“Not that kind of weapon: a wine bottle, a broom handle, a kitchen knife. Whatever’s handy.”
“Why do you think he’ll come after me?” she asked, looking at him in the mirror.
“Well, let’s see,” Stone said. “You saw him at an airport a year ago?”
“Less than a year. More like seven or eight months.”
“How long ago did you leave your job and start your own company?”
“Two months ago.”
“Was there an announcement in the aviation trade press?”
“Yes, I hired a PR lady to help me make a splash.”
“Was it after that when Eddie left his airline job?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“When he did, did he go to work for a company based at Teterboro—where you had recently opened offices?”
“Yes, he did. There was a piece on the Aviation Week website about my sale of the G-500 to you. The next day.”
“Does he know where you live?”
“I don’t think so.”
“If he wanted to know, could he find out?”
“Maybe.”
“Callie, I think you’re being stalked. Do you own a gun?”
“No.”
“Are you familiar with firearms?”
“Yes, I used to hunt with my dad. Shotguns.”
“When we get back, I think you should take a weapons course—personal defense—and then I think you should buy a gun and keep it with you at all times. Dino will help with getting you a carry license.”
“I don’t like that idea,” she said. “Maybe I could carry a blackjack?”
“That’s an illegal weapon.”
She was quiet for a moment. “All right,” she said finally. “I’ll take the course.”
14
The next day, Stone arranged a car and driver for the women, then he and Dino went shopping at Charvet. Stone was greeted like an old customer, and he was told that his suit was ready for a final fitting. He had forgotten that he had ordered a suit and had fittings on subsequent visits to Paris.
The suit was nearly perfect, and before the day was out, it would be so. Dino took a deep breath and bought a cashmere dressing gown, while swearing that he would never wear it.
As he was waiting for Dino, Stone called his good friend Marcel du Bois, whose sobriquet was “France’s Warren Buffett.”
“Stone! How good to hear from you! I hear you bought a new airplane. Have you flown it to Paris?”
“Yes, Marcel. I’m at Charvet at the moment, for a fitting. Dino and Viv are traveling with me, as is a young lady.”
“But of course!” Marcel said. “Will you all come to dinner at my home in the Bois this evening?”
“We’d be delighted.”
“Six-thirty for drinks. Black tie, if you please.”
“We please,” Stone replied.
“What is your lady’s name?”
“Callie Stevens.”
“For the place cards. Good!” Marcel hung up.
“Marcel has invited us to dinner tonight at his home in the Bois de Boulogne. You’ll get to wear your tuxedo.”
Dino slapped his forehead. “I forgot to pack it.”
“Back upstairs with you,” Stone said. They went up and asked them to find Dino a dinner suit.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington,” the man said, “but we have dinner suits only to order. Is the suit for you?”
“No, it’s for my friend Mr. Bacchetti here.”
The man whipped out a tape measure and did some quick work on Dino. “I think, perhaps, I may have something,” he said. He disappeared into a back room and, after a short wait, returned with a hanging bag and unzipped it. “This was made for a client who never took delivery,” he said. “Would you slip into the jacket, Mr. Bacchetti?”
Dino did so, and it fit rather well. He tried on the trousers and the waistcoat, as well.
The man nodded his approval. “The sleeves and trousers will need a bit of shortening, and there’s a wrinkle at the neck. I think we can make it work. Given the circumstances, I think we can offer you a substantial discount,” he said.
“What are the circumstances?” Dino asked.
“An early death,” he replied. “It was an accident . . . we are told.”
“He’ll take it,” Stone said. Dino stood still for marking, then got back into his own clothes. The man promised to deliver it with Dino’s dressing gown and Stone’s suit to his house by five o’clock. Dino picked out a black bow tie.
“Do you have black shoes?” Stone asked Dino as they left the shop. He was wearing scuffed brown loafers.
“Not exactly,” Dino said.
“Come with me.” They took a cab to Berluti, where Dino was shod with the correct footwear. Dino gave the man a credit card, then said, “Jesus, I don’t have any black socks!”
Stone sighed. “I’ll loan you a pair. Call Viv and tell her about dinner, so she and Callie can find something spectacular to wear. Tell her it’s at Marcel’s and dress to kill.”
Dino did so.
While Dino’s shoes were being wrapped, Rick La Rose walked into the shop and greeted them. “Where are you bound?” he asked.
“To my house.”
“I’ll give you a lift while we talk.”
“Talk?” Stone asked. This was not a good sign.
Ensconced in his armored black SUV, Rick got to the point. “There’ll be someone at your dinner tonight that Lance wants to know more about.”
“Dinner?”
“At Marcel du Bois’s Bois house.”
“Rick, is my phone tapped?”
Rick dismissed that with a wave of the hand. “He’s an American, name of Peter Grant, who has lived in Paris for many years and could convince most Frenchmen that he’s French.”
“What does he do?”
“If you asked him that, he would say he’s an investor. We don’t know much more than that. Marcel, though, has invited the man to dinner.”
“May I remind you, Rick, that Marcel invited you to dinner once without having set eyes on you and having no idea who you were?”