Shakeup

52

Eddie walked carefully to the door to the dining room, which also acted as his study. He opened the swinging door a couple of inches and listened. Nothing.

He entered the dining room, which gave him a wide view of his living room, and checked for any differences — cameras, microphones, things moved. Still nothing. He checked both bedrooms and baths and could find nothing that indicated visitors, except for the maid, then he hung his wet coat in the hall closet and stuck the umbrella in a stand by the front door.

Finally, he went into his study, opened the bottom drawer of the little chest next to his reclining chair and removed a throwaway cell phone. He cut away the packaging with scissors and found it forty percent charged. Then he called Shelley’s apartment.

“Yes?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Come be alone with me. It’s raining like hell, so take an umbrella and use it to shield your face from the two guys watching the building. Don’t walk, get a cab.”

“See you as soon as I can get a cab,” she said.

He hung up, and the housephone rang. “Yes?”

“Welcome home, sir,” the doorman said. “Just checking to be sure you were the one in the elevator.”

“I was, Terry,” he said. “But I’m expecting company. She’ll be in a cab, so greet her with your umbrella, and make it tough on our two visitors outside.”

“Will do, sir.”

Eddie hung up, poured himself a Scotch, sat down in his recliner, plugged in the throwaway to recharge and switched on the TV. The weatherman said it was raining and would continue to do so throughout the day.

The King Air had to fly an instrument approach, something that always set Debby’s teeth on edge, but the runway appeared in the aircraft’s windshield right where it was supposed to, and they landed safely.

Her usual driver was waiting on the tarmac with an umbrella and helped them into the car, then put away their luggage. He dropped them at the Lowell, where Debby went to her suite and Rocco went to his usual single, reserved for the help.

Less than a block away, Eddie received a dripping Shelley and her bags and gave her a kiss. “Did they spot you?”

“Sure, but they couldn’t see my face — or anything else, come to that, what with the rain and the umbrellas.”

She got settled, then poured herself a drink and sat in his lap.

“Home again,” she said. “Are we prisoners here?”

“We can come and go, but by a circuitous route. I’ll show you the way.”

Debby called her FBI mole on his throwaway. “Yes?”

“I’m here; where is the guy?”

“We haven’t seen him. The old girlfriend left her apartment in the cab, but our people lost her. It’s rotten outside.”

“All I want is fifteen minutes alone with him.”

“You’ll get it when we find him. I can’t do any better than that.”

“I pay you too much,” she said, then hung up.

Stone was dozing in bed when Maren’s phone rang and she answered it. “What a coincidence!” she said, then hung up.

“What’s a coincidence?” Stone muttered.

“Both Eddie Craft and Little Debby are in the same city — this one.”

“Where?”

“She’s at the Lowell, he’s in the wind. My people had a chat with a former girlfriend of his but had no indication that they are in touch.”

“Hang on to her,” Stone said. “She’s all you’ve got.”

“We haven’t got,” Maren replied. “She left her building in a cab, in this pouring rain, and they lost her.”

“If she doesn’t come home tonight, she’s with Eddie,” Stone said. “Probably in a hotel.”

“We’re already checking the hotels,” she said.

“It will be a very good one, because Eddie is now rich.”

“According to customs, he was carrying twelve thousand dollars when he landed in Miami,” she said, “and he declared it. Where’s the rest of it?”

“Where’s his new Mercedes?”

“I don’t know. You think the money is in the trunk?”

“Not unless he’s a bigger fool than I think he is,” Stone said. “I think he’s found a banker.”

“In London?”

“Scotland Yard would probably know about it. Switzerland, maybe. Or Malta, that’s more secure.”

“You make everything seem so complicated,” Maren said.

“Life is complicated. If it were simple, we wouldn’t need an FBI.”