“There’s something you should know that might affect you. I’ll tell you about it when we’re alone.”
“Sounds mysterious. I’ll see you then,” Stone replied, and hung up.
Stone, who was, by habit, compulsively on time, forced himself not to leave his house until seven-thirty, so that he could be fashionably late. He hailed a taxi on Third Avenue, and what with traffic, he got out of the cab and crossed Park Avenue, then presented himself at the downstairs desk at seven forty-five, entering the building just ahead of a handsome couple who had gotten out of a cab. As it turned out, they were also expected at Adele’s.
Stone gave his name to the doorman, who called upstairs, then turned and introduced himself to the couple.
“We’re Ben and Ann Wharton,” the man said, and they all shook hands.
The man in charge of the desk hung up the telephone, then dialed the number again. “I’m not getting a reply from Mrs. Lansdown,” he said. “You say she was expecting you?”
“Yes,” Stone replied, and the Whartons said so, as well.
The man hung up the phone again, and it rang immediately. “There she is,” he said, picking up the phone. “Front desk.” His face drained of color. “Right away,” he said. He hung up and dialed four digits. “Emergency at seventy-one East Seventy-first Street,” he said. “We need an ambulance and the police immediately. A woman is dead and another injured. Please hurry.” He answered a couple of questions and then hung up and faced Stone and the Whartons.
“What’s wrong?” Stone asked.
“Mrs. Lansdown’s cook called down and said . . .”
“Come on, man,” Stone said, “spit it out.”
“. . . said that Mrs. Lansdown has been killed.”
Stone took out his phone and speed-dialed Dino’s cell number.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone. I’m at seven-forty Park, and a woman named Adele Lansdown is dead. The doorman at the building called it in. I think you ought to come, too.”
“Be right there,” Dino said, and hung up.
The Whartons were staring at him.
“I’m a retired police officer,” Stone said. “I called the lieutenant in charge of the precinct detective squad and asked him to come.”
“What should we do?” Ben asked.
“We should all stay right here and wait for the police to arrive.”
“This is terrible,” Ann Wharton said. “Can’t we just go back to our hotel?”
“No, you must stay and give the police a statement,” Stone said.
“Do you mean we’re suspects?”
“No, certainly not. I saw you get out of a taxi as I was crossing Park Avenue, and we entered the building at the same time, so we can vouch for each other.”
A tall, willowy young woman walked into the building and up to the desk. “Mrs. Lansdown, please,” she said to the doorman. “My name is Mia Meadow.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Meadow,” the man said, “you’ll have to wait here with these people.”
Stone introduced himself and the Whartons to the woman. “I’m afraid something is wrong upstairs. We’re waiting for the police.”
“Wrong?” she asked.
Stone was about to explain when a tall, handsome young man arrived and kissed the woman on the cheek. He looked like a young Jack Gunn, so Stone assumed he was the son. “David Gunn?”
“Yes?”