Hot Mahogany (17 page)

“We both have houses in the same town; why shouldn’t I know him?”

“It’s just bizarre,” Eggers said.

“What’s bizarre about it?”

“Well, I’ll bet he’s the only former Marine colonel you know and the only antiques dealer, too. Am I wrong?”

“Well… no.”

“Then it’s bizarre.”

“If you say so.”

“Listen,” Eggers said, “as long as you know Cabot, maybe you could run down a rumor for me.”

“What sort of rumor?”

“Word around town is Cabot has got hold of a very fine eighteenth-century mahogany secretary.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?”

“If the rumor is true, I’d be interested.”

“Bill, please tell me where you heard that rumor.”

“Stone, the number of people in New York who would be interested in a piece of that caliber is very small. We talk to each other.”

“Tell me the name of the person who told you this.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Is there anything else, Bill?”

“No.”

“Then I bid you good day.” Stone got up and headed for the door.

“Let me know if you hear anything about that secretary,” Eggers called after him.

38

When Stone arrived at home his housekeeper, Helene, was picking up her paycheck from Joan. “I got your bedroom back like it was,” Helene said.

“Thank you, Helene.”

“Except for those things in the bedside drawers,” she sniffed.

“I’ll deal with that, thank you.”

“You must have had some weekend upstairs, to get it like that.”

“Helene, I was in Connecticut this weekend. Somebody got into the house and did that as a joke.”

Helene muttered something Stone didn’t quite hear, then left for home.

“She was really pissed off,” Joan said.

“I was pretty pissed off, myself. The guy who had this done just apologized to me in Bill Eggers’s office, though.”

“This was about a girl, wasn’t it, Stone?”

“Don’t go there, Joan. It was Harlan Deal’s mistake; let’s leave it at that.”

“He didn’t stop payment on his check, did he? Because I’ve already paid the bills.”

“No, he didn’t, and if he does…”

“Sorry I brought it up,” she said.

Stone went into his office and checked his desk for messages. None. He sat down and concentrated on making his anger go away. It took time, but he got there.

Stone was about to leave his desk for the day when Bob Cantor called. “I got news,” he said.

“What?”

“Something interesting on Charlie Crow’s phone.”

“Already?”

“The tap had been in for less than an hour when this call was made: Listen.”

Stone heard electronic noise, then a woman’s voice. “This is the office of Mr. Charles Crow. He’s sending a van to pick up a piece of furniture from his storage unit tomorrow morning at eight A.M. It’s locker three-two-zero.”

“Yes, ma’am,” a man’s voice said. “I’ll put it on the list.”

The call ended.

“I can’t believe we got that lucky,” Stone said. “But wait a minute. We don’t know where she called.”

“Yes, we do. The number is listed for Sutton Moving and Storage. It’s downtown, near the South Street Seaport.”

“Then let’s get there first.”

“Okay,” Cantor said. “The place is open twenty-four/seven, but let’s wait until this evening, when the workday is over. Can the two of us handle it?”

“I’ll get Dino to come with us. You want to pick us up?”

“Okay. Seven-thirty.”

“See you then.”

“I’ll bring some coveralls, so you guys won’t look like who you are.”

“Good idea.” Stone hung up and called Dino. “I think we found the secretary,” he said.

“Where?”

“In a storage facility downtown. Cantor and I are going to pick it up, and we need your help.”

“So now I’m a furniture mover?”

“I’ll buy dinner. Be here at seven-thirty sharp.”

“Oh, what the hell, okay.”

Stone and Dino were standing on the curb at seven-thirty, when Bob Cantor pulled up in his van. He tossed them both coveralls, and they put them on and got in.

“How long is this going to take?” Dino asked as they drove downtown.”

“I don’t know. An hour, maybe,” Stone replied.

“So we’ll have dinner after?”

“Dino, we’ve got to deliver the piece to Barton Cantor in Connecticut.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to come along; we just need your help getting the thing in the van. Barton will help us get it out.”

“I’ll go; I hate eating alone.”

“Maybe we’ll have dinner up there.”

They arrived at Sutton Moving & Storage, and presented themselves at the night desk on the loading dock.

