“It isn’t, but my agent, Carolyn Klemm, showed it to me anyway. Anything is for sale, you know, at the right price.”
“Well, Carolyn should know. She sold me my house, too. In fact, it was originally the gatehouse for The Rocks.”
“Well, if I buy The Rocks, perhaps you’ll sell me your place, and I can reunite the two.”
“I don’t think so, Harlan, but I’ll be happy to have you for a neighbor.” This was an outright lie, and Stone hoped it didn’t show.
“We’ll see,” Deal said. “Well, I’d better join my friends. Good night.” Deal shook his hand, turned and walked into the dining room.
Stone ducked into the bar and peeped into the hall, looking for Carla. She came out of the ladies’ room and bolted for the front door.
Stone flagged down the bartender. “I have to go. Put the drinks on my account.” He found Carla in the car, waiting for him.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “That man is everywhere.”
“He certainly is,” Stone said, starting the car. “I think we’ll dine elsewhere.”
Stone and Carla sat on the bed, watching a DVD of Singin’ in the Rain and eating a large, heavily laden pizza that Stone had picked up at the pizza parlor in the village.
“I love Gene Kelly,” Carla said.
“So do I.”
“I think he’s the best dancer this country has ever produced.”
“Better than Baryshnikov?”
“Baryshnikov was produced by Russia.”
“Oh, right.”
“I think he’s a terrific singer, too.”
“So do I, but he’s not as good as you, and as far as I know, he didn’t play piano, either.”
Stone’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He looked at the calling number in the little window. Bob Cantor was calling. What the hell did he want? He ignored it and let it go to voice mail. He considered telling Carla of Harlan Deal’s interest in The Rocks but thought better of it. That might put a damper on their sex life.
33
The following morning, Stone was contemplating getting out of bed when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dino.”
“Good morning.”
“It’s almost afternoon.”
“It’s ten A.M.,” Stone said. “What’s up?”
“I got a call to come in this morning about another case, and I reran last night’s GPS surveillance on Charlie Crow’s car.”
“Where did he go?”
“Just to one place: It was parked for a little under three hours at Abner Kramer’s house.”
“No kidding?”
“Well, he could have been next door or across the street, I guess. After all, the GPS unit is attached to his car, not to him, but that’s where his car was parked.”