“Good to know.”
The decorator arrived, and Vanessa introduced her as Jean Swift. “Stone is both my friend and my attorney,” Vanessa said to her. “You can always speak freely with him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jean said.
Vanessa excused herself for a moment.
“Something I think you should know, Stone,” Jean said. “I’ve had a couple of calls from people looking for Vanessa—one a man, the other a woman, both with accents I couldn’t place.”
“Might they be Russians?”
“They might very well be.”
“Did either of them leave a number?”
“The man did. It’s one familiar to me, the Pierre Hotel.”
“I know that one,” Stone replied. “Don’t tell Vanessa just yet. She needs a few days to get settled before we bother her with such news.”
Vanessa came back and took Jean away, along with two large totes containing catalogs and photographs. Stone went back to his book. He could hear the two women moving about the apartment. He was dozing in his chair when they returned.
“All right,” Jean said. “I have my list of what furniture and art you want moved upstairs, and I’ll get that done tomorrow.”
“Good,” Vanessa said. “Hang the pictures as you see fit.”
“And I’ll place the orders for the things you chose from the catalogs.”
“Wonderful.” The two woman air-kissed and Jean left.
“Sit down, and let’s talk for a moment,” Stone said.
Vanessa sat.
“Jean told me she’s had a couple of calls from people looking for you—a man and a woman. The man left the number of the Pierre and a suite number. He said his name was Smith, but I doubt that very much.”
“What do you want me to do about them?”
“Ignore them. I gave Jean my number and asked her to refer any such calls to me.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“She said that both people had foreign accents, and that they might be Russian.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Vanessa said.
“Neither do I,” Stone said. “Do you have any experience with firearms?”
“Yes, I had a boyfriend once who was a gun nut. He got me a carry license.”
“Do you own a gun?”
“Yes, but I have no idea where it is.”
“I’ll give you something small and light to keep with you.”
“Perfect,” she said. “What do you think these calls mean?”
“I think they mean that Yevgeny Chekhov is looking for you,” he said. “I wonder why.”
Vanessa gave him a big shrug.
53
At Stone’s house again, Vanessa went upstairs for a nap, and Stone called Lance Cabot and scrambled.
“We got Betty Baker out of Vanessa’s old apartment, and she’s put it on the market.”
“Any news on why Vanessa is afraid of Betty?”
“No. However, two people tried to reach Vanessa through her decorator. They both had accents, maybe Russian, and one left the phone number and a suite number that’s at the Pierre Hotel.”
“I believe that is Yevgeny Chekhov’s preference in New York,” Lance replied. “What, I wonder, does he want with Vanessa?”
“Perhaps he believes that Peter Grant shared information with her.”
“Information that he murdered Peter for.”
“Lance, I questioned Vanessa about the meeting with the McIntoshes on the Vineyard. She denies having been to the island in the past five years.”
“What do you read into that?”
“I think, perhaps, that the Ms. Baker who was registered there was Betty.” Stone waited half a minute or so for Lance to get around to responding.
“So, we had two suspected traitors, one presumed traitor, and one possible traitor, all in the same nest for a few days.”
“Yes, we did.”
“And these are all people who, like me, have known Betty since childhood.”
“Yes.”
“Then I conclude from that information that Betty Baker is the hen on the nest of this brood of spies.”
“I think that’s a not unreasonable conclusion,” Stone said.
“I also conclude that Vanessa figured this out, and that is why she’s afraid of her mother. Has she said or done anything that would make you think this?”
“Nothing, but I haven’t pressed her on the subject.”
“Perhaps it’s time you did, Stone,” Lance said. “You might save us a good deal of time and expense.”
“I will do so when I think the time is right,” Stone replied.
“Stone”—Lance sounded irritated—“I think you’d better accept my judgment on this.”
“Lance,” Stone said, feigning patience, “you haven’t seen or spoken to any of these people for years, and one of them is dead. Are you receiving messages from the Beyond?”
Lance was silent.
“Then apart from your boyhood memories, I seem to be in a better position to make that judgment than you.”
“Very well,” Lance said at last.
“I’ll call you when I have more to report. In the meantime, you could be very helpful if you assigned some of your flock to determine where the McIntoshes are and what they are doing there.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lance said, then hung up.
Joan stuck her head inside the door. “Anything I can do, or is all this still none of my business?”
“For the time being,” Stone said. “I’ll trust you later.”
* * *
—
Late in the day, Lance called and scrambled.
“Yes, Lance?”
“The McIntoshes, you’ll be interested to know, are vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard, in the same Edgartown inn as before. They have one guest, a Mrs. Baker.”
“Thank you,” Stone said. “Are you well-represented there?”
“We have a one-man station at present: a retired Agency officer named Percy Willard, elderly but spry. I have dispatched reinforcements.”