“What?”
“Whoever got in rearranged my bedroom and dressing room. Helene is over there now, trying to straighten everything out. It’s a mess.”
“I’ve got a circuit board in the van,” Cantor said. “I’ll do it as soon as we leave here. You got any idea who’s behind these two break-ins?”
“My best guess is Harlan Deal.”
“The guy we met at the inn? Why would he do that?”
“It’s about a woman.”
“Carla?”
“Yes.”
“I know her.”
“I didn’t know you were a music buff.”
“It’s not that. I installed a security system in her grandfather’s house last year and met her there a couple of times.”
“Her grandfather’s house?”
“You remember, you sent me out there.”
Stone was feeling nauseated again and asked the waiter for a beer. “Bob, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You recommended me to her grandfather.”
Stone raised his beer. “Hair of the dog,” he said, then drank deeply. “Who is her grandfather?”
“Eduardo.”
“Eduardo who?”
“Your friend, Eduardo Bianchi.”
“What?”
“Yeah, you sent me to him.”
“Not that, the part about grandfather.”
“Well, she’s his granddaughter. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“That’s impossible; she’s Swedish.”
“Half,” Cantor said. “Her father was Eduardo’s son.”
“He has a son?”
“Had. He caught a number of bullets when Carla was about to start music school at Juilliard. She stopped using her last name after that.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“My old man knew the family, and so did I. Eduardo’s son, Alberto – Carla’s father – was a couple of years ahead of me in school. I knew him to speak to, that’s all. My old man didn’t want me making friends with mafiosi.”
“Who was her mother?”