Stone looked at the book: Tumult, by Frederick James. “Oh, yes, I read some pages yesterday. Starts well.”

“Ends well, too. Enjoy.”

Stone read through the morning, broke for sandwiches and closed the book at five.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Thad liked it, too. He had me send the author an invitation to the party tonight, but we never heard from him. I guess his publisher didn’t forward it.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get over to the house and brief the caterers,” she said. “I’ll see you at the party.”

“Think I’ll have a nap,” Stone said. He went back to his cabin and slept for half an hour, then he shaved, showered and dressed in Vance Calder’s ecru raw silk dinner jacket, a silk evening shirt and black tie. He walked back to the house and through the central hallway, dodging frantic caterers and decorators, got into his borrowed Mercedes E430 convertible and drove into town. Shortly, he pulled up in front of Liz Harding’s house. He walked across the driveway, his evening shoes crunching on the pea gravel. The doorbell was set in an intercom box. He pressed it and it made a noise like a telephone ringing.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone.”

“Oh, Stone. The door’s unlocked; let yourself in, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She clicked off, and Stone opened the door and walked into the house. It was quite beautiful, Queen Anne in style, not terribly large, but made of good materials-marble floors, walnut paneling, beautiful moldings. He found the living room and continued to explore, ending up in a handsome little library with many leather-bound volumes. A small bar had been set up on a butler’s tray, and he poured himself some chilled mineral water, then he wandered around the room. A collection of silver-framed photographs rested on the mantel, and Stone inspected them. They were all of Liz Harding with a handsome, silver-haired man, clearly Winston Harding, taken in various cities and on various beaches.

“He was handsome, wasn’t he?” she said.

Stone turned and found her standing in the doorway, wearing a white silk dress and a gorgeous diamond necklace, with matching earrings. Her hair was blond again.

“Yes, he was, and you are very beautiful,” Stone said.

She came and gave him a little hug, careful not to muss her makeup. “And so are you,” she said. “That’s the most beautiful dinner jacket I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Stone replied. He decided to stop telling people that the clothes were Vance Calder’s, and to start taking credit himself.

“Would you like a drink before we go?” she asked.

“I think we’re already fashionably late,” he replied. “Why don’t we just go to the party?”

She took his arm, and he led her out to the car.

“Drive slowly,” she said. “The hair.”

“I like it blond.”

“So do I. It’s my natural color.”

“I remember.”

“Stone!” she said, laughing and blushing.

“That wasn’t what I meant, but I remember that, too.”

“You’re awful.”

“I know.”

“Still, we had some good times, didn’t we? You were getting over a girl, as I recall.”

“And you were helping.”

“I did what I could,” she said.

Stone drove slowly through the town and finally turned into the driveway of Thad Shames’s house. Or tried to; there were half a dozen cars ahead of him. Music wafted through the open windows. Finally, he gave the keys to a valet and extracted Liz from the car. He was beginning to think of her as Liz by now. They walked through the open doors of the house and into the living room. A big band was playing Rodgers amp; Hart at the other end, and people were dancing.

“How spectacular!” Liz said. “I mean, in spectacular good taste!”

“It certainly is,” Stone agreed. “Would you believe that twenty-four hours ago, this was an empty, unpainted house?”

“No, I would not,” she replied. She sniffed the air. “Still, there is that faint odor.”

Stone spotted Thad Shames across the room, towering over his guests. “I think there’s someone over there who’d like to see you,” he said, taking her arm and leading her across the room.

Shames spotted them coming and went to meet them, or rather, Liz.

“Well, hello,” he said, taking both her hands and kissing her on both cheeks.

“Will you excuse me?” Stone asked. They didn’t seem to notice, so he left them and made his way across the large room to where the bar had been set up on a long table. “A gin and tonic,” Stone said to the bartender.

“Coming up,” the bartender replied.

Stone saw Callie across the room and waved to her. She waved back, but seemed to have no interest in joining him.

“Here you are,” the bartender said.

“Thank you,” Stone replied, accepting the drink.

“You know,” a voice behind him said, “I think you may look better in that dinner jacket than the original owner did.”

Stone turned around and found Arrington Carter Calder standing there, looking gorgeous. Before she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, he could see, over her shoulder, Callie Hodges making her way toward them.

Her lips melted into Stone’s, and her body was against his, and only the thought of Callie approaching made him take hold of Arrington’s shoulders and hold her back. He smiled broadly for effect. “It’s good to see you, Arrington.”

Then Callie was upon them. “Well, Stone,” she said, “who’s this?”

“Callie, I’d like you to meet Arrington Calder,” Stone said, trying not to dab at his lips.

“Well, clearly, you two have met before tonight,” Callie said. “How do you do, Arrington?”

“Very well, Callie. I believe we talked on the phone this morning.”

“Yes. Thad very much wanted to have you here. Have you seen him yet?”

“Yes, when I arrived.”

“I hope your room is comfortable.”

“It is, indeed, though it smells a little of paint.”

“We apologize,” Callie said. “I understand you and Stone know each other.”

“We’re old friends,” Arrington said.

“Yes,” Stone echoed, wanting somehow to guide this conversation, if he could. “And how did you manage to get Arrington here so quickly, Callie?”

“We sent the airplane for her this morning,” Callie said sweetly.

“Twenty-four hours ago,” Arrington said, “who knew I’d be in Palm Beach tonight?”

“Yes,” Stone replied, casting a sharp glance at Callie. “Who knew?”

Callie suddenly seemed flustered. “Please excuse me, I have to welcome somebody,” she said. She had not even glanced at the door, but she made off in that direction.

“And how do you know Thad Shames?” Stone asked.

“Vance and I met him in Los Angeles early last year. Vance was an early investor in some of his companies. And how do you happen to be here, Stone?”

“I’ve been doing some work for Thad, which involved coming to Palm Beach.”

“What sort of work?”

“I’m afraid it’s confidential.”

“Show me around the house, will you?” she said.

“We’ll explore together,” Stone said. “This is the first time I’ve been inside, except for the central hallway. I’m staying on the yacht, out back.”

“Then follow me,” Arrington said, taking his hand and starting out. She led him among handsome couples of various ages, beautifully dressed and coiffed. They walked across the central hall and into a large, two-story library, stocked with matched sets of books, some of them, apparently, quite old.

They found the dining room, which had been set up for a buffet, then climbed the central stairs to the second floor.

“Where are we going?” Stone asked.

“Just exploring,” Arrington replied, towing him along. “That must be the master suite,” she said, pointing at a large set of doors. They walked on farther. “Let’s see what a bedroom looks like,” she said, suddenly opening a door, tugging him inside and closing it behind her.