“A very big part of it. A lot of people have houses out on the eastern end of Long Island, in the Hamptons, but that’s too expensive and too crowded for me. Washington is just perfect—nice village, maybe the most beautiful in Connecticut, lovely countryside, and interesting people.”
“Nobody in Florida has a country house,” Holly said. “I wonder why?”
“Not enough contrast between first and second houses.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
They dined on salads, veal chops, and a bottle of California Cabernet. The waiter had just brought coffee when Holly suddenly sat up straight. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
“Didn’t you like the food?”
“No, not that. Something’s wrong back at the house.”
“Are you telepathic?”
“No, but Daisy may be. We have to go.”
Stone signed the bill, and they hurried back to the car. “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”
“No, never before, but it’s a very strong feeling. Drive faster.”
Stone did the best he could, and five minutes later they turned into his drive and got out of the car. The door to the cottage stood wide open. “I didn’t leave the door open. Did you?”
“No. Where’s Daisy?”
They arrived at the front door to find Daisy sitting in the front hall, staring at the door. She ran to Holly.
“Hey, baby,” Holly cooed. “What’s wrong?”
Stone reached down and picked up a piece of blue cloth dotted with blood. “Somebody’s missing part of his pants,” he said. “Is my Walther in your purse?”
She dug it out and handed it to him. “I don’t think anybody could still be here, not with Daisy sitting calmly in the hall. Not unless our intruder is dead.”
“He did some bleeding,” Stone said, handing her the spattered piece of cloth. “I just want to be sure.” He left her in the hall with Daisy, looked around, and came back, handing Holly the gun. “All clear.”
“Who do you think belongs to this?” Holly asked, holding up the fabric.
“One of the men outside my house in New York was wearing blue coveralls,” Stone said, fingering the cloth. “This is the same sort of utilitarian fabric.”
“I don’t like this,” Holly said.
“Neither do I,” Stone replied.
Later, in the middle of the night, Stone came awake. He had heard something downstairs. He eased himself out of bed, so as not to wake Holly, rummaged quietly in her handbag until he found the Walther, then tiptoed down the stairs and looked around the rooms. Nothing.
He went back to the entrance hal
l and bent over to pick up the scrap of blue cloth that Holly had apparently left there. As he did, something icy and wet made contact with his bare buttocks. Emitting an involuntary cry, he spun around to find Daisy standing there, looking at him as if he were crazy.
“You have a very cold nose,” he said, rubbing her head.
“What’s going on?” Holly asked from the stairs. She came down to join him, as naked as he in the moonlight filtering through the windows.
“I heard something down here,” Stone said, “and I came to investigate.”
“That would have been Daisy. She tends to patrol during the night.”
“She has a cold nose,” Stone said, rubbing his ass.