“She sent me eight cases of her best wine. It arrived this morning.”
“That was sweet of her.”
“It certainly was. There was a note saying that she didn’t think she could drink it before she ‘kicked off,’ as she put it.”
Barton laughed.
“Creighton also gave us verbal notice of the need for you to complete the contract. You have ten days from when we receive written notice, which will be tomorrow.”
“Good God! I hadn’t thought about that! I’m going to have to see my banker while I’m in New York. It’s a good thing we took the photographs; I’m going to have to put together a prospectus to send to a number of museums.”
“Do you anticipate any problem borrowing nineteen million dollars?”
“The furniture will be its own collateral, but I’ll have to borrow twenty million: I’ll have to send a specialist moving outfit to pack and store everything, and it will have to be insured.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to get started, then.”
“Will you call Creighton Adams and tell him the house should be put under guard immediately? I don’t want people taking things out of there.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Talk to you later.” Barton hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan. “Please get me Creighton Adams.” He sat and waited for her to make the call, then he thought of something.
“Creighton Adams.”
“Creighton, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Yes, Stone?”
“I’ve spoken to Barton, and he asked that you put the house under guard immediately and for twenty-four hours a day.”
“And who’s going to pay for that?”
“Until the deal is closed, it’s the estate’s responsibility, and you’re the executor, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“There’s at least twenty million dollars of very fine antique furniture in that house, and you don’t want any of it lost, and I doubt very much if it’s insured for its full value. You’d better
get it insured for the next ten days, and I’d use a value of forty million dollars.”
“That’s going to cost a fortune.”
“You can pay it out of the nineteen million you’re getting from Barton. Anyway, it’s only for ten days.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”
“Something else, Creighton. Last week Mrs. Strong did some business with a man named Charlie Crow. Are you aware of that?”
“No,” Adams said. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’s a New York real estate developer and not the straightest arrow in that particular quiver.”
“Why would such a person have business with Mildred? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“She sold him something; she wouldn’t say what.”