“Stone, the number of people in New York who would be interested in a piece of that caliber is very small. We talk to each other.”

“Tell me the name of the person who told you this.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Is there anything else, Bill?”

“No.”

“Then I bid you good day.” Stone got up and headed for the door.

“Let me know if you hear anything about that secretary,” Eggers called after him.

38

When Stone arrived at home his housekeeper, Helene, was picking up her paycheck from Joan. “I got your bedroom back like it was,” Helene said.

“Thank you, Helene.”

“Except for those things in the bedside drawers,” she sniffed.

“I’ll deal with that, thank you.”

“You must have had some weekend upstairs, to get it like that.”

“Helene, I was in Connecticut this weekend. Somebody got into the house and did that as a joke.”

Helene muttered something Stone didn’t quite hear, then left for home.

“She was really pissed off,” Joan said.

“I was pretty pissed off, myself. The guy who had this done just apologized to me in Bill Eggers’s office, though.”

“This was about a girl, wasn’t it, Stone?”

“Don’t go there, Joan. It was Harlan Deal’s mistake; let’s leave it at that.”

“He didn’t stop payment on his check, did he? Because I’ve already paid the bills.”

“No, he didn’t, and if he does…”

“Sorry I brought it up,” she said.

Stone went into his office and checked his desk for messages. None. He sat down and concentrated on making his anger go away. It took time, but he got there.

Stone was about to leave his desk for the day when Bob Cantor called. “I got news,” he said.

“What?”

“Something interesting on Charlie Crow’s phone.”

“Already?”

“The tap had been in for less than an hour when this call was made: Listen.”

Stone heard electronic noise, then a woman’s voice. “This is the office of Mr. Charles Crow. He’s sending a van to pick up a piece of furniture from his storage unit tomorrow morning at eight A.M. It’s locker three-two-zero.”

“Yes, ma’am,” a man’s voice said. “I’ll put it on the list.”

The call ended.

“I can’t believe we got that lucky,” Stone said. “But wait a minute. We don’t know where she called.”

“Yes, we do. The number is listed for Sutton Moving and Storage. It’s downtown, near the South Street Seaport.”

“Then let’s get there first.”

“Okay,” Cantor said. “The place is open twenty-four/seven, but let’s wait until this evening, when the workday is over. Can the two of us handle it?”

“I’ll get Dino to come with us. You want to pick us up?”

“Okay. Seven-thirty.”

“See you then.”

“I’ll bring some coveralls, so you guys won’t look like who you are.”

“Good idea.” Stone hung up and called Dino. “I think we found the secretary,” he said.

“Where?”

“In a storage facility downtown. Cantor and I are going to pick it up, and we need your help.”

“So now I’m a furniture mover?”

“I’ll buy dinner. Be here at seven-thirty sharp.”

“Oh, what the hell, okay.”

Stone and Dino were standing on the curb at seven-thirty, when Bob Cantor pulled up in his van. He tossed them both coveralls, and they put them on and got in.

“How long is this going to take?” Dino asked as they drove downtown.”

“I don’t know. An hour, maybe,” Stone replied.

“So we’ll have dinner after?”

“Dino, we’ve got to deliver the piece to Barton Cantor in Connecticut.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to come along; we just need your help getting the thing in the van. Barton will help us get it out.”

“I’ll go; I hate eating alone.”

“Maybe we’ll have dinner up there.”

They arrived at Sutton Moving amp; Storage, and presented themselves at the night desk on the loading dock.

“We’re here to pick up something from Mr. Charles Crow’s locker,” Cantor said. “Number three-twenty. His secretary called.”

The man consulted a list. “Nothing on here for tonight.”

“Sure there is,” Cantor said.

“Oh, here it is. It’s scheduled for eight A.M.”

“Nah, she told you eight P.M.”

“She didn’t tell me nothing; I just came on half an hour ago.”

“Well, whoever took the call screwed up and put down A.M. instead of P.M. You going to make a big deal out of this and piss off Mr. Crow?”

“Nah, what do I care? Go on up. You know where it is?”

“Third floor?”

“Yeah, turn left out of the elevator. There’s a couple of hand trucks over there, if you need them.” He pointed.

Stone and Dino got hand trucks, and Cantor led the way. They took the elevator upstairs and found the locker, a big one, and it was padlocked. Cantor took a small leather case from his pocket, unzipped it and took out a set of lock picks. After a minute with the picks, the lock snapped open, and Cantor swung the doors wide.

It stood there alone in the locker, in two pieces, wrapped in movers’ blankets and secured with duct tape.

Stone pulled off some tape and looked at the piece underneath. “This is it!” Stone said. “Now be careful with the thing; we don’t want to damage it.”

They got each piece loaded onto a hand truck and relocked the locker. They took the two pieces downstairs in the big elevator and loaded them into Cantor’s van.

“That was slick,” Stone said as they drove away.

“You going to tell Barton we’re coming?” Dino asked.

“Yeah.” Stone got out his cell phone and called Barton’s house.

“Hello?”

“Barton, it’s Stone Barrington. Are you going to be home this evening?”

“Carla and I are just on our way out to dinner.”

“Well, be home in an hour and forty-five minutes, because I’m bringing you a present.” He hung up before Barton could ask any questions. “We’ll surprise him,” he said to Dino and Cantor.

Near the appointed time they turned into Cabot’s driveway and found him waiting for them outside the barn. He unlocked the door, and the four of them carried the two pieces inside.

“Let’s get these blankets off,” Barton said, tugging at the duct tape that secured them.

They stripped off the blankets and set the bookcase on top of the base.

Barton walked around the secretary, looking at it closely, running a hand over the varnish. “Very nice,” he said, “but it’s not mine.”

39

Stone stared at the secretary. He turned and looked at Barton.

“What do you mean, it isn’t yours?”

“I thought I was pretty clear,” Barton said.

“This is the secretary that was locked in Charlie Crow’s storage locker. It was the only thing in there.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Barton said. “It’s quite beautiful, but it just isn’t mine. This piece is a copy of the Newport secretary. It was manufactured in Charleston, South Carolina, sometime between eighteen ninety and nineteen ten. The quality of the mahogany isn’t anything like that of my secretary, and the company built more than three hundred copies over the twenty-year period, more than half of which survive. I could take it down to my shop and get seventy, seventy-five thousand dollars for it. Anybody who paid more would be an idiot.”

“How do you know all that?” Dino asked.

Barton crooked a finger, led them behind the piece and pointed at a brass plate that gave the name and address of the manufacturer and a number, 241.

Dino directed a withering glance at Stone. “So, under your sterling leadership, we stole the wrong secretary.”

“That’s not fair, Dino,” Cantor said. “After all, we didn’t even take all the wrapping off.”

“Stone wouldn’t have known the difference if we had,” Dino said.

“Did I ever say I was an expert on eighteenth-century American furniture?” Stone asked.