“Yep.”

“I got the feeling you didn’t want Liz and me talking about sex.”

“I can’t imagine how you got that idea,” Stone said.

“Well, you were obviously uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. What was Liz talking about?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to ask her, if I want to know.”

“Oh, all right!” Stone said. “She suggested that she and you and I have a threesome. I want to point out that it was she who raised the subject, and I said absolutely nothing to encourage her.”

“Turn right again,” Callie said.

Stone turned.

“So what did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything. I was too surprised.”

“What were you going to tell her, after you’d recovered from your surprise?”

“I wasn’t going to tell her anything.”

“Why? Did the idea not appeal to you?”

Stone turned and looked at her.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she said. “And take the next left.”

Stone turned left.

“Have you ever been in a threesome?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“I have, once.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“In college, with two guys. We were all good friends. It was just a onetime romp.”

“You astonish me.”

“For such a sophisticated man, you can be so… naive. Didn’t you think I would enjoy having two men?”

“Did you?”

“Very much, although we were all so embarrassed the next morning, we never repeated the experience.”

“Why were you embarrassed?”

“We were very young,” she said. There was a long pause. “I’m older, now, but I’ve never been in bed with a woman-in a threesome, I mean.”

“And not in a threesome?”

“Oh, sure. Most girls have tried that. It’s not such a big deal as it is with men.”

“I’ve heard other women say that.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About a threesome, with Liz and me?”

Stone looked up ahead and saw an awning, with the restaurant’s name emblazoned on it. “There’s Taboo,” he said, grateful for an excuse to avoid answering.

A valet took the car, and Stone and Callie went inside. The bar was straight ahead, and Stone saw Paul Manning immediately.

The bar was up front, the restaurant at the rear. The place was subtly lit, and a pianist was playing quiet jazz underneath the conversation at the busy bar. Stone spotted Detective Riley leaning against the piano, holding a glass apparently filled with mineral water. Riley motioned toward the bar, but Stone was already staring at Manning’s back.

He nodded at Riley and turned to Callie. “See the tall man at the middle of the bar, talking to the brunette?”

“Yes.”

“Is that the man you saw at the party?”

“Looks like him from behind, but I can’t see his face.”

“Come on.” Stone took her arm and guided her toward the couple. The brunette, looking past her companion, flicked an eye toward them, then turned back to her conversation.

Stone stopped a pace from the couple. “Paul!” he said, loudly enough to be sure he could be heard.

The man’s head jerked around in an instantaneous reaction.

“That’s the man,” Callie whispered.

“I’m Stone Barrington. I’m sure you remember.”

The man turned fully around and regarded Stone, his brow wrinkled. His hair was longish and dark, flecked with gray. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, “but weren’t you at the Shames party the other night?”

Stone looked at him carefully. The face was thin, the nose straight. He was the right age, and there was a resemblance to the Paul Manning he had known, but the nose seemed to change everything. “Yes, I was, but we met some time ago, in St. Marks.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I put into St. Marks a few years ago on a sailing charter, but I don’t recall meeting you there.”

“I’m sure you remember your wife,” Stone said.

The brunette looked up sharply at the man.

“My wife died last year,” he said.

“Oh, longer ago than that,” Stone said.

“I think I would remember when my wife died,” the man said quietly.

The brunette spoke up. “You didn’t tell me, Paul. I’m sorry.”

“I hadn’t had time, yet, but thank you,” he said to her. He offered his hand to Stone. “I’m Paul Bartlett, and this lovely lady is Charmaine Tallman,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

Stone nodded at the woman and shook the man’s hand. “Stone Barrington.”

“Do you live in Palm Beach, Stone?”

“No. How about you?”

“I arrived a couple of weeks ago.”

“How long do you plan to stay?” Stone asked.

“Actually, I’m house-hunting. I sold my business late last year, and I suppose I’m taking early retirement.”

“What sort of business?”

“Graphic design.”

“Where?”

“Minneapolis. I thought I’d try somewhere with a warmer winter. Florida seemed attractive. Where are you from, Stone?”

“New York,” Stone replied. The man displayed not a hint of nerves. Could he be mistaken?

“Did you think I was another Paul?”

“Does the name Paul Manning ring a bell?”

“Writer? I read some of his stuff a few years ago, but not recently”

“How did you come to be at the Shames party?” Callie asked.

“I came with the Wilkeses,” he said. “We just stopped by for a drink on the way to another dinner.”

“How do you know the Wilkeses?”

“From Minneapolis. I used to do a lot of his company’s design work- product packaging, mostly.”

Callie nodded.

“Does the name Allison ring a bell?” Stone asked.

“I had a secretary named Allison, once.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stone saw Detective Riley moving slowly past them. He stopped a few feet behind Paul Bartlett.

“I can’t get past the feeling that you think I’m someone else.”

“I can’t get past that, myself,” Stone replied. “What was the name of your firm?”

“Bartlett and Bishop,” he replied. “We were bought out by a New York-based firm. May I offer you a drink?”

“Thanks, but we have to be going,” Stone said. “Perhaps I’ll see you again. Where are you staying?”

“At the Chesterfield,” Bartlett replied. “Call me anytime.”

“Thanks. Ready, Callie?”

“Sure.”

Stone gave the couple a small wave and guided Callie out of the bar.

On the sidewalk, as they waited for their car to be brought around, the policeman approached them. “Mr. Barrington? I’m Dave Riley.”

Stone shook his hand. “Of course. Chief Griggs said you’d be here.”

“Was that your man?”

“I’m not sure,” Stone said. “He’s the right size and age, but I haven’t seen him for a few years, and I’m told he’s had his nose altered. Did you hear any of our conversation?”

“I got his name and his story about the business.”

“Can you check that out? Maybe get a photograph of Paul Bartlett?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Riley said.

The car arrived. Stone thanked the detective and he and Callie got in and drove away.

“What he said about the Wilkeses rings true,” she said. “He was standing near them when I saw him, and Mr. Wilkes does have a lot of business interests in the midwest.”

“At first I was sure it was Manning,” Stone said. “But now… well, let’s see what the police turn up.”

“Why are the police involved?”

Stone took a deep breath. “I’ve already told you about Allison; Manning was her husband.” He told her the story.

“And you think Manning is in Palm Beach? What evidence do you have of that?”

“Nothing concrete,” Stone said. “Just a hunch, brought on by the trashing of Liz’s study at her house.”

“Bizarre,” Callie said.

“Indeed.”

They pulled into the driveway of the Shames house, got out and walked toward the yacht.

“So,” Callie said, “what about this threesome?”

“Well, there are problems about that,” Stone said, trying to think of some.