Dino was soon rapt, and Stone dozed on a nearby chaise, protecting his fair skin from the sun under an awning.

Stone woke up with Callie shaking him. “Huh?” he said, sleepily.

“We’re back,” Callie said.

Stone sat up. “Anything happen?”

“We saw him.”

“You did?”

“Coming out of Verdura, the jewelry store.”

Liz came up the gangplank.

“Liz, you saw him?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“I don’t know if it’s Paul.”

“But you said you recognized him in Easthampton by the way he walked and his body language.”

“It was different this time,” she said. “Anyway, I only saw him for a minute.”

“Liz,” Callie said, “you had a very good look at him. I was there; I saw him, too.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Liz said crossly, “but I just can’t swear that he’s Paul. He may be and he may not be.”

Stone’s cell phone vibrated, and he opened it. “Hello?”

“It’s Dan Griggs. The two ladies got a real good look at the guy. What does Mrs. Harding say?”

“Inconclusive,” Stone said, walking away from the group.

“How could it be inconclusive? She got a good look at him, and she used to be married to the guy.”

“All I can tell you is what she told me,” Stone said. “She seems pretty annoyed about our pressing her on it.”

“I don’t get it,” Griggs said.

“Frankly, neither do I. I thought that if we just put Bartlett in front of her, she’d make him, and that would be that.”

“You think she’s not playing this straight?”

“I honestly don’t know, Dan. She’s protected him in the past, after all.”

“But she’s supposed to be scared of the guy. You’d think she’d want to be rid of him and would help us do it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dan.”

“Well, if Mrs. Harding can’t identify the guy, and if Lundquist can’t come up with enough evidence for a murder warrant, I’m not going to be able to keep men on this. We have other problems to deal with, you know.”

“I know you do, Dan, and I don’t blame you. Has Lundquist not heard from his office?”

“He’s called them twice, but the lab is still working on the car.”

“Okay. Ask him to call me when he gets word. If he’s going to arrest Bartlett, I’d like to be there when he does it.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Stone ended the call and stood there thinking for a moment. He was getting tired of this, too. He punched 411 into the phone, asked for the number of the Colony Hotel and waited while the operator connected him.

“The Colony, good afternoon,” a woman’s voice said.

“Paul Bartlett, please.”

She connected him, and the phone rang and rang. Finally she came back on the line. “There’s no answer. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Yes, please. Ask him to…”

“One moment, I’ll connect you with the front desk.” She did so.

“Reception,” a man’s voice said.

“I’d like to leave a message for Paul Bartlett,” Stone said. He’d just arrange to meet the man and put Liz’s proposition to him.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Bartlett checked out just a few minutes ago, and I’m afraid he didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

Stone punched the end button. “Shit,” he said aloud.

Stone couldn’t believe it. He and Dino got dressed and into a car and drove to the Colony Hotel; he wanted to question the desk man. As they pulled into the parking lot, he spotted Detective Riley and Lieutenant Lundquist sitting in an idling car thirty yards away. Stone walked over and rapped on the window, startling them both.

“What are you doing here, Stone?” Lundquist asked. “You’re going to spook the guy.”

“What guy?” Stone asked.

“Bartlett.”

“Bartlett has decamped.”

“What?”

“Come with me.” Stone started for the hotel lobby.

Lundquist caught up and fell into step with Stone. “What do you mean, 'decamped'?“

“I mean, Bartlett has checked out of the hotel, and he didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I telephoned him half an hour ago, and that’s what the desk clerk told me. I want to find out if it’s true, or if Bartlett simply bought the desk man, and I want you to flash your badge at him so he’ll talk to me.”

The desk clerk stared blankly at the badge. “You’re a police officer? Where? Your badge doesn’t look familiar.”

“He’s from Minneapolis,” Stone said. “I can have a Palm Beach badge here in thirty seconds, if that will refresh your memory.”

“My memory about what?”

“First of all, has Paul Bartlett really checked out?”

“Yes, I saw him go.”

“What forwarding address did he give?”

“I’ll show you his registration card,” the clerk said, riffling through a stack of them. “Here.” He held it up. The space for a forwarding address was blank.

“Did you check him out of the hotel?”

“In a manner of speaking. He didn’t even wait for his bill, said he had to catch a plane and I should mail it to him.”

“To where?”

“To the address on the card.”

Lundquist checked the card. “It’s his Minneapolis address. The guy’s gone home.”

“How much luggage did he have?” Stone asked.

“A lot; three or four bags.”

“And where did the bellman load his car?”

“Down on the street,” the clerk said, pointing at the side door.

“That’s why he got past you,” Stone said to Lundquist. “I’d like to see his room, please.”

The man pressed a few buttons on a machine, and a plastic card was spat out. “It’s suite four-oh-four. Help yourself,” he said.

Stone led the way to the elevator and pressed four. A moment later they were standing outside the suite, and Stone got the door open.

“Easy there,” Lundquist said, pushing past Stone. “I’d better go first.”

“It’s not a crime scene,” Stone said, following him. “Unless there’s a corpse stashed under the bed.”

Lundquist looked under the bed. “Nothing.”

“No kidding?” Stone looked around. The room had already been cleaned that morning, and the bed had not been used since. He went around the room, looking in closets and opening drawers.

“What are you looking for?” Lundquist asked.

“I don’t know,” Stone replied.

“Whatever he can find,” Dino said.

Lundquist started opening drawers, too.

Stone went back into the sitting room and looked around. The place was neat as a pin, the wastebaskets were empty, and there was not so much as a trace of Paul Bartlett, or whoever he was.

“What now?” Lundquist asked.

“The airport,” Stone replied. “He told the clerk he had to catch a plane.”

The three men left the hotel, and Lundquist got into the rear seat of Stone’s convertible.

“I should be wearing sunscreen,” Lundquist said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, that pale Scandinavian skin will fry every time,” Dino said, half to himself, chuckling. “World’s whitest white men.”

“That’s what you call me,” Stone said.

“You, too.”

At the airport, they went to the nearest ticket counter, and Lundquist flashed his badge and asked about flights to Minneapolis.

“None of the airlines flies directly to Minneapolis from Palm Beach,” the woman behind the counter said. “You’d have to change, probably in Atlanta.”

“Will you check reservations for a Paul Bartlett?” Lundquist asked.

The woman turned to her computer terminal, tapped a few keys and looked at the screen. “I’ll do a search for the name,” she said, tapping more keys. “Nope, nobody by that name.”

“Try Paul Manning,” Stone said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

She tapped the keys again. “Nope, no Manning.”

“Do you recall, in the past hour or so, a tall man, six-three or -four, mid-to-late forties, dark hair going gray, fairly good-looking?”

“No, and I think I’d have noticed,” the woman said, smiling.