Stone’s cell phone went off. “Hello?”
“It’s Cantor.”
“Good. What’ve you got for me?”
“Zip, I’m afraid. Nobody by that name has gotten new cell phone service in Key West for a week.”
Stone thought about that. “Anybody named Gigi Jones on the list of new customers?”
“Lemme see.” Cantor was shuffling papers. “Nope, nobody by that name, either.”
“Okay, Bob, thanks. Send me your bill.”
“In Key West?”
“Nope, in New York.”
“See ya.” Cantor hung up.
“Stone,” Tommy said, “if Evan Keating lost his old cell phone and is getting a new one, why would he get a new number?”
Stone smote his forehead. “Right! He’d just cancel the old phone and transfer the number to the new phone!”
“Why didn’t you think of that?” Dino asked.
“I don’t know. I should have.”
“Your brain is Swede-addled,” Dino said.
“Is this the doctor?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah. Stone has been sacrificing himself on that altar every night.”
“Some sacrifice,” Tommy said.
Stone ignored them; he was looking for Evan Keating’s old cell number in the list of calls in his phone’s memory. He found it and pressed the send button.
“Hello?”
“Evan?”
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“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Stone Barrington.”
Long pause. “What do you want?”
“I need to see you. There have been developments at home that you need to know about.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Key West Yacht Club.”
“Funny, so am I,” Evan said. “I’m parked within sight of the bar, which I figure is where you’re calling from.”