Stone Barrington 06-11

previously backed the car into the garage. Now he pressed the remote, and by the time the door had opened, he had started the car and had it in gear. He pulled across the sidewalk gingerly, then turned toward Third Avenue, driving as quickly as he could and frequently checking the rearview mirror. A touch of the remote closed the door behind him.
    “Why are we leaving town?” Holly asked.
    “One, it’s a weekend; New Yorkers leave town on weekends. Two, it’s good for Daisy. Three, I need some country air. And four, to keep you out of trouble for the next couple of days.”
    “And why do you think I need to be kept out of trouble?”
    “I know damned well that if we stay in the city this weekend, you’ll be looking for Trini. You won’t be able to help yourself.”
    “I said I wouldn’t interfere for a couple of days. Why do you keep looking in the rearview mirror?”
    “For safety reasons,” Stone replied. “New Yorkers are very careful drivers.”
    “Not from what I’ve seen. Who do you think might be following us?”
    “Maybe the two men who were watching the house.”
    “ What ?”
    “There were two men in the block: one across the street, wearing a black leather jacket, and one a few buildings up, wearing blue coveralls, looking in a shop window.”
    “What’s so odd about a man looking in a shop window?”
    “It’s a knitting and sewing shop,” Stone explained.
    “Maybe he knits?”
    “Maybe he’s FBI, if we’re lucky. Maybe he’s a friend of Trini, if we’re not.”
    “How would Trini know where to find us?”
    “You do recall chasing him all over Little Italy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Maybe that annoyed him. Maybe a friend of his got the license plate number of my car when you were camped outside La Boheme.”
    “Oh.”
    Stone turned left on Sixty-fifth Street and, eventually, crossed Central Park. Daisy looked longingly at the trees and grass.
    “Don’t worry, baby,” Holly cooed. “We’re going to find you a place to play.” She looked at Stone. “We are, aren’t we?”
    “Yes,” Stone said. “Lots of grass and trees.”
    “How long a drive?”
    “An hour and forty-five minutes, if we beat the worst of the traffic. If we don’t, who knows?” He tapped a number into the car phone.
    “Mayflower Inn,” a woman’s voice said.
    “Hi, this is Stone Barrington. May I have a table for two at eight?”
    “Of course, Mr. Barrington. We’ll see you then.”
    “We’re going to a country inn?” Holly asked.
    “Only for dinner.” He left the park, turned right on Central Park West, then left onto Seventy-second Street.
    “Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” Holly asked.
    “What’s the matter, don’t you like surprises?”
    “I like them if they’re pleasant ones, and when they happen suddenly,” Holly said. “But not when I have to ponder them for an hour and forty-five minutes.”
    “Daisy isn’t worried.”
    “Yes, she is. She’s just being polite.”
    “You be polite.”

    “All right, I’ll shut up.” She laid her head against the headrest.
    Stone switched on the radio and pushed a button, tuning it to 96.3 FM . Classical music filled the car. “Mozart,” he said.
    “I know.”
    He turned onto the Henry Hudson Parkway, then reached under the dash and fiddled with something. A loud beeping ensued, accompanied by flashing red lights. Then everything was quiet.
    “What was that?”
    “That was my super-duper radar detector and laser diffuser.”
    She leaned over and looked at the speedometer as he changed lanes and accelerated. “I’d arrest you in Florida,” she said.
    “I’ll get arrested in New York, if my detector doesn’t work. Would that make you happy?”
    “Very. I like to see justice done.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    Soon they were taking the curves of the Saw Mill River Parkway.
    “Aren’t radar detectors illegal in New York State?” she asked.
    “I’m not going to answer that without a lawyer present.”
    “There is a lawyer present.”
    “Oh, yeah. My lawyer just advised me not to answer. Anyway, we’re just passing through.”

    “You mean, we’re going to another state ?”
    “Other states are not very far away, when you live in New York City.”
    “You ever heard of the Mann Act?”
    He laughed. “You think I’m transporting you across a state line for immoral purposes?”
    “I certainly hope so,” she replied.
    They turned onto an interstate, then, after a few minutes, another.