Chapter
46
Stone strode across the lawn toward the Shipwright’s Arms, thinking hard about Arrington. He thought of writing to her, maybe even calling her; then he remembered that she was at Vance Calder’s Palm Springs house. He didn’t have any of Calder’s addresses or numbers, so there was no way to get in touch with her until she got in touch with him.
He was almost to the bar when he stopped in his tracks. A man in a seersucker suit was sitting at the bar, drinking something and talking to Thomas. He was big, over six feet, and better than two hundred fifty pounds; that was obvious even when he was seated. Stone had seen only one photograph of Paul Manning, but the man seemed to look very like him, except for the absence of a beard, and he had no idea what Manning would look like without the beard. Stone suddenly had the strange feeling that the whole business was some sort of dreadful error, that Paul Manning had simply fallen overboard near the Canaries and had swum ashore, and now he had shown up in St. Marks to save Allison’s life. He approached the bar with some trepidation and sat down. “Thomas, could I have a beer?”
Thomas set a Heineken on the bar, and the big man turned and looked at him. “You must be Stone Barrington,” he said.
“That’s right,” Stone replied.
The man stuck out a hand. “I’m Frank Stendahl.”
Stone shook the hand. “How do you do?”
“Very well, thanks. Been seeing a lot about you on television the past week.”
“I expect so. Where have you come from, Mr. Stendahl?”
“I’m a New Englander,” he said. “The Boston area.”
“And what brings you to St. Marks?”
“Vacation,” the man said. “I seem to be about the only tourist around here.”
“Well, first there was the blizzard in the Northeast, then we were pretty choked up with press, and then, I guess, the bad press made St. Marks an unpopular destination.”
“Funny, the publicity somehow made it more attractive to me. I understand you’ve got a trial starting soon.”
“That’s right.”
“I wonder if I could attend? Could you arrange it for me?”
“I’m afraid not; I’m out of my own bailiwick here, you see.”
Thomas chimed in. “It’s open to the public,” he said. “I expect if you were there an hour before the trial you’d get a seat.”
“Thanks, Thomas,” Stendahl said. “Well, Stone—if I may call you that—what’s your trial strategy going to be?”
“I don’t think I can discuss that,” Stone replied, sipping his beer.
“Of course not; that was silly of me. The lady seems to be innocent, though; you going to get her off?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Well, how will…”
Stone cut him off. “I said, I can’t discuss it.”
Stendahl held his hands up before him. “Hey, my fault; didn’t mean to dig.”
“That’s all right.”
“Well, now that I’ve cooled off, I think I’ll get up to my room and change into something more tropical,” Stendahl said. The man got down off his stool and lumbered toward the stairs.
“What’s his story?” Stone asked Thomas.
Thomas shrugged. “He used a credit card with the right name on it, but…”