"Cold Paradise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Woods Stuart)4When he got home, Stone ran upstairs and started packing. He’d never been to Palm Beach before, but he assumed it would be warm, so he took tropical-weight suits and jackets. He thought about a dinner jacket and threw it in, just in case. He changed into a lightweight suit, took his bags back downstairs, opened the door and waved the driver to come and get them, then he went downstairs to his office. His secretary, Joan Robertson, was working at her desk. “Oh, good, you made it in,” he said. “My husband drove me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have. Why are you wearing that suit? You’ll freeze.” “I’m off to Palm Beach.” Joan rolled her eyes. “Just back from LA a couple of weeks ago, and now off to Florida. Why don’t I ever get to go where it’s warm?” “Someday,” he said. He looked into the envelope Thad Shames had given him; a thick stack of hundreds, at least ten thousand dollars. He counted off two thousand, stuck them in a pocket and tossed Joan the rest. “Put this in the safe for hard times.” He jotted down the address and phone number from Shames’s card and handed it to her. “This is where I’ll be.” “How long?” “Who knows? No more than a few days, I hope.” “Have fun. Oh, I almost forgot.” She handed him a slip of paper. "A Mrs.Winston Harding the Third called this morning, wants to talk to you?“ Stone looked at the paper. “Who is she?” “I’ve no idea. She sounds terribly upper class, though. She said she needed to talk to you about an important legal matter, and that you came highly recommended.” “Did she say by whom?” “Nope, but she sounds like money to me. I wouldn’t waste any time getting back to her.” Stone stuffed the paper into a pocket. “I’ll call her from Palm Beach.” He ran for the car. At Teterboro, the car drove him up to the airstair door of a Gulf-stream V, and the driver carried his bags on and stowed them. “Mr. Barrington?” a uniformed crewman asked. “That’s me.” “We’re ready to taxi. Please find a seat and buckle up.” Stone chose from a dozen comfortable chairs and fastened his seat belt. As the airplane started to move, the young woman he’d seen in Shames’s Four Seasons suite came out of a compartment and sat down near him. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Callie Hodges.” “I’m Stone Barrington.” They shook hands. “I heard you were coming to Palm Beach with us,” she said. Stone looked around the airplane. “Who’s ‘us’?” “The pilots and me. We’re all that’s aboard today.” “What do you do for Thad?” Stone asked. “I’m his chef and party planner. I pretty much go where he goes. I’ll fix you some lunch after the seat belt sign goes off.” “Thanks, I haven’t eaten.” The big corporate jet taxied to runway 24, paused for a minute, then rolled onto the runway and started moving faster. Shortly, they were climbing into a thick overcast, and in less than five minutes they broke out into sunshine and clear skies. Callie unbuckled her seat belt. “Would you like something to drink before lunch?” “A glass of wine with lunch will be fine.” “Be right back.” She disappeared into the galley. Stone picked up a Callie returned with a tray bearing a large lobster salad and a glass of white wine, then she went and got a tray for herself. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.” “Please do. How long have you worked for Thad?” “A little over four years,” she said. “You?” Stone looked at his watch. “Less than three hours. I’m doing a legal investigation for him.” “Thad’s a character,” she said. “You’ll like working for him.” “I hope so. I don’t know much about him, except that he’s in computer software, in a pretty big way, I gather.” She smiled. “A pretty big way, yes. The last Stone blinked. He had spent a lot of time around the rich, but not “I hope so,” she said, “because I’ve got a nice little bundle of stock options.” “So what’s it like, working for the superrich?” “Insane,” she said, “but I’ve gotten used to Thad’s quirks.” “He has a lot of them?” “Thad is “I’ll try,” Stone said. “The salad is delicious; wonderful dressing.” “Thank you, kind sir.” “Have you spent a lot of time in Palm Beach?” “Oh, yes. Thad’s had his place there for a couple of years, and he’s mostly back and forth from there to New York. Of course, the house has been under construction for all that time, so we live on the boat.” “That’s what he told me.” “You’re staying aboard, then?” “I am.” “Good. I’ll cook you dinner tonight.” “Why don’t I take you out?” Stone asked. “I should get to know the lay of the land.” “I’d love that.” “Book us at some place you like.” “Will do.” She turned her attention to her lunch. She was very attractive, Stone thought. Late twenties or early thirties, tall, slender, a blond ponytail, nice tan. He finished his lunch and she took their trays away. “Is there a phone on the airplane?” he asked her. “In the arm of your chair,” she said. “It’s a satellite phone, but it works like a cell phone.” She headed for the galley. Stone dug the slip of paper from his pocket and looked at it. Mrs.Winston Harding III, in the 561 area code. Where was that? He dialed the number. “Hello,” a low female voice said immediately. “May I speak with Mrs.Winston Harding, please? My name is Stone Barrington.” “Oh, Mr. Barrington, this is Mrs. Harding. How good of you to ring me back so promptly. You sound a little funny. Are you in a car?” “In an airplane,” Stone said. “Tell me, where is the five-six-one area code?” “Palm Beach, Florida,” she said. “Oh. Oddly enough, that’s where I’m flying to.” “How convenient,” she said. “I wonder if we might meet while you’re here? I’m in need of some very good legal counsel.” “Of course. Who recommended me, may I ask?” “No one, really. It was something I read about you once. Let’s have lunch tomorrow. Do you know a restaurant called Renato’s?” “No, this will be my first visit to Palm Beach.” “It’s in the heart of town, in a little cul de sac off Worth Avenue, right across the street from the Everglades Club. Anyone can tell you.” “I expect I can find it.” “Twelve-thirty, then, in the garden?” “Fine. How will I recognize you?” “I’ll recognize you,” she said. “See you tomorrow.” She hung up. Stone replaced the phone in the arm of the chair. Winston Harding. Sounded faintly familiar, but he couldn’t place the man. Hard to tell much about Mrs. Harding from her voice, even her age. He pictured her as in her fifties, but she could be younger, he supposed. Or older. He settled back into his chair and returned his attention to the |
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