Stone sat talking with Jim As they chatted he saw a taxi pull up outside and a woman get out. She seemed middle-aged, was tall and fashionably thin, and was wearing a wrinkled silk dress and a straw sun hat. The driver got two suitcases out of the trunk, took some money from her, and drove away. Thomas Hardy saw her, too, and went out to help with her bags.

"Well," Jim Forrester said, "I'm going upstairs for a nap." He got to his feet. "I think I might be coming down with something." He ambled off toward the stairs.

Stone watched as Thomas set the woman's bags down by the bar and reached for the registration book. The woman signed it, then seemed to be asking Thomas some questions. Thomas's eyebrows suddenly went up, and he beckoned to Stone.

Stone got up and walked across the restaurant toward the bar, getting a closer look at the woman as he walked. She was, at the very least, in her early forties, he reckoned, and she had on more makeup than suited her.

"Stone," Thomas said. "This is someone you might want to meet."

The woman turned toward him. "Are you Stone Barrington?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," Stone replied.

She held out her hand. "I'm Allison Manning," she said.

"How do you do," Stone said. Then the name sank in. "Who did you say…"

"I'm Paul Manning's widow," the woman said, "and I'm not very well, if the truth be told. However, I expect to be a lot better quite soon."

Thomas went upstairs with the bags, leaving Stone alone with the woman.

"I suppose you're with the press," Stone said wearily.

"I'm not with anybody," the woman replied. "I used to be with Paul Manning, but I understand he's dead. Can you confirm that?"

"Yes, I can," Stone replied. "Why don't we sit down?" he indicated his table. "You seem to have been traveling; would you like a drink?"

"Oh, God, yes," she breathed and headed toward a chair. "A very dry Gibson would be lovely."

ThOmas came back down the stairs, and Stone ordered her drink. When they were settled at a table, Stone said, "I'm afraid you have me at something of a loss, Miss…"

"Mrs.," she said. "Mrs.Manning. And yes, I suppose you are at something of a loss. You're representing her, aren't you?"

"I'm representing Allison Manning," he said. "Why don't you tell me what's going on here?"

"What's going on, Mr.Barrington, is that I've come claim my husband's estate."

"You're speaking of Paul Manning, the writer?"

"I am."

"And you claim to have been married to him?"

The woman opened a large purse, extracted an envelope, and handed it to Stone. "I believe this will answer your question," she said.

Stone opened the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of a marriage certificate stating that Paul Manning and Elizabeth Allison Franklin had been married in Dade County, Florida, some fourteen years before.

"And you are Elizabeth Allison Manning?"

"Call me Libby; everyone does."

"May I see some sort of identification, please?"

She opened her bag again and handed over an American passport.

Stone examined it, and it confirmed her identity. He handed it back. "Thank you," he said. "And when were you and Paul Manning divorced?" he asked.

"Never," she replied. "Paul and I were never divorced; we were married until the day he died."

"I see," Stone said. He didn't see at all. "And what brings you to St.Marks?"

"I read of Paul's death in the papers," she replied. "I told you, I've come to claim his estate."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Stone asked.

She opened her bag again and produced another document. "This is a copy of Paul's will," she said, "leaving everything to me."

Stone looked it over. It was short and to the point and dated the day after the date on the marriage certificate. He handed it back to her. "Mrs.Manning," he said, "I'm afraid you've come a long way for nothing."

"Oh? How's that?"

"Paul Manning's estate is being handled in Connecticut, and there is another, more recent will leaving everything to another, more recent Mrs.Manning."

"Oh, I know all about her," the woman said. "Paul was never married to her, not really,no matter what he told anybody. I am the only woman he was ever married to."

"Can you give me a little background on all this?" Stone asked, trying not to sound plaintive, though he was feeling very plaintive indeed.

"Of course. Paul and I met when we were both working for the Miami Herald, some fifteen years ago. We fell in love, were married, and…"

"And lived happily ever after?"

She smiled sourly. "Not exactly. He ran out on me some years later."

"How many years later?"

"Four years later, four and a bit. But we never bothered to get a divorce. Paul continued to support me, though. He sent a check every month."

"And when was the last time you saw Paul?"

"When he left. After that, I dealt with his lawyer, in Miami."

"Do you still live in Miami, Mrs.Manning?"

"Libby; please call me Libby; everyone does."

"Libby, do you still live in Miami?"

"No, I live in Palm Beach. Well, near Palm Beach."

"And you never remarried?"

"Never."

"What sort of work do you do, Libby?"

"I write a society column for a local paper in Palm Beach. Doesn't pay very much, really, but it gets me to all the parties."

"So you live on the monthly check from Paul?"

"That's right. Only it didn't arrive this month, and when I saw the papers, I knew why. I called the lawyer in Miami, but he said he had received nothing from Paul's office this month. So I figured I'd better get down here and take charge of things."

"I see."

"You're a lawyer, right?"

"Yes, in New York."

"Well, I guess I'm going to need a lawyer. You want to handle this for me?"

"I'm afraid I'm otherwise engaged," Stone said.

"Then I'll just have to find somebody else, I guess."

"Mrs.Manning… ah, Libby, I'm afraid that getting a lawyer in St.Marks won't help you in dealing with Paul's estate. As I said, that is being handled in Connecticut, in Greenwich."

She stared at him blankly. "You want me to go to Connecticut?" she demanded.

"It's not a matter of what I want, and I don't want you to think that I'm giving you legal advice, which I'm not, but it seems logical that the solution to your problem if there is a solution, is not in St.Marks." He wanted desperately for her to be anywhere else in the world but St.Marks.

"Well, shit," she said disgustedly.

"I take your point."

She stood up. "Right now," she said, "I'm going to get into a hot bath, and after I've had some dinner and a good night's sleep I think I might just get a second opinion on what you've told me."

Stone stood up. "If there's anything else I can do…"

"I thought the gist of what you told me was that there's nothing you can do," she said.

"That's pretty much it," he admitted, trying desperately to think of something to say to her that might make her go back to Palm Beach.

"Well, tomorrow's another day, and then I guess I'll see what I can find out about this murder trial. Who's the DA?"

"It's being handled by the, ah, local government," he replied.

"Right. I guess I can talk to them. See you around, Stone." She picked up her purse and headed for the stairs.

Stone went straight to the bar, picked up the phone, and dialed Bob Cantor's number. "Problems?" Thomas asked, ambling over.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Stone replied. He got Cantor's answering machine. "Bob," he said, "you mentioned earlier that Paul Manning had been divorced in Florida. Do whatever you have to do to find a copy of the decree and fax it to me at the earliest possible moment, please. I've got another Allison Manning on my hands." He hung up.