“Maybe here.”
“I don’t think I could swing the inn, even with a mortgage.”
“A house, silly, and not a big house; a cottage, perhaps.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “Why don’t we find a real-estate agent tomorrow morning?”
“Do you mean it, Stone?”
“Do you think I’m saying this just because you got me into bed?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re a rotten judge of character.”
“We’ll see in the morning,” she said, snuggling her naked body against his.
Stone fell asleep wondering where Herbert Mitteldorfer was.
22
S TONE SAT IN THE FRONT PASSENGER SEAT of a black Range Rover and tried not to fall asleep. The car was being driven by a real-estate agent named Carolyn Klemm, and she had already shown them half a dozen houses, all charming, but not quite right. Sarah dozed in the rear seat. The car stopped, jarring Stone fully awake.
“What do you think of that?” the agent asked.
Stone focused on a very lar
ge, very beautiful shingle-style house in the medium distance.
“I’ve got the key in my pocket,” Carolyn said.
“Carolyn, I don’t want a house tour,” Stone grumbled. “I want to see houses I can afford.”
“Not that,” Carolyn said. She pointed. “That.”
Stone turned his head to the right. There, much closer, was a very much smaller relative of the large house.
“The big place is called The Rocks,” Carolyn said.“The little place was originally the gatehouse.”
Sarah spoke up. “Let’s see it.”
Carolyn pulled into the driveway, past a row of evergreens that partly shielded the little house from the road. It was a Victorian, or perhaps a Queen Anne, style, shingled, with a turret taking up half the front facade. “Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, garage, and in back, a very nice little pool.” She got out of the car, led them up the front path, and opened the front door.
Stone and Sarah stepped into a larger room than he had expected. A new-looking kitchen occupied a rear corner, and the wooden floors looked recently refinished.
“It was built in 1889, at the same time as the house,” Carolyn was saying. “When the original owner left, he sold it separately from The Rocks, and it’s changed hands two or three times since.”
“Let’s see the upstairs,” Sarah said.
They followed the agent up a handsome staircase and were shown a large master bedroom with a new bath and a second, smaller bedroom, with only a shower. They poked into closets and looked out windows. The bedrooms overlooked The Rocks, and the front windows took in the Gunnery School, across the street. They went back downstairs.
“This whole area is called The Green,” Carolyn was saying. “It’s the oldest part of town and the most sought-after.”
“What are they asking for the house?” Stone asked.
“You could get lucky here,” Carolyn replied. “The couple who own it are divorcing, and they’re highly motivated sellers. They want to get their money out and divide it.” She named a figure.
Stone looked at Sarah inquiringly; she responded with an almost imperceptible nod. Stone turned to Carolyn and quoted a figure twenty percent lower than the asking price.