HOLLY FOUGHT TO stay awake. She had a plan now, and she had to have her wits about her when the guy came back to feed and empty her. She tried remembering things; that kind of mental activity might keep her awake. She tried remembering the names of everybody in her high school graduation class. There were only sixty of them at the small military high school in Germany, when Ham was still in the army.
She went through the girls first; they were the most difficult. The boys’ names came quicker, starting with Burt Bonner, the athlete on whom she had bestowed her virtue when she was eighteen—bestowed it on him a number of times, in fact. She tried remembering the details of each bestowal; that kept her awake.
Then she heard, or rather felt, the footsteps on the stairs. The house must be fairly rickety, she thought, if she could feel footsteps. He went through his routine, but when he ripped off the tape over her mouth, she was ready for him.
“I have over a million dollars in an offshore bank account,” she said quickly.
He crammed the chocolate bar into her mouth anyway.
Holly spat it out. “It’s yours. I can wire-transfer it to any bank account in the world in seconds. You can open an account offshore on the Internet. It’s a million two hundred thousand dollars. You can go anywhere in the world on that. This is untraceable money. An offshore bank will give you a credit card that draws on your balance; you can use it anywhere in the world.”
He poured water into her mouth, crammed the candy bar in again, and retaped. Then he went back downstairs.
Did the guy live downstairs and she couldn’t hear him because of the plugs in her ears? Or did he live somewhere else and just visit her here?
At least she had given him something to think about. Maybe greed was more powerful than sex or killing or whatever reason he had taken her. She dozed off again. Even the memory of Burt Bonner couldn’t keep her awake.
STONE WAS STARTING to get cabin fever hanging around the house, waiting for something to happen. “I’m going to go and get the papers,” he said to the group in the study. “Anybody need anything?”
Nobody said a word.
Stone left the house and drove the station wagon into Dark Harbor. He went into the Dark Harbor Shop, bought the Times and the Boston papers, then sat down at the counter and ordered some ice cream. He was absorbed in the front page of the Times when he heard a deep voice behind him.
“Let me have a box of Snickers bars,” the familiar voice said.
Stone turned around to find Caleb Stone standing there.
“A whole box?” the girl behind the counter asked. “That’s twenty-four bars.”
“My wife likes them,” Caleb said. “Good morning, Stone.”
Caleb didn’t look well. He was pale, and he seemed to have lost some weight.
“Good morning, Caleb. How are you?”
“So-so, I guess. You?”
“All right.”
“Bad business about all these murders.”
“Yes, it is.”
“We’re staying home with the doors locked,” Caleb said.
“The boys, too?”
“No, they’re on a yacht race somewhere off Newport. They left before it got really bad here.”
“How are they doing in the race? Have you heard from them?”
“Got a call this morning,” Caleb replied. “They were well up in the fleet, they said.”
“When will they be back?”
“The race won’t finish for another couple of days; they get into Nantucket tonight, where they’ll have a lay day, then they’ll start the return leg the day after tomorrow.” Caleb signed a charge ticket, picked up his box of candy bars and gave a little wave. “See you later, Stone.”
“Right, Caleb.” Stone finished his ice cream, then headed back to the house.
He found Lance working in Dick’s little office. He picked up the phone and dialed Sergeant Young’s cell phone.
“This is Young.”
“Sergeant, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Good morning.”
“Good morning. I just saw Caleb Stone in the Dark Harbor Shop, and he tells me the twins’ yacht gets into Nantucket tonight, and they have a lay day there tomorrow. Can you get the local police to check quietly if they’re actually aboard the boat?”
“I’ll make a call,” Young said.
“Will you let me know the result?”
“Be glad to.” Young said good-bye and hung up.
Lance looked up from the computer. “You’re still pursuing the twins angle?”
“What else have I got to pursue?” Stone said.
“Good point. I’m just reading through the notes of the various agents who checked into the Russian mob threat against Dick.”
“You’re still pursuing that lead?”
“What else have I got to pursue?” Lance asked. “It’s not as implausible as you might think.”
“Well, if it’s true, it means we have two killers: one of Dick and his family and possibly Don Brown, and one of the women.”
“Unlikely, isn’t it?”
“But not impossible,” Stone said.