“Let me use the upstairs phone,” Carolyn said.
When she had gone Sarah grabbed Stone by the lapels. “If you hadn’t made the offer I would have! It’s absolutely beautiful, and it’s just been renovated.”
“There are still a few things that need doing, but I could do them myself,” Stone said.
“And there’s a lovely little garden out back. Do you know what that means to an Englishwoman?”
“I can imagine. The garden’s all yours.”
Carolyn came back down the stairs. “Did you plan to pay cash or finance it?”
“I can pay cash,” Stone replied.
“Good; here’s the deal. Increase your offer ten percent and agree to close in two weeks, and the place is yours.”
“Done,” Stone said.
“Let’s go to my office and type up an offer,” Carolyn said, marching them out to the Range Rover. “And you’ll have to come to dinner the next time you’re up from the city. I’ll introduce you to a lot of people.”
Two hours later, the sellers had faxed back a signed contract, and Stone left with it in his pocket, having left a large check as deposit.
“Did that really happen so quickly?” Sarah asked.
“It certainly did.”
“Why were you so ready to buy it?”
“Weren’t you?”
“Of course, but…”
“I was way ahead of you. I’d been thinking about a country place for a while, and I spent a weekend up here a couple of years ago with…an acquaintance.”
“And who might that have been?” Sarah asked archly.
“A woman named Amanda Dart.”
“The gossip columnist? The one who was murdered outside the Plaza Hotel?”
“One and the same.”
“Did they ever figure out who killed her?”
“No arrest was ever made.”
“But they know?”
Stone shrugged. “Maybe, but it won’t ever be solved.”
“Why not?”
“Because the people who arranged it don’t make a practice of committing murders that can be solved.”
“Stone, tell me the house you just bought wasn’t Amanda Dart’s.”
“It wasn’t. I’m not even sure exactly where Amanda’s place is. I was only there a couple of times, and it was on some back road or other.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d been to Washington before.”