Dark Harbor (Stone Barrington 12)

Stone turned to find Caleb Stone standing behind him. He had put on some weight but was still recognizably the twenty-year-old Stone had known, with the same broken nose. “Hello, Caleb. I’m Stone Barrington.”

Caleb stood stock-still for a moment and looked him up and down, then, remembering some vestige of manners, walked over and offered his hand. “Hello, Stone,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?” The question was made up of equal parts of amazement and hostility.

“I’m here at Dick’s invitation.”

“You mean, he invited you up here to stay?”

“Yes, he did. Along with some friends.”

“You mean there are other people in the house?”

“Three, here and in the guest house.”

“Christ, we planned to move in here tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to change your plans.”

Caleb ignored this statement. “The boys are home from school to help, and their mother is packing right now.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Stone said.

“Now, you listen to me. I want you and your friends to get out of this house, and I want you on the next ferry.”

Stone walked over to the sofa and chairs by the window. “Caleb, come and sit down for a minute; I need to tell you some things.”

“Jesus, you haven’t been up here in decades, and you’re acting like you own the place.”

Stone sat down and pointed at a chair. “I think you’re going to want to hear this sitting down.”

Caleb sank heavily into a chair facing him. “What have you got to say?”

“The day before yesterday, I received a Federal Express package from Dick, which contained a letter, hiring me as his attorney, and the original of a will he had written and had properly witnessed.”

“What will? I’ve got Dick’s will at home. He made it out eleven years ago, and I’m his executor.”

“I’m afraid the new will supercedes that,” Stone said. “Dick appointed me executor. It’s a simple document: He provided for Seth Hotchkiss and his family, for a few of Barbara’s relatives, and left the rest to a foundation that helps the families of dead CIA officers.”

“Why the hell would he do that? Dick didn’t have anything to do with the CIA. He was a diplomat.”

Stone was surprised that Caleb knew nothing of Dick’s work. “On the contrary, Dick was a career CIA officer, and he had recently been promoted to a high position in the Agency.”

Caleb stared at him, speechless.

“There’s something else,” Stone said. “Dick and Barbara were each other’s beneficiaries, and Esme was to inherit, if they both died. In the event that they all three died, as in an accident, Dick left this house to me for my lifetime and that of my heirs. If I choose to sell it, the proceeds will go to the foundation, and he instructed me to entail the deed so that you can’t buy it.”

“I want to see this will,” Caleb said.

Stone reached into an inside pocket, produced a copy of the will and handed it to Caleb.

Caleb read it. “This will is invalid,” he said, “because one of the witnesses is a named beneficiary. I’m a lawyer, and my specialty is estate planning.”

“Three unnamed witnesses are enough to validate the will in any state in the union,” Stone said. “You can sue, if you like, but I’m sure you’ve already realized that this is a proper and legal will, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“So you plan to take possession of this house?” Caleb demanded.

“I have already done so,” Stone replied. “Would you like to stay to lunch and meet my friends?”

Caleb got up and walked out without a word, the will clutched tightly in his hand.