Stuart Woods - Dark Harbor

“I’ll tell you the story later,” Stone said. He took them into the house and got them settled. Peter ran out to the dock to have a look at the boats, and Arrington relaxed in the study.

“So, tell me why you bought a house in Maine,” she said.

Stone sat down beside her. “It belonged to my first cousin, Dick Stone, who died recently and left me the house. Well, the use of the house for my lifetime and that of my family.”

“How old a man was Dick?”

“My age.”

“Heart attack?”

“Not exactly.”

“Stone, I’m beginning to get the feeling that I’m not going to like the rest of this story.”

“Dick and his wife and daughter were murdered a couple of weeks ago.”

“Not in this house, I hope.”

“Dick was at his desk, over there; his wife and daughter were in Dino’s room.”

“Who murdered them, and why?”

“Dick was CIA; the murders seem to be related to his work.”

“ Seem to be related to his work?”

“There’s evidence to suggest that and no evidence to suggest otherwise.”

“Am I going to find his wife’s clothes in my closet?”

“All their personal effects have been removed. It’s my house now.”

“Why is Dino sleeping upstairs instead of in the guest house?” Arrington didn’t miss much.

“There’s no security system in the guest house.”

“And why do we need a security system on this tiny island?”

“It’s only a precaution. Another man, this one a retired CIA officer, was killed in a fashion similar to the way Dick was killed a couple of days ago.”

“Has anyone tried to kill you yet?”

“No, and there isn’t the slightest reason to suppose that anyone might.”

“Stone, every time I see you somebody is trying to kill you or trying to kill me.”

“Those incidents were not my fault.”

“No, it’s never your fault; it just seems to happen to you.”

“I have that history, but I believe we’re all quite safe here.”

“How good is the security system?”

“It was designed and installed by the CIA. By the way, don’t go downstairs at night before I disable the system. There are motion detectors downstairs.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

Peter came running back into the house.

“Peter, don’t run indoors,” his mother said.

“I’m sorry. The boats are neat, Stone. Can we go out in one of them?”

“Sure, we can. Which one would you like to go out in?”

“The sailboat.”

“All right, we’ll go out after lunch.” Stone glanced at Arrington. “I think there’s a life jacket just your size on board, Peter.”

Arrington nodded approvingly.

AFTER LUNCH IT TOOK an hour for Stone to get familiar enough with the yacht to be comfortable, and to get the engine started and check the chart for deep water and hazards to navigation, before they were skimming smoothly over small waves in a good breeze, with Peter steering the boat from Stone’s lap. Dino stretched out in the cockpit and went to sleep, a beer still clutched in his hand, while Arrington sat quietly next to Stone and Peter, taking in the scenery.

Stone felt eighteen again, except that his son was along for the ride. He and Arrington had had an affair years before, when she had chosen to marry Vance Calder, the movie star, not knowing that she was already carrying Stone’s child. It had taken a long time for her to admit to Stone, if not to herself, that Peter was his son.

Stone wondered if Peter would ever know. He saw a small island coming up and showed the boy how to tack the boat. He hoped to show him a lot more while they were here.

As Peter was turning the boat and Dino was hauling in on the jib sheet, a motorboat appeared from nowhere, dousing them with spray and making their ride bumpier.

Dino laughed. “I think you’ve just had sand kicked in your face, Stone.”

Stone watched the boat disappear toward the yacht club. The two occupants were Caleb Stone’s twin sons.

THAT NIGHT, after Peter was sound asleep in his room, Stone lay in bed and watched Arrington undress. Her body had changed little with childbirth, and she obviously took very good care of herself. She switched off the bedside lamp and got into bed, snuggling close to him.

“This is why you wanted me here, isn’t it?” she asked, flicking his ear with her tongue. “You were just randy.”

“I’m always randy when you’re around,” Stone said, kissing her and cupping a breast in his hand. “But that’s not the only reason I invited you.”

“We can discuss the other reasons in the morning,” she said, taking him in her hand and kneading gently.

Stone responded instantly. He rolled on top of her, and she guided him in.

“It’s not the only reason for me, either,” she said, her hips rising to meet him. “But I love it all the same.”

THE FOLLOWING MORNING a fax came from Sergeant Young of the state police. Stone read the report, and as he did, the phone rang.

“It’s Ed Rawls,” the gruff voice said. “Did you get the report?”

“I’ve just read it,” Stone said. “It’s nice that Young didn’t call it a suicide.”

“I think you and Dino saw to that,” Rawls said. “I’m glad you were there, because none of the rest of us has any credentials that would make Young take us seriously.”

“I would have thought that your careers would have been enough.”

“We don’t talk about that to civilians,” Rawls said.

“A state cop is a civilian?”

“Everybody who isn’t Agency is a civilian.”

“What about me?”

“You’re kind of a semipro, because of your relationship with Lance Cabot.”

“Thanks.”

“The fellows and I pasted together Don’s day, before he died,” Rawls said.

“And?”

“He had lunch at the yacht club, picked up his mail and went home. He had dinner alone, called me, then got himself murdered.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. If he’d been anywhere on the island, he’d have been seen.”

“Did he talk to anybody anywhere, except at the yacht club?”

“Nothing more than to say hello.”

“Who’d he have lunch with?”

“He had lunch alone, talked to anybody who dropped by, nothing important.”

“And then he called you and said he’d found out something?”

“After thinking about it all day.”

“Was he alone at home when he called?”

“Until he was joined by his murderer later in the evening.”

“Did he make any phone calls?”

There was a brief silence.

“I’d like to see his phone records,” Stone said.

“He had that caller ID thing,” Rawls replied.

“Then there might be a log of the calls he received.”

“Yeah, but not the calls he made.”

“Can we get into the house?”

“I’ve got a key, and Harley and I are his executors. Fifteen minutes?”

“See you there.” Stone hung up.

RAWLS WAS ALREADY at Don Brown’s house when Stone arrived. He let them into the house, and they went into Brown’s den.

“Here we go,” Stone said. The phone was a Japanese-made combination of answering machine and cordless phone with other features. Stone looked at the buttons carefully, pressed a couple, then a number appeared on the little screen. “Looks like he received only one call.” It was an 800 number.

“That’s an Agency WATS line,” Rawls said. “It’s unpublished, of course, but it’s one of the lines that Agency people can call in on from outside or, of course, receive calls from.”

“Any way to tell who called?” Stone asked.

Rawls shook his head. “Nope. Anybody with an extension from the main switchboard can pick up a phone, dial a number and get a dial tone, then call anywhere in the world.”