“You have a point,” Stone admitted.
Joan buzzed him. “Carrie Cox on two.”
“Hang on, Bob.” Stone put him on hold and pressed the button for line two. “Carrie?”
“Hi. I’m at the bank, and they’ve put a hold on the funds in Max’s account. The check will clear tomorrow.”
“That’s good news. Hang on a minute, will you?” Stone went back to Cantor. “Bob, let’s put them on her for another week.”
“It will be done,” Cantor said and then hung up.
Stone went back to line two. “I’ve got some news,” he said. “Good news, I hope.”
“No.”
“Oh, God, what now?”
“Willie Leahy followed us to Atlanta on Friday, and he caught an Atlanta private investigator following us.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Bob Cantor makes the point that ex-husbands hate their ex-wives even more after giving them money, and the P.I. was carrying a loaded gun and a homemade silencer.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means that he planned to shoot us-or at least, you-quietly, so nobody would notice.”
“That doesn’t sound like Max.”
“Who else hates you?” Stone asked.
“Nobody-at least not enough to actually have me murdered.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
“Then it’s Max. I’ve put the Leahys back on you; cooperate with them, will you?”
“Oh, Stone!”
“Do you want to make it to opening night? Someone who hates you might love to prevent your dream from coming true.”
“Oh,” she said. “I see your point. All right, I will welcome Willie and Pete back into my life.”
“Give them a nice gift, a necktie maybe.”
“I’ll give them some new cologne-the one they wear is toxic.”
“Good idea.”
“Gotta run; I’m due at rehearsal. Dinner tonight?”
“Come over here, and I’ll cook you something.”
“Done. Seven?”
“Good.”