Stone Barrington 06-11

Twenty minutes after that, they were driving along country roads with forest on both sides.
    “We’re in Connecticut,” she said.
    “You recognize the trees?”
    “No, I was tipped off by the sign a few miles back that said, ‘Welcome to Connecticut.’ ”
    “No wonder you’re such a good cop.”
    “I don’t miss much,” she said.
    Holly dozed and woke up as they came to a stop sign. “Where are we?”
    “Still in Connecticut; a town called Washington.” He turned left, went up a steep hill, then turned left at a white church. “This is the village green,” he said. A moment later, he turned into a drive and parked before a shingled cottage with a turret.
    “Who lives here?” Holly asked.
    “I do, when I can.”
    They got out of the car, and Daisy immediately bounded into some bushes. Stone got the bags out and unlocked the front door. “Welcome to Washington,” he said.
    “It’s lovely,” Holly replied, walking in and looking around. Daisy joined them and seemed to approve. “Who decorated it?”
    “I sought various counsel,” Stone said.
    “You mean various women.”
    “Now I’m going to fix us a drink, then we’ll take Daisy for a walk on the property next door.”
    “Will the owner mind?”
    “He is not in residence. A writer used to live there, but he sold it to a producer, who never moved in. It’s back on the market.”
    “How much?”
    “You couldn’t afford it.”
    “You forget: I have five million seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars stashed in a tree.”
    “That might do it, but then you couldn’t afford the taxes. This place used to be the gatehouse, but the properties got separated fifty years ago. Bourbon?”
    “Good.”
    He made her the drink and handed it to her. “Now I want you to take three deep breaths.”
    She did.
    “Now drink your drink and stop thinking about what’s in New York.”
    “Did those guys follow us?”
    “I don’t think so. My guess is, they didn’t expect us to drive away.”
    “Neither did I,” she said, sipping her bourbon.

24
    S TONE LED HOLLY and Daisy through an opening in a hedge, and they emerged onto a broad lawn decorated with magnificent old trees before a large, comfortable-looking, American shingle-style house.
    Daisy ran here and there, sniffing the ground and poking her nose into bushes.
    “I could live here,” Holly said.
    “So could I, but I’ll never be that rich.”
    “No hope at all?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Can we break a window and see the inside of the house?”
    “You’re suggesting breaking and entering? And you a law enforcement officer? As your attorney, I advise against it.”
    “Oh, all right.”
    Daisy had discovered the large swimming pool and was sniffing the surrounding bushes when a deer rocketed out of the brush and ran across the lawn, sending Daisy fleeing back to Holly.
    “She’s never seen a deer before,” Holly laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, patting the dog, “I won’t let the bad deer get you.”
    After half an hour’s walk they left Daisy in the house with her dinner and drove to the Mayflower Inn.
    “Don’t you lock the door?” Holly asked.
    “No need, it’s a peaceable sort of place.”
    They drove past a pond and up a steep driveway, emerging from the trees to find a large, shingled building with broad porches on two sides.
    “It’s beautiful,” Holly said. “It reminds me of the house we just saw—what was it called?”
    “The Rocks. It belonged to an architect named Ehrick Rossiter, who designed twenty-seven houses and public buildings in this little village, twenty-two of which still stand. The Mayflower is one of them, and it’s been gorgeously renovated.”

    Stone and Holly sat at a table overlooking the back lawn and garden, which were surrounded by old trees.
    “So, is a country house a big part of living in New York?” Holly asked.
    “A very big part of it. A lot of people have houses out on the eastern end of Long Island, in the Hamptons, but that’s too expensive and too crowded for me. Washington is just perfect—nice village, maybe the most beautiful in Connecticut, lovely countryside, and interesting people.”

    “Nobody in Florida has a country house,” Holly said. “I wonder why?”
    “Not enough contrast between first and second houses.”
    “Maybe you’re right.”
    They dined on salads, veal chops, and a bottle of California Cabernet. The waiter had just brought coffee when Holly suddenly sat up