Dirt

me.”
    “That sounds rather ominous, Ms. Dart. I hope you aren’t thinking of doing anything foolish.”
    “I am not a foolish person, Mr. Barrington, I assure you.” She suddenly smiled. “And I would be pleased if you would call me Amanda.”
    “Of course; please call me Stone.”
    “Will you assist me in this matter, Stone?”
    “If I may be sure of your continued full cooperation.”
    “You may indeed.”
    “Then I will begin by asking you a great many questions,” Stone said.
    “Let’s get started,” Amanda replied.
     
Chapter 9
     
    The gardens were lovely now, Amanda noticed, half in sunshine and half in shadow. A lone gardener knelt and pulled at weeds.
    “Amanda?” Stone said quietly.
    “I’m sorry,” Amanda replied, returning her full attention to him. “I was just admiring the light in the garden.”
    “It is lovely, isn’t it?” Stone said. “I’ve sat whole days watching it.”
    “Please ask me your questions,” Amanda said, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt. She was aware of Stone’s glance at her legs, which she knew were one of her best features.
    Stone knew he had been caught looking at her legs, but she didn’t seem to mind. “How many people knew you were going to spend the weekend at the Trent?” he asked.
    “Only my secretary, Martha,” Amanda replied. “Martha
always
knows where I am, in case of emergency.”
    “Last name?”
    “McMahon.”
    “And how long has Martha been with you?”
    “For fifteen years; she’s my most trusted employee.”
    “Do you think Martha could be bought?”
    “Absolutely not. Anyway, she’s
extremely
well paid. She earns on a par with a secretary to a top corporation head.”
    “Who else besides Martha knew?”
    “No one.”
    “How did you travel to the hotel?”
    “Oh, well, Paul, my driver, took me.”
    “So Paul knew where you were going?”
    “Not exactly. I mean, he knew the address, but I don’t think he could have known the significance.”
    “Did he know you were supposed to be in Saint Bart’s?”
    “Well, yes; he had been told that, in case anyone asked.”
    “So he knew you didn’t go to the airport, that you were doing something unusual.”
    “Yes, I suppose, but he never asked any questions. Paul never does.”
    “Last name?”
    “Brennan.”
    “How long with you?”
    “Nine years.”
    “Trustworthy?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “So that’s two people who knew something. How about at the hotel? Whom did you see there?”
    “No one; the desk clerk had turned his back when I ran for the elevator.”
    “No maid, no anyone?”
    “A maid did bring some sheets and towels a couple of times, and, of course, there were room service waiters, but I was always in the bathroom when they arrived.”
    “They knew that Mr. Bell was with someone, though.”
    “I suppose they did; the meals were for two, after all, but they would have no reason to know it was me.”
    “Did you carry a handbag there?”
    “Yes, a small clutch.”
    “Where did you place it in the suite?”
    “I … dropped it on the floor when I entered the first time.”
    “Did it remain there?”
    “No, when I left, it had been put on a table, by the maid, I suppose.”
    “Might she have had time to open it?”
    “Possibly; my driver’s license was inside, and some credit cards.”
    “I see.”
    “I’m beginning to see, too, I think,” she said. “It’s hard to go anywhere without
someone
knowing, isn’t it?”
    “It is. With that in mind, can you think of anyone else who might have known?”
    “I can’t think of anyone else.”
    “Bill Eggers?”
    “No; I told him nothing.”
    “Let’s look at the Saint Bart’s end, then.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “In the same way that certain people in New York knew you were remaining in the city, certain people in Saint Bart’s would have known of your absence there.”
    “Oh, I see. Well, certainly my, ah, putative host, the Duke, knew of my absence, though he didn’t know why. The staff at the house would have known I was not there, had anyone asked. They would have known about my message on the answering machine, conceivably.” “Was the Duke in residence at that time?”
    “No, he was in London. I believe he’s in Saint Bart’s this week.”
    “I think you might call him and ask if anyone inquired about your presence or absence there during the time you were at the Trent.”
    “Good idea,” she said, making a mental note.
    “Have you visited the Duke’s