Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

Somes came into the study, where everyone had gathered. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve prepared soup and sandwiches for everyone, and the table is set in the kitchen.”

Stone saw the others to the table, then, unable to eat anything, went upstairs. He lay on the bed for an hour, trying to empty his mind of everything, which turned out to be impossible. Finally, he took a deep breath, got up, and went downstairs.

Everyone had gathered, and Arrington’s pilots had come to drive them to the airport.

“I’m staying,” Dino said. “I’ll deal with the local law for you.”

His son came over. “I’d like to stay, too, Dad.”

“Ben, I think it’s best if you get back to school,” Dino said. “If there’s a service later, you can come back for that.”

“Thanks, Dino,” Stone said.

When he saw his guests out, Kelli Keane was still on the porch, shivering. “My car is in a ditch,” she said.

“We saw it on the way in,” one of the pilots said. “We’ll get it out for you.”

Everyone made their good-byes and got into the van. They had just driven away when another car pulled up to the house, and a priest got out and introduced himself.

“I’m Dr. Alfred Means,” he said, offering Stone his hand.

Stone took him into the house, allowed him to offer a prayer, then they made tentative arrangements for Arrington’s burial in the family plot, after the release of her body by the medical examiner.

The priest gave Stone the name of the local funeral parlor.

“I’ll deal with them,” Dino said.

“Thank you, Dino,” Stone replied. “Peter and I are grateful to you.”

That evening they gathered in the kitchen for dinner, and everyone seemed to have recovered a bit. Even Stone was able to eat and have a glass of wine.

“I guess we have some things to do this week,” Peter said.

“Yes, we do,” Stone replied. “Eventually, we’ll need to decide about what to do about the house.”

Peter nodded. “I guess we do.”

Kelli Keane returned to the inn, wrote a story, attached some photos to the file, and e-mailed it to the Post ’s weekend editor. She had decided to approach Vanity Fair with the story, but she wanted to get back to New York first. She and David got an evening flight back to the city.

Stone called Joan and explained things to her. “We’ll have some sort of service later this week,” he said to her, “so just wipe my calendar clean until at least the week after. You can reach me on my cell here.”

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “Nothing will happen here that I can’t handle.”

“Call me every day,” Stone said. “I’ll want to hear your voice.”

Stone fell into bed, exhausted, and sleep came more quickly than he would have imagined possible.

53

O n Thursday afternoon a funeral service was held for Arrington at her family church. Nearly all those who had been at the housewarming turned up, suitably dressed and bereaved, and Ben arrived from school. Peter read the text, the priest did his ecclesiastical duty, and Stone spoke of her love of her son, her husband, and of Virginia. The pallbearers, including Stone, Peter, Dino, and Ben, carried the mahogany coffin out the side door of the building, into the churchyard, where a grave site had been prepared in the Carter family lot. Arrington’s remains were interred next to those of her parents. The attendees offered their condolences to her family and everyone went home. Stone handed the priest an envelope containing two checks: an honorarium for himself and a generous donation to the general fund of the church, then he drove everybody back to the house. It had begun to rain.

They ran up the front steps as the rain became a torrent. “I think we’ll wait until tomorrow morning to return to New York,” Stone said to them. “This weather will have moved through by then. Hattie, you can phone your folks and tell them you’ll be home around midday tomorrow. They won’t have to meet you; we’ll drop you at your home.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barrington.”

“Hattie, I think we’re good enough friends for you to call me Stone.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.