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Hot Mahogany (Stone Barrington 15)

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“You won’t have to,” Dino said, nodding toward the door. “He just walked in.”

7

Lance pulled up a chair and sat down. He looked uncharacteristi- cally tired and gaunt.

“Congratulations on the extraction of your people,” Stone said.

“Thank you. Where is my brother?”

“At home.”

“At your home?”

“At his home.”

“And where would that be?”

“At 110 North Shore Drive, Warren, Connecticut. I’m sorry, I don’t know the zip code.”

“You left him alone?”

“As far as I could tell, he lives alone; he’s used to it.”

“But how is he?”

“Better. He’s remembered a lot of things.”

“Does he remember what happened to him?”

“Except that.”

“Does he recall what he’s been doing for the past thirty years?”

“We didn’t discuss his history, but from what he did tell me, I think he’s sp

ent a lot of it reproducing and selling antique furniture.”

Lance seemed struck dumb.

“No kidding,” Stone said.

“Reproducing and selling antique furniture,” Lance repeated, tonelessly.

“Apparently, he’s very good at it. He lives in a beautiful house on a lake and has quite an extraordinary workshop, filled with old hand tools. There were no power tools, come to think of it. In fact, he must have done very well; he offered me eight hundred thousand dollars for four of my mother’s paintings. Of course they’re probably worth several times that; I suppose that’s what makes him successful.”

“Are you saying he tried to cheat you?”

“No, I’m just saying he’s good at being an antiques dealer.”

“Does he have a store?”

“If he does, he didn’t mention it, and I didn’t see one.”

“Do you have his phone number?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“When did you leave him?”



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