on Stone’s office door and stuck her head in. “I’m off,” she said.

Stone got up and went to her. “Is your work here done?”

“I got word that Little Debby is back in D.C., so that’s where I need to be.”

“Any luck nailing down Eddie Craft?”

“His name is on a list,” she said. “I hope he turns up, because I could really use him in court.”

“Well, I’ve got to go to England for a couple of days to look into this break-in. Felicity seems to think it was a rehearsal for a job on my house in the country, which has the same security system.”

“You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type,” Maren said, “or I’d shoot down your airplane.”

“Then, as you say, I’m lucky.” They kissed and she went to her car, which was waiting in the garage.

Stone buzzed Joan. “Get Faith and everybody on board for a flight to England tomorrow, wheels up at seven AM.”

“Ah, you have a dinner date tomorrow night, don’t you?” Joan asked.

“Don’t ask, just alert the cook.”