“Very. I like to see justice done.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Soon they were taking the curves of the Saw Mill River Parkway.

“Aren’t radar detectors illegal in New York State?” she asked.

“I’m not going to answer that without a lawyer present.”

“There is a lawyer present.”

“Oh, yeah. My lawyer just advised me not to answer. Anyway, we’re just passing through.”

“You mean, we’re going to another state?”

“Other states are not very far away, when you live in New York City.”

“You ever heard of the Mann Act?”

He laughed. “You think I’m transporting you across a state line for immoral purposes?”

“I certainly hope so,” she replied.

They turned onto an interstate, then, after a few minutes, another. Twenty minutes after that, they were driving along country roads with forest on both sides.

“We’re in Connecticut,” she said.

“You recognize the trees?”

“No, I was tipped off by the sign a few miles back that said, ‘Welcome to Connecticut.’ ”

“No wonder you’re such a good cop.”

“I don’t miss much,” she said.

Holly dozed and woke up as they came to a stop sign. “Where are we?”

“Still in Connecticut; a town called Washington.” He turned left, went up a steep hill, then turned left at a white church. “This is the village green,” he said. A moment later, he turned into a drive and parked before a shingled cottage with a turret.

“Who lives here?” Holly asked.

“I do, when I can.”

They got out of the car, and Daisy immediately bounded into some bushes. Stone got the bags out and unlocked the front door. “Welcome to Washington,” he said.

“It’s lovely,” Holly replied, walking in and looking around. Daisy joined them and seemed to approve. “Who decorated it?”

“I sought various counsel,” Stone said.

“You mean various women.”

“Now I’m going to fix us a drink, then we’ll take Daisy for a walk on the property next door.”

“Will the owner mind?”

“He is not in residence. A writer used to live there, but he sold it to a producer, who never moved in. It’s back on the market.”

“How much?”

“You couldn’t afford it.”

“You forget: I have five million seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars stashed in a tree.”

“That might do it, but then you couldn’t afford the taxes. This place used to be the gatehouse, but the properties got separated fifty years ago. Bourbon?”

“Good.”

He made her the drink and handed it to her. “Now I want you to take three deep breaths.”

She did.

“Now drink your drink and stop thinking about what’s in New York.”

“Did those guys follow us?”

“I don’t think so. My guess is, they didn’t expect us to drive away.”

“Neither did I,” she said, sipping her bourbon.

24

STONE LED HOLLY and Daisy through an opening in a hedge, and they emerged onto a broad lawn decorated with magnificent old trees before a large, comfortable-looking, American shingle-style house.

Daisy ran here and there, sniffing the ground and poking her nose into bushes.

“I could live here,” Holly said.

“So could I, but I’ll never be that rich.”

“No hope at all?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Can we break a window and see the inside of the house?”

“You’re suggesting breaking and entering? And you a law enforcement officer? As your attorney, I advise against it.”

“Oh, all right.”

Daisy had discovered the large swimming pool and was sniffing the surrounding bushes when a deer rocketed out of the brush and ran across the lawn, sending Daisy fleeing back to Holly.

“She’s never seen a deer before,” Holly laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, patting the dog, “I won’t let the bad deer get you.”

After half an hour’s walk they left Daisy in the house with her dinner and drove to the Mayflower Inn.

“Don’t you lock the door?” Holly asked.

“No need, it’s a peaceable sort of place.”

They drove past a pond and up a steep driveway, emerging from the trees to find a large, shingled building with broad porches on two sides.

“It’s beautiful,” Holly said. “It reminds me of the house we just saw-what was it called?”

“The Rocks. It belonged to an architect named Ehrick Rossiter, who designed twenty-seven houses and public buildings in this little village, twenty-two of which still stand. The Mayflower is one of them, and it’s been gorgeously renovated.”

Stone and Holly sat at a table overlooking the back lawn and garden, which were surrounded by old trees.

“So, is a country house a big part of living in New York?” Holly asked.

“A very big part of it. A lot of people have houses out on the eastern end of Long Island, in the Hamptons, but that’s too expensive and too crowded for me. Washington is just perfect-nice village, maybe the most beautiful in Connecticut, lovely countryside, and interesting people.”

“Nobody in Florida has a country house,” Holly said. “I wonder why?”

“Not enough contrast between first and second houses.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

They dined on salads, veal chops, and a bottle of California Cabernet. The waiter had just brought coffee when Holly suddenly sat up straight. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“Didn’t you like the food?”

“No, not that. Something’s wrong back at the house.”

“Are you telepathic?”

“No, but Daisy may be. We have to go.”

Stone signed the bill, and they hurried back to the car. “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”

“No, never before, but it’s a very strong feeling. Drive faster.”

Stone did the best he could, and five minutes later they turned into his drive and got out of the car. The door to the cottage stood wide open. “I didn’t leave the door open. Did you?”

“No. Where’s Daisy?”

They arrived at the front door to find Daisy sitting in the front hall, staring at the door. She ran to Holly.

“Hey, baby,” Holly cooed. “What’s wrong?”

Stone reached down and picked up a piece of blue cloth dotted with blood. “Somebody’s missing part of his pants,” he said. “Is my Walther in your purse?”

She dug it out and handed it to him. “I don’t think anybody could still be here, not with Daisy sitting calmly in the hall. Not unless our intruder is dead.”

“He did some bleeding,” Stone said, handing her the spattered piece of cloth. “I just want to be sure.” He left her in the hall with Daisy, looked around, and came back, handing Holly the gun. “All clear.”

“Who do you think belongs to this?” Holly asked, holding up the fabric.

“One of the men outside my house in New York was wearing blue coveralls,” Stone said, fingering the cloth. “This is the same sort of utilitarian fabric.”

“I don’t like this,” Holly said.

“Neither do I,” Stone replied.

Later, in the middle of the night, Stone came awake. He had heard something downstairs. He eased himself out of bed, so as not to wake Holly, rummaged quietly in her handbag until he found the Walther, then tiptoed down the stairs and looked around the rooms. Nothing.

He went back to the entrance hall and bent over to pick up the scrap of blue cloth that Holly had apparently left there. As he did, something icy and wet made contact with his bare buttocks. Emitting an involuntary cry, he spun around to find Daisy standing there, looking at him as if he were crazy.

“You have a very cold nose,” he said, rubbing her head.

“What’s going on?” Holly asked from the stairs. She came down to join him, as naked as he in the moonlight filtering through the windows.

“I heard something down here,” Stone said, “and I came to investigate.”

“That would have been Daisy. She tends to patrol during the night.”

“She has a cold nose,” Stone said, rubbing his ass.