She nodded. “Of course. I expect you’re right. She’ll be in touch.”
Stone rose and excused himself, then went down to the lobby, to the front desk. “Would you ring Ms. Carolyn Baum and ask her if she’d like to see me?” he asked the desk man. “If she’s indisposed, I can come back.”
The man rang the apartment and hung up. “You may go right up, Mr. Barrington. She’s in the penthouse.”
Stone rode the elevator up and rang the bell. Vanessa came to the door under her own steam. “Come in, Stone.”
Stone went in and took a seat on the sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room except for the piano. “This is going to be very nice,” he said.
“Yes, it is. A friend of mine, a stage designer, is coming over tomorrow to talk about what to fill it up with. She has a lot of contacts for renting or buying furniture. Would you like a drink? Peter stocked the bar.”
“Thank you, yes, but I’ll get it.”
She pointed to the cabinet. “It’s behind the bookcase, just pull.”
Stone pulled the bookcase, revealing a full bar behind it. “Would you like something?”
“I think it’s too soon for me to drink.”
Stone came and sat down again. “I saw Betty a few minutes ago.”
She looked alarmed. “Why?”
“I thought it might seem odd if I stopped coming to see you. She grilled me thoroughly, but I told her nothing. May I ask why you don’t want her to know where you are?”
“I suppose you have a right to ask,” Vanessa said. “I’m not sure I can trust her.”
Stone took a breath, then asked why.
“Please don’t ask,” she said. “Just keep my secret for the time being.”
“All right,” Stone said, “I will.”
50
The following morning, Stone and Holly had breakfast and goodbye sex, then she left for the airport. Stone went down to his office, called Lance Cabot, and scrambled. “Vanessa Baker has moved out of her mother’s apartment, into Peter Grant’s place in the same building. Peter had left her the apartment, the car, and a quarter of his cash.”
“Interesting,” Lance said.
“I went to see her in the old apartment, pretending I knew nothing, and spoke to her mother, Betty, who seemed angry that Vanessa had left.”
“Perhaps she was just feeling motherly,” Lance said.
“There was nothing motherly in her attitude,” Stone replied. “Also, I mentioned that Peter had been murdered, and she didn’t bat an eye. She wouldn’t have known he was murdered. The police have never released that.”
“Now that’s downright ominous,” Lance said. “Do you think she had a hand in it?”
“I think Vanessa thinks so. She went to some lengths to make her mother believe that she had moved out of the building, bribing the staff and hiring new nurses.”
“Can she get away with that?”
“I don’t see why not,” Stone replied.
“How far was Betty sitting from Vanessa at the dinner you attended?”
“Betty was seated on my left, Vanessa on my right.”
“Did she move around and speak to other guests?”
“She did some of that before taking her seat. I remember she greeted Peter with particular warmth, and he was sitting on Vanessa’s other side.”
“Perhaps Betty has chosen sides, and not Vanessa’s.”
“Have you heard anything more about Yevgeny Chekhov?”
“He’s back at the Russian embassy in Paris,” Lance replied. “Apparently, he keeps an apartment there.”
“How long has he had it?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t come up until you lunched there with him and Peter.”
“Do you have people on him in Paris?”
“From time to time,” Lance said. “We’re informed when Chekhov leaves the embassy.”
“Has he left much?”
“No, but yesterday he had half a dozen visitors. They all arrived in Bentleys and Rollses.”
“Sounds like a board meeting,” Stone said.
“Of what company?”
“You tell me,” Stone said.
“I wish I could. Do you have any idea where his apartment is located in the embassy?”
Stone thought about that. “When I entered the building from the front door, I was taken down a fairly long corridor past the ambassador’s office and, perhaps some others, then into a circular courtyard. When Chekhov and Peter appeared, they came from the rear of the building into the courtyard, at perhaps a hundred-and-eighty-degree angle from the ambassador’s office. Perhaps there are quarters there for the ambassador, some embassy officers, and a guest: Chekhov.”
“I’ll pass that along and see what my people can make of it. Keep me abreast of Vanessa and her activities.” Lance hung up.
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone. Peter Grant’s executor has asked that Peter’s Mercedes be released to the estate. Do you have any reason to hang on to it?”
“I’ll call the ADA on the case. I think we’ve got whatever it had to give us.”
“Thanks. Vanessa is going to need a car.” He explained to Dino about her moving.
“There’s a girl who wants to get away from her mother,” Dino observed.
“Right. Holly left this morning. How about lunch?”
“Let’s go to La Goulue and look at the girls.”
“I take it Viv is traveling.”
“How’d you guess? One o’clock?”
“Right.” They both hung up and Stone asked Joan to make the reservation.
* * *
—
Before lunch, Stone made the trip uptown and was admitted to Vanessa’s apartment. She had very good privacy, since the apartment took up the whole floor. Vanessa wasn’t using the wheelchair; they had a drink on the terrace, overlooking the Metropolitan Museum.
Vanessa wasn’t very talkative, and Stone didn’t know if she was having difficulty with speech or just preferring quiet.
“Vanessa,” he said, trying to draw her out, “do you remember going to Martha’s Vineyard with Peter three or four years ago?”