“We’re here to pick up something from Mr. Charles Crow’s locker,” Cantor said. “Number three-twenty. His secretary called.”

The man consulted a list. “Nothing on here for tonight.”

“Sure there is,” Cantor said.

“Oh, here it is. It’s scheduled for eight A.M.”

“Nah, she told you eight P.M.”

“She didn’t tell me nothing; I just came on half an hour ago.”

“Well, whoever took the call screwed up and put down A.M. instead of P.M. You going to make a big deal out of this and piss off Mr. Crow?”

“Nah, what do I care? Go on up. You know where it is?”

“Third floor?”

“Yeah, turn left out of the elevator. There’s a couple of hand trucks over there, if you need them.” He pointed.

Stone and Dino got hand trucks, and Cantor led the way. They took the elevator upstairs and found the locker, a big one, and it was padlocked. Cantor took a small leather case from his pocket, unzipped it and took out a set of lock picks. After a minute with the picks, the lock snapped open, and Cantor swung the doors wide.

It stood there alone in the locker, in two pieces, wrapped in movers’ blankets and secured with duct tape.

Stone pulled off some tape and looked at the piece underneath. “This is it!” Stone said. “Now be careful with the thing; we don’t want to damage it.”

They got each piece loaded onto a hand truck and relocked the locker. They took the two pieces downstairs in the big elevator and loaded them into Cantor’s van.

“That was slick,” Stone said as they drove away.

“You going to tell Barton we’re coming?” Dino asked.

“Yeah.” Stone got out his cell phone and called Barton’s house.

“Hello?”

“Barton, it’s Stone Barrington. Are you going to be home this evening?”

“Carla and I are just on our way out to dinner.”

“Well, be home in an hour and forty-five minutes, because I’m bringing you a present.” He hung up before Barton could ask any questions. “We’ll surprise him,” he said to Dino and Cantor.

Near the appointed time they turned into Cabot’s driveway and found him waiting for them outside the barn. He unlocked the door, and the four of them carried the two pieces inside.

“Let’s get these blankets off,” Barton said, tugging at the duct tape that secured them.

They stripped off the blankets and set the bookcase on top of the base.

Barton walked around the secretary, looking at it closely, running a hand over the varnish. “Very nice,” he said, “but it’s not mine.”

39

Stone stared at the secretary. He turned and looked at Barton.

“What do you mean, it isn’t yours?”

“I thought I was pretty clear,” Barton said.

“This is the secretary that was locked in Charlie Crow’s storage locker. It was the only thing in there.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Barton said. “It’s quite beautiful, but it just isn’t mine. This piece is a copy of the Newport secretary. It was manufactured in Charleston, South Carolina, sometime between eighteen ninety and nineteen ten. The quality of the mahogany isn’t anything like that of my secretary, and the company built more than three hundred copies over the twenty-year period, more than half of which survive. I could take it down to my shop and get seventy, seventy-five thousand dollars for it. Anybody who paid more would be an idiot.”

“How do you know all that?” Dino asked.

Barton crooked a finger, led them behind the piece and pointed at a brass plate that gave the name and address of the manufacturer and a number, 241.

Dino directed a withering glance at Stone. “So, under your sterling leadership, we stole the wrong secretary.”

“That’s not fair, Dino,” Cantor said. “After all, we didn’t even take all the wrapping off.”

“Stone wouldn’t have known the difference if we had,” Dino said.

“Did I ever say I was an expert on eighteenth-century American furniture?” Stone asked.

“Look, fellas,” Barton said, “just rewrap the bloody thing and get it out of here, will you?”

The three of them went to work, taping the blankets around the piece, while Barton watched impatiently, then they loaded it back into the van and left.

“Why don’t we get some dinner and take the thing back tomorrow?” Dino asked.

“Because,” Stone said, “Charlie Crow is sending somebody to pick it up tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Oh.”

Stone looked at his watch. “We might make it to Elaine’s by midnight.”

“Yeah,” Dino said, “if we don’t get arrested for grand theft secretary.”

At the Sutton warehouse, they woke up the night man, who was snoring away, his feet on his desk.

“What?” he said, snapping his eyes open.

