“I have a Mercedes, I think.” Barton said.
Stone got them to the other side of town and onto the West Side Highway. Soon they were on the Sawmill River Parkway.
“This is the way I go,” Barton said. “I like driving on this road.”
“So do I.”
“Do you get to Connecticut often?”
“Not as often as I’d like. I have a cottage in Washington, not far from your house.”
“Ah yes, lovely village.”
“I think so. I thought Lake Waramaug was in Washington Township. Why is your address in Warren?” Stone wanted to see if Barton had an answer to that.
“The sout
h shore is in Washington; the northwest shore is in Kent; and North Shore Drive is in Warren.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a lovely lake, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I think I’ve lived there for some time. I think I built the house or at least renovated it,” Barton said. “There’s a barn, too. I work there.”
“At what?”
“At a desk.”
They drove in silence for a while, until they got off the four-lane highway at New Milford. Stone put his left-turn signal on as they approached a stop sign.
“It’s faster if you turn right,” Barton said.
“I guess it is, if you’re going to Lake Waramaug,” Stone said, changing lanes. “I was turning for Washington, as usual.”
They passed through New Milford, then New Preston, then the lake came into view.
“Which way?” Stone asked.
“Take the south road and drive around the lake,” Barton said. “I like the drive.”
“All right.”
Barton made a vague motion with his hand. “There’s a cave up there somewhere where people lived for twenty thousand years,” he said. “At least that’s what I read in a book.”
They drove around the lake to the north side, and Stone watched for numbers.
“The second driveway on your right,” Barton said.
Stone made the turn and discovered that Barton’s house was on a peninsula, jutting into the lake.
“This is the second-largest natural lake in Connecticut,” Barton said.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”