“It’s in the car,” Shames said, nodding at a stretched black Mercedes that was making a U-turn, following them.

Stone held the shop door open for Shames, then pointed the way upstairs. They emerged onto the second floor and went into the shirt and tie room.

“Gosh!” Shames said. “I’ve never seen so many colors. You pick out something for me.”

“What size?”

“Sixteen. The sleeves usually aren’t long enough for me.”

“These will be pretty long,” Stone said. A salesman showed them the sixteens. Stone riffled through them and picked out a blue-and-white narrow-striped shirt. “How about this?”

“Fine.”

Stone picked out a tie and a complementary silk pocket square and handed them to a saleslady. “Send these down to the shoe shop, please.” He led the way back downstairs to the shoe shop.

“This is a really nice place,” Shames said, looking around.

“You’d never heard of it?”

“No, and it’s right across the street from the hotel, too.”

A salesman approached, and Stone helped the man choose some dignified oxfords and some socks.

Shames handed the man a credit card.

“There’s a dressing room,” Stone said, pointing. “Why don’t you put those things on?” He waited, and when Shames returned, he had made a mess of tying the tie. Stone retied it for him and stuffed the silk handkerchief into his breast pocket. “You could pass for a captain of industry,” Stone said. “That’s a really nice suit.”

“I had it made in London. This is the only time I’ve worn it.” Shames signed the credit card chit and checked himself out in a mirror. “Something doesn’t look quite right,” he said. “What is it?”

“There’s a barbershop at the Waldorf,” Stone replied, glancing at his watch. “Make the crowd wait for you.”

“Okay, I guess I could use a trim.”

They stepped back into the street, where the Mercedes was waiting. “Ride down to the Waldorf with me,” Shames said. “You can drop me, and the car will take you to your place to pack and then to the airport.”

“Sorry?” Stone said, getting into the car. He wasn’t sure he had understood.

“To Teterboro. My airplane is out there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, you’ll have to go to Palm Beach.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where she is. Didn’t I mention that?”

“I don’t believe you did,” Stone said. “Why do you think she’s in Palm Beach?”

“I ran into a guy I know at dinner last night who was at the party in the Hamptons. He recognized her at LaGuardia yesterday. She was boarding a flight for Palm Beach.”

“You think she lives in Palm Beach?”

“I’ve no idea.”

They drove down Park Avenue, then the driver made a U-turn and stopped in front of the Waldorf.

“Oh,” Shames said, reaching into an inside pocket and extracting an envelope. “Here’s some expense money.”

Stone took the envelope. “Thanks.”

“You can stay at my place down there,” Shames said, handing him a card. “Not in the house; the house is being renovated, and it’s a complete mess.”

“Guest house?” Stone asked.

“No, my boat is moored out back. You can stay aboard. There’s some crew aboard, I think. They’ll get you settled. Anything else I can tell you?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Stone said. “If you think of something, please call me.”

“Okay. You can reach me through my office. The number’s on the other side of the card. I’ll be down to Palm Beach in a few days. See you then.” He offered Stone his hand, grabbed a ratty-looking overcoat from the front seat, got out of the car and walked into the Waldorf.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.

Stone gave him the address. “I have to pack some clothes, then I guess we’re going to Teterboro. Jesus, I didn’t ask him where in Teterboro.”

“Atlantic Aviation,” the driver replied.

“Thanks,” Stone said. He wished he’d had time to find Shames an overcoat. His had been awful.

He sat back in the seat and thought about his first move when he got to Palm Beach. All he could think of at the moment was to stop every thirty-ish brunette he saw and ask if her name was Liz and if she had had dinner in the Hamptons last weekend with an extremely tall geek. Stone sighed.

When he got home, Stone ran upstairs and started packing. He’d never been to Palm Beach before, but he assumed it would be warm, so he took tropical-weight suits and jackets. He thought about a dinner jacket and threw it in, just in case. He changed into a lightweight suit, took his bags back downstairs, opened the door and waved the driver to come and get them, then he went downstairs to his office. His secretary, Joan Robertson, was working at her desk.

“Oh, good, you made it in,” he said.

“My husband drove me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have. Why are you wearing that suit? You’ll freeze.”

“I’m off to Palm Beach.”

Joan rolled her eyes. “Just back from LA a couple of weeks ago, and now off to Florida. Why don’t I ever get to go where it’s warm?”

“Someday,” he said. He looked into the envelope Thad Shames had given him; a thick stack of hundreds, at least ten thousand dollars. He counted off two thousand, stuck them in a pocket and tossed Joan the rest. “Put this in the safe for hard times.” He jotted down the address and phone number from Shames’s card and handed it to her. “This is where I’ll be.”

“How long?”

“Who knows? No more than a few days, I hope.”

“Have fun. Oh, I almost forgot.” She handed him a slip of paper. "A Mrs.Winston Harding the Third called this morning, wants to talk to you?“

Stone looked at the paper. “Who is she?”

“I’ve no idea. She sounds terribly upper class, though. She said she needed to talk to you about an important legal matter, and that you came highly recommended.”

“Did she say by whom?”

“Nope, but she sounds like money to me. I wouldn’t waste any time getting back to her.”

Stone stuffed the paper into a pocket. “I’ll call her from Palm Beach.” He ran for the car.

At Teterboro, the car drove him up to the airstair door of a Gulf-stream V, and the driver carried his bags on and stowed them.

“Mr. Barrington?” a uniformed crewman asked.

“That’s me.”

“We’re ready to taxi. Please find a seat and buckle up.”

Stone chose from a dozen comfortable chairs and fastened his seat belt. As the airplane started to move, the young woman he’d seen in Shames’s Four Seasons suite came out of a compartment and sat down near him.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Callie Hodges.”

“I’m Stone Barrington.” They shook hands.

“I heard you were coming to Palm Beach with us,” she said.

Stone looked around the airplane. “Who’s ‘us’?”

“The pilots and me. We’re all that’s aboard today.”

“What do you do for Thad?” Stone asked.

“I’m his chef and party planner. I pretty much go where he goes. I’ll fix you some lunch after the seat belt sign goes off.”

“Thanks, I haven’t eaten.”

The big corporate jet taxied to runway 24, paused for a minute, then rolled onto the runway and started moving faster. Shortly, they were climbing into a thick overcast, and in less than five minutes they broke out into sunshine and clear skies.

Callie unbuckled her seat belt. “Would you like something to drink before lunch?”

“A glass of wine with lunch will be fine.”

“Be right back.” She disappeared into the galley.

Stone picked up a New York Times and leafed through it. On the front page of the business section there was an article about Shames’s coming press conference, with speculation about the announcement.

Callie returned with a tray bearing a large lobster salad and a glass of white wine, then she went and got a tray for herself. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”

“Please do. How long have you worked for Thad?”