“Did you sleep with her, Bruce?”

“That’s hardly relevant to this conversation.”

“It is, if she told her husband about it. Spouses tend to spit out these things in the middle of domestic quarrels.”

“Yeah, all right, I fucked her. We had lunch at a little hotel in the Sixties; I kept a room there, at the time.”

“Was there anything else she said about her marriage, anything at all?”

Goldsmith thought for a moment. “Yeah, there was: she said she thought her husband had another wife, that he was a bigamist.”

“Did she say who or where the other wife was?”

“No; we were… getting involved about that time, and we didn’t get back to that. I would have asked her, of course, if she had called me back.”

“Of course.”

“Stone?”

“Yeah?”

“Should I watch my back?”

“Bruce, if I were you, I’d leave town; that’s what I’m doing.”

“Hang on,” Goldsmith said. “Millie, tell Moyle that I’ll do the deposition in San Francisco, and get his plane ticket changed to my name. He’s on the two o’clock flight, isn’t he? I don’t care what he says, just do it.” He came back to Stone. “Thanks, pal, I appreciate the warning.”

“And I appreciate your recollections,” Stone said, feeling slightly soiled from having received them. He hung up and called Dino. He was headed north on the Saw Mill River Parkway.

“Bacchetti,” Dino said.

“It’s Stone. You may get a call from a guy named Palmer, who…”

“I just did.”

“So, you’re on top of that?”

“You bet I am. Anything else come up?”

“Yes. Arlene Mitteldorfer saw a divorce lawyer right before she was murdered. He told me that she said she thought Herbie had another wife.”

“Before her?”

“During her.”

“Herbie was a bigamist?”

“Could be. I don’t know if the marriage records were computerized that long ago, but it might be worth doing a search; I’d sure like to talk to the other Mrs. Mitteldorfer. Maybe she’s hiding him.”

“I’m on it,” Dino said.

“I’m on the way to Connecticut, now; let me give you the numbers up there; they’ll be working later today.” Stone gave him the numbers and his new car-phone number. “I’ll be in the car for another hour and a half if you need to reach me.”

Stone continued up the Saw Mill, through a bright, spring day, with new, green leaves on the trees. It was a winding road and fun to drive on.

He called his own number and tapped in the code for the answering machine. The mechanical voice said, You have two messages. One:

“Hi, it’s Dolce. The Carlyle said you’d checked out. I don’t know if you have any plans for the weekend; if not, call me, and we’ll do something interesting.”

Two:

“Stone, it’s Vance Calder; I hope you’re well. Arrington and I are in the East this weekend, and we’d like you to join us for dinner, if you’re free. We’d both love to see you, and, of course, you haven’t seen the baby yet, and we’d like you to. Please call me.” He left a number.

Stone found the breath momentarily sucked out of him. He had known that this would happen, eventually, but he hadn’t expected them to turn up in town this soon. He wasn’t sure he could handle this, and he was going to be in the country, anyway, so he had an excuse not to see them. He dialed the number.

Transferring your call, a recorded voice said. There were some beeps, then the phone rang. A woman, not Arrington, answered.

“Hello?”

“May I speak to Vance Calder, please?”

“Who’s calling?”

“My name is Stone Barrington; I’m returning his call.”

“Just a moment.”

A few seconds later, Vance came on the phone. “Stone, how are you?” he asked, sounding enthusiastic.

Stone tried to match his tone. “I’m very well, Vance; how are you and Arrington and the baby?”

“We’re just wonderful, all of us. Do you think we might get together for dinner this weekend?”

“I’d love to, Vance, I really would, but as we speak, I’m on my way to the country.”

“Where in the country?”

“I’ve bought a little house in Washington, Connecticut.”

“Well, there’s a coincidence; we’re at my place in Roxbury right now, and that’s the village next door to Washington.”

Stone hadn’t been aware that Vance had a place in Connecticut. “Gosh, Vance, I’m just moving in today, and…”

“Well, then, by tomorrow night, you’re going to need a break and a hot dinner. Give me your new address, and I’ll send my car for you.”

“I can drive over, I guess. Give me some directions.” He juggled his notebook while driving and wrote down the address.

“About seven, then?”

“All right, about seven.”

“It’ll be very casual, and by all means, bring somebody, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Vance; see you then.” He hung up. Well, all tight, he thought; we’re all civilized people; we can get through this. Then it occurred to him that he’d rather not get through it alone. He dialed Dolce’s office number and was put through to her immediately.

“Hello, there,” she purred.

“Hi, I got your message.”

“Any plans for the weekend?”

“Actually, yes, but why don’t you join me? I would have asked you this morning, but you had gone when I woke up.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve just bought a place in Connecticut, and I’m moving in this afternoon. By tomorrow night I should have been able to make some sense of it, so why don’t you drive up tomorrow? Oh, there’s dinner with a movie star, tomorrow night, too.”

“Which movie star?”

“That’ll be a surprise. Get a pencil, and I’ll give you some very precise directions.”

She wrote them down. “How long will it take me?”

“Under two hours, from midtown.”

“I should be able to leave here by two.”

“See you around four, then.” They hung up.

Suddenly, he felt very much better about the following evening.

BRUCE GOLDSMITH STARTED PACKING HIS briefcase. “Millie, get in here!” he shouted. His secretary came in with a pad. “Where was Moyle staying?”

“At the Ritz-Carlton; he’s got a club-level room reserved.”

“Change it to a suite, a big one; the client can afford it, and have a car meet me at the airport – a Mercedes, not a Lincoln.”

“Right,” she said, making notes rapidly.

Goldsmith’s partner, Lester Moyle, walked into the office. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

“I’m taking the San Francisco deposition,” Goldsmith said.

“The hell you are; that’s my client.”

“And who gave her to you?”

“Listen, Bruce, I don’t know what’s going on, here, but this is very high-handed, and I’m not going to put up with it.”

“Les, shut up and give Millie your notes; I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not; I’m doing the deposition.”

“That tears it for me, Bruce,” Moyle said. “I’m sick of your prima donna act. You want to buy me out of the firm?”

“That’s fine by me, you little prick,” Goldsmith rejoined. “You know the formula by heart, I expect; figure out what your share is worth and draw up the agreement. Fax it to me in San Francisco, and I’ll sign.”

“I’m taking my clients,” Moyle said.

“The hell you are; read our contract. You walk out of here, you do it alone. If you try to take a single client with you, I’ll lock you up in a lawsuit that’ll set you back years, and you know I can do it. Now get out of my office.”

Moyle stalked out of the room, swearing.

“Anything else?” Millie asked.

“Yeah, what was that woman’s name – I did her divorce from the winery owner a couple of years ago? She took her maiden name back.”

“Madeleine Cochran.”

“Right. Get her on the phone for me.”

Millie went back to her desk; a moment later the phone in Goldsmith’s office buzzed. “She’s on the line,” Millie said.

Goldsmith picked up the phone. “Maddy? How the hell are you?”