Free Hot Mahogany by Stuart Woods Page B

often talks that way when we’re together.”
    “Barton,” Stone said, “is Ab Kramer the only one of your former men that you see in the ordinary course of things?”
    “Yes, he is, I suppose, and I ran into him only because he bought a place here and asked me to advise him on some of the pieces he was collecting. He has a fine collection of American furniture, perhaps one of the dozen best in a private home.”
    “A home he doesn’t want Holly and me to see,” Stone said.
    “I wonder why,” Holly said.
    “Maybe he has a new piece of furniture in his collection, one that he doesn’t want us to see,” Stone replied.
    “So,” Barton said, “you think Ab Kramer might be behind the theft of the secretary?”
    “It’s cheaper than buying it at auction, isn’t it?”
    “Ab is a very wealthy man; I’m sure he could write a check for the piece if it came on the market.”
    “Yes, if it came on the market. On the other hand, if he thought that you were never going to sell it… Well, it’s one of only two in private hands, isn’t it? And the other is on the West Coast?”
    “You have a point,” Barton said. “Certainly, Ab is accustomed to getting what he wants, one way or another.”
    “Are you aware of any circumstances in which he acquired some possession by means other than strictly legal?” Stone asked.
    “Well, not for the last twenty-odd years,” Barton replied, “but, of course, I haven’t seen all that much of him since Vietnam.”
    “Exactly how much have you seen him?”
    “I was invited to dinner once, along with a large table full of people. I went to the house on another occasion to see a piece he’d bought; I think he wanted to know if he’d paid too much for it. He had. That’s about the extent of our recent acquaintance.”
    “How did he know you had the secretary?”
    Barton looked a little sheepish. “I think I may have mentioned it when I bought it. I was very excited about it, and it was difficult to keep it to myself.”
    “Who else did you tell, Barton?”
    “No one. No one at all.”
    “That’s very interesting,” Stone said. “I wonder how we could get a look inside that house.”

18

    Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful, with the nip of autumn in the air, and Stone and Holly slept in each other’s arms.
    Holly stirred. “Why don’t you stay for the weekend?” she asked. “There’s nothing for you to do in the city, is there?”
    “Except find Barton’s secretary,” Stone muttered.
    “You might be more likely to find it here,” she said.
    Stone opened an eye. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
    “Well, one of the things about attending classes at the Farm is that they turn you into a pretty good cat burglar.” The Farm was the CIA’s training facility.
    “Yeah, but they yanked you out after only a few weeks and put you to work.”
    “That’s true, but I’ve been going back a couple of days a week to complete my training. Lance says it will look better on my record when promotion time comes.”
    “So what have they taught you at the Farm?”
    “Oh, lock picking, safecracking, the foiling of alarm systems, silent killing — all sorts of good stuff. Oh, and I can kill you with my thumb.”
    “Please don’t. Have you killed anybody?”
    “Not yet, but you don’t want to cross me.”
    Stone kissed her. “What can I do to keep you sweet?”
    “You know what,” she breathed in his ear.
    He knew, and he did it.

    After a long lunch at the Mayflower Inn, they called Barton and went back to his house. He took them into the study.
    “We want to get into Abner Kramer’s house,” Holly said.
    “Correction,” Stone said. “ She wants to get into Kramer’s house.”
    “I think that’s a terrible idea,” Barton said.
    “How else are we going to know if he has your secretary?” Holly asked.
    “I don’t think Ab has it,” Barton replied.
    “Have you got a better candidate?” Stone asked. “You’ve said