“Mr. Barrington, this is Seth Hardaway. I noticed you were missing a few shingles after that storm last week, so I replaced them and a section of gutter. I’ll fax the bill to New York.”
Next message: “Stone, it’s Joan. I don’t know if you’re there, but your cell is off. Call me; Herbie Fisher has surfaced.”
Stone erased the messages and called home.
“The Barrington Practice.”
“Good guess,” Stone said.
“Well, it is your only other home, not counting Maine.”
“Only because I’m not rich enough yet. When the Finger divorce is over, maybe I’ll think about something in Santa Fe.”
“Dream on.”
“Did Bernice sign the document?”
“She did, and so did her soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“Thank God,” Stone sighed. “That’s a load off my mind.”
“When do we get a load into your bank account?”
“What’s the matter, isn’t the hundred-grand retainer enough to satisfy you?”
“After taxes, you’ve got eight grand and change left.”
“Where’s the rest?”
“You want me to read you the list of bills I paid, starting with the insurance premiums on both houses, the car and the airplane?”
“No thanks. You said Herbie has surfaced?”
“He’s sitting in your office.”
“Well, get him out of there, before he sets it on fire!”
“Talk to him first.”
“Put him on.”
There was a short silence, then: “Stone? Is it really you?” He sounded like a little boy just home from summer camp.
“Where have you been, Herbie?”
“In an attic downtown somewhere.”
“Tell me.”
“Those two guys grabbed me on the street, near my house.”
“What were you doing near your house? I told you to stay away from there.”
“All I wanted was some clean underwear.”
“Was it worth it?”
“I never got it. In fact, I’ve been wearing the same underwear for four days.”