Stuart Woods - Family Jewels

“I think you’ll have to have everything very carefully cataloged and appraised.”

“Yes, and I know just who to bring in for that.”

“In the meantime, we have a day to enjoy the place,” Gala said. “Do you feel like a nap?”

“Not really.”

“Neither do I,” she said, kissing him.

Stone and Gala, fresh from making love and showering together, dined in the small dining room, where Hazel had set a beautiful table with old Wedgwood and Baccarat crystal and had put out a selection of wines from the cellar, from which Stone chose a Château Palmer ’61, a claret Stone had heard much of but never tasted. Oscar decanted it, and it surpassed what Stone could have hoped for.

“This is such a beautiful place,” Gala said. “It seems a shame to pull it apart and sell everything off piecemeal.”

“As Carrie’s executor, I would be delighted to sell it to you intact.”

She laughed. “Would that I could afford it.”

“The problem with a house like this is that the only people who could afford it are people you wouldn’t want living next door.”

“I know what you mean — people like my ex-husband, not that he could afford it, either. What do you think it might sell for?”

“I wouldn’t know what to ask,” Stone said.

“Tell you what, I’ll think about it and make you an offer.”

“I will look forward to receiving it.”

They were served seared foie gras, followed by a suprême de volaille with a tarragon cream sauce, which went very well with the wine. When Hazel came back he asked her if she was the chef.

“Oh, no, sir, that would be Bonnie, who has been with the family for more than thirty years.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“I’m a newcomer — only twenty-seven years. Oscar has been here for fifteen.”

“How many others on staff?”

“Three housemaids and two gardeners, with occasional extra help from outside.”

“It seems to be a tightly run ship.”

“We try.” She took away their plates, then served a peach cobbler with half a bottle of Château d’Yquem 1978.

“Heavenly,” Gala said.

They took Bob for a stroll in the gardens after dinner, then retired early, in each other’s arms. Bob slept on a large pillow next to their bed.

Stone was awakened shortly after seven AM by the sound of some sort of industrial engine running. He went to the window and peeked through the curtain.

“What is it?” Gala asked sleepily.

“A backhoe, digging the grave. It shouldn’t take long.” It didn’t, and they called down for breakfast in bed, which arrived with the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal .

Nicky called at mid-morning to check on the time of the service and invite them to his place for dinner.

Nicky and Vanessa arrived at three-thirty and were given a glass of champagne, then at four o’clock, they walked out into the garden and stood at the graveside. An Episcopal minister read a psalm and said a prayer, and the coffin was lowered into the earth. As they turned from the grave, Stone saw a young woman standing a few yards away. Thinking she might have been a friend of Carrie’s, he walked over and introduced himself.

“I’m Monique Sullivan,” she said. “We spoke on the phone in Santa Fe. From CNN, remember?. May I speak to you now?”

“Ms. Sullivan, I admire your enterprise, but we’ve just concluded a burial service here.”

“I won’t take much of your time,” she said.

He turned to the others. “Go on inside, I’ll be along in a minute.” He directed the young reporter to a garden bench, and they sat down. “All right, you’ve got five minutes.” He glanced at his watch.

She quickly reviewed the facts of the case, and he confirmed them. “Are you satisfied that she was murdered by her ex-husband, Harvey Biggers?”

“Mr. Biggers seems to be a person of interest,” Stone replied, “though he hasn’t been charged with anything.”

“Your opinion?”

“I’ll reserve my judgment until I’ve heard all the evidence.”

“What, in your personal experience, would make Mr. Biggers a suspect?”

“He had threatened her in the past, and he has been a presence in the investigation of the deaths of two other women.”

“What do you mean by ‘a presence’?”

“He was in their company shortly before they died, both under unexplained circumstances. That’s three things that would make him interesting to a homicide investigator.”

“I suppose so. What evidence is there that Biggers was in Abiquiu at the time of Ms. Fiske’s death?”

“He was seen in Santa Fe by someone who knew him well, the afternoon before her death.”

Stone glanced at his watch.

“Just one more question.”

“All right.”

“Who is the man who watched the funeral from a third-floor window?”

“What?”

She pointed, and he followed her finger, but all he saw was the movement of a curtain. Stone got up and started running toward the house.

Stone ran up the stone stairs to the rear of the house and into the downstairs hall, past Nicky, Vanessa, and Gala, who stood chatting. It occurred to him that he was unarmed, so as he passed a hall stand he grabbed a sturdy golf umbrella.

He ran up the main stairs to the third floor, which he had not yet visited, and began opening doors to rooms with a view of the rear gardens. He got lucky on the second one.

It was a smaller guest room than the one he was occupying a floor down; the bed was unmade, and there were a couple of men’s suits and a jacket or two in an open closet. Two drawers of a chest were open, one of them filled with dirty laundry. But where was the occupant? He stood still and listened for a moment, trying to slow his heavy breathing from the run up the stairs.

He heard a heavy footstep from the south end of the house and the sound of a door slamming and feet on gravel. He could see no one out the back window, so he ran across the hall to a front bedroom and pulled up the blinds. He saw a large male figure carrying a suitcase turn a curve in the driveway and disappear in the direction of Ocean Drive.

He grabbed his phone and dialed 911, then thought better of it. Instead, he called Dino. It took a moment for the secretary to put him through, and he used it to get his heart and breathing rate down.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone. Please listen carefully. I’m in Palm Beach, where we have just buried Carrie Fiske.” He gave Dino the address. “I don’t know if there’s an APB out for Harvey Biggers down here, and the Palm Beach police don’t know me. Biggers was watching the burial from a third-floor bedroom, where he seems to have been living for a couple of days. He just ran out of the house toward Ocean Drive, and he probably has a car parked someplace nearby. Will you call the chief down here and get his people on it?”

“Yeah, okay. You’re sure it was Biggers?”

“He was as big as Biggers, and who the hell else could he be?”

“Why would he be there?”

“I think, maybe, he wanted to attend Carrie’s funeral, but didn’t want to see me.”

“All right. I’ll call you back.” They both hung up.

Stone walked slowly down the stairs to the hall and found his three companions staring at him. “Harvey was watching the burial from the third floor,” he said. “He got out in a hurry. The police will be here soon.”

“Excuse me,” said a female voice behind him. He turned to find Monique Sullivan standing in the rear doorway. “May I come in?”

“Yes, do. Everybody, this is Ms. Monique Sullivan, of CNN. This is Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers and Ms. Wilde.”