“We’re taking this piece to Mr. Crow’s locker,” Cantor said.

“Didn’t you just take it out?”

“We got our orders,” Cantor replied.

“Okay, go ahead,” the man said.

They trundled the two pieces up to the locker, which Cantor opened with his lock picks, and, when the pieces had been returned to their original spot, snapped the lock shut again.

Stone and Dino walked into Elaine’s at half past midnight, while Cantor parked the van. The joint was jumping. Gianni, one of the two headwaiters, approached them. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I’d have kept a table for you.”

Stone looked at his regular table and saw four people he didn’t know sitting there. “Who’s that?”

“A guy named Charlie Crow, big deal in real estate.”

Dino began to laugh.

“Oh, shut up,” Stone said.

“All I’ve got is something in the next room,” Gianni said.

“I’ve never even been in the next room,” Stone said, “except for a party.”

“Come on,” Gianni said. “I’ll bring you a cake with a candle on it.”

Dino was still laughing when they sat down.

“Gianni,” Stone said, “head off Bob Cantor when he comes in, and bring him in here. Don’t let Mr. Crow see him, if you can help it. And bring whiskey, quickly.”

Cantor was at the table by the time the drinks came. “Jesus, I just saw Charlie Crow in the other room, sitting at your table.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Stone said.

Dino began to laugh again. “Shall we send Mr. Crow’s party some drinks?”

The three of them ordered dinner.

“Dino,” Stone said when they had finished eating, “can you put a couple of guys on the warehouse tomorrow morning? I want to know where Crow has the secretary delivered.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dino said, getting out his phone.

Stone was having breakfast the next morning when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino.”

“Where’d they take it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“My guys watched them load the secretary into a dark green furniture van with the name Van Hooten on the side, then they followed the van. It got onto the West Side Highway and headed north. They followed it up the Sawmill River Parkway as far as Yonkers, then they called me, and I told them to come back to the precinct.”

“You couldn’t let them follow it all the way?”

“All the way to where? Montreal? You don’t know where the fuck they’re taking the thing.”

Stone thanked Dino and hung up. “Maybe I do,” he said aloud to himself. He picked up the phone and called Barton Cabot.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone, Barton. I’m sorry about last night. I thought we had found your secretary.”

“No harm done,” Barton replied.

“I hope you had a good dinner with Carla.”

“I had a good everything with Carla. She’s quite a girl. I’m taking her back to the city this morning.”

“Dino put a couple of detectives on the warehouse, and a van with the name Van Hooten picked it up and drove north. They followed it as far as Yonkers, then broke off the tail.”

“Van Hooten is a respected dealer in furniture,” Barton said.

“I wonder if you’d do something for me before you leave for New York?”

“What?”

“Could you drive up to the clearing that overlooks Ab Kramer’s house and see if the van turns up there? It’s dark green, and it should be arriving in about an hour, if it’s coming.”

“All right, I guess I could do that. You think maybe Ab bought the piece from Charlie Crow?”

“Let me ask you this: If Ab saw the piece we had last night, could he distinguish it from the real thing?”

“He could, if he read the brass plate on the back.”

“What if Charlie was smart enough to remove the plate?”

“Ab has a good eye, but he doesn’t have any real depth of knowledge about that period. It’s a handsome piece; it might fool him. You think Charlie is ripping off Ab?”

“It’s a possibility,” Stone said. “It’s not hard to fool somebody who already believes he’s getting the real thing.”

“How very interesting,” Barton said. “I’ll call you when I know more.”

40

Stone was about to go to lunch when Joan buzzed him. “Barton Cabot on line one for you.”

Stone punched the button. “Barton?”

“Yes. Carla and I are on the way to Manhattan.”

“What happened at Ab’s house?”

“The Van Hooten van arrived, and they unloaded two pieces, wrapped the way the ones last night were wrapped.”

“So, Ab bought the Charleston secretary from Charlie Crow.”

“It would appear so. Next time I see Ab, he’ll tell me about it, if he thinks he has the real thing.”

“I especially want to know if Ab thinks he has the real thing.”

“If he thinks so, he might ask me to authenticate it.”