7
Stone drove to Fleming Street, to the offices of Spottswood, Spottswood & Spottswood and climbed the steep stairs.
Jack Spottswood greeted him in his office with a handshake and a smile.
Stone settled into a chair and took a few deep breaths.
“Would you like a glass of water?” Jack asked.
“Thanks, I’m fine.”
“There’s an elevator, you know.”
“I must have missed that. I’ll tell you a law firm joke,” he said.
“Shoot,” Jack replied.
“A man calls a law office, and a man answers, ‘Spottswood, Spottswood & Spottswood.’
“The caller says, ‘May I speak to Mr. Spottswood, please?’
“‘I’m sorry, Mr. Spottswood died some years ago.’
“‘Then may I speak to Mr. Spottswood?’
“‘I’m afraid Mr. Spottswood is on vacation this week.’
“‘All right,’ the man says, exasperated, ‘may I speak to Mr. Spottswood?’
“‘Speaking,’ the lawyer replies.”
Jack laughed. “Never heard that one.” He reached for a stack of documents and plopped them down in front of Stone. “There’s a condition report and an appraisal there,” he said. “You’ll be delighted to know that it appraised for half a million dollars more than you’re paying for it.”
“I’m happy to know that,” Stone replied, starting to sign documents.
“And the owner had any problems mentioned in the inspection repaired at his expense.”
“Arthur must have wanted to sell very badly,” Stone said.
“He said he wasn’t using it enough—he’s owned it for three years and has been down here twice in that time.”
“Arthur’s crazy.”
“Not entirely, Stone,” Jack said. “He made a million dollars on the sale.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I didn’t know you were interested until the paperwork arrived this morning.”
“This morning?”
“About eight-thirty.”
“I hadn’t even made an offer at that time.”
“I guess Arthur figured you’d bite, once you’d spent a couple of days in the house. I think it’s the most beautiful house in Key West, except for mine.”
Stone handed him back the signed documents.
Jack’s secretary leaned through the doorway. “We’ve received Mr. Barrington’s funds,” she said. “Shall I disburse?”
“You may disburse,” Jack said. “Congratulations, Stone, you’ve bought the second most beautiful house in Key West. I hope we’ll see you down here often. Would you like to join the Key West Yacht Club?”
“Yes, thank you,” Stone replied. He had dined there a couple of times.
“I can arrange that for you. Would you like a berth? There’s one going.”
“I don’t have a boat here.”
“My advice is take the berth. Then, should you get the boat bug, you’ll have a place to dock it. There won’t be another one available until somebody dies.”
“I’ll take the dock,” Stone said, rising and shaking Jack’s hand. “Thank you for handling this so smoothly, Jack. I’ll try and send something your way from Woodman & Weld.”
“Always happy to have new business,” Jack replied.
Stone took the elevator down. Why risk breaking a hip?
WHEN HE ARRIVED back at the house, Meg and Viv were having coffee in the outdoor living room. “Did you tell Viv?” he asked Meg.
“Tell her what?”
“Where I’ve been.”
“Oh, yes,” Meg said, “he’s been to his lawyer’s office.”
“My God,” Viv said. “Don’t tell me he’s bought this house.”
“He has.”
“That’s funny,” Viv said, “just last night Dino said to me, ‘I love this house, why don’t we buy it?’ I gave him my list of reasons, including that we couldn’t spend enough time here and that we couldn’t afford it, then I said, ‘If you’ll just be patient for a few days, Stone will buy it, and then we can stay here whenever we like.’”
Dino arrived in time to hear that. “Did he buy the house?”
“He did,” his wife replied.
“Can we stay here whenever we like?”
“You can,” Stone replied.
“Can we retire here?”
Viv and Meg laughed.
“Of course you can,” Stone said, joining the laughter.
“How much did you pay for it?”
“A million dollars more than Arthur Steele paid for it, but half a million less than he was asking.”
“This was Arthur’s house?”
“I’m so glad you didn’t know that,” Stone said, “because if you had, I’d have shot you.”
“You don’t sound all that happy about having this wonderful place.”
“I’m overjoyed,” Stone said, deadpan. “This was a conspiracy among Arthur, Joan, and Jack Spottswood.”
“They only did it because they love you,” Viv said.
Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Jack. You’re now a slip-owning member of the Key West Yacht Club. They’ll send you a bill for the initiation fee and the first year’s dues and slip charges.”
“That was very quick.”
“I’m a past commodore and my nephew Billy is the current one. We know people.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
“And I booked you a table for four for dinner tonight. There’s an annual minimum charge for food and drink, and I thought you might like to start whittling it down.”
“You’re a fine attorney, a great proposer, and a lovely concierge,” Stone said. “I thank you for all of that.” They said goodbye and hung up.
“That was Jack Spottswood,” Stone said. “I’m now a member of the Key West Yacht Club, and we’re having dinner there tonight.”
“Great,” Dino said.
“I also own a slip. If I hadn’t taken it I’d have had to wait for somebody to die.”
“But you don’t own a boat,” Dino pointed out.
“It’s only Tuesday,” Viv said. “He’ll be here for a few more days.”
“I’m not buying a boat,” Stone said.
THAT EVENING, Stone, Meg, Dino, and Viv arrived at Stone’s new yacht club. Jack Spottswood greeted them from the bar. “Come outside,” he said to Stone, “and I’ll show you your slip in the marina.”
Stone followed him out the door and across the parking lot, where a row of berths lay, each containing a boat.
“There you go,” Jack said, pointing, “that’s your slip.”
Stone looked at it and saw that a familiar-looking boat was parked in it. “Whose is the Hinckley 43 in my slip?”
“Oh, that belonged to the previous owner of the berth,” Jack said. “He died a couple of months ago, and his widow has put the boat up for sale.”
“It looks quite new,” Stone said.
“He had owned it for only a short time when he died,” Jack explained. “I think the engines have something like fifty hours on them.”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” a woman’s voice said from behind them.
Stone turned to find a handsome woman in her sixties standing there.
“Stone,” Jack said, “this is Betty Koelere, who now owns the Hinckley.”
Stone shook her hand. “How do you do, Betty? I was sorry to hear of your husband’s death.”
“Well, he had twenty-two years on me, and I guess it was his time,” she replied, then handed him a thick brown envelope. “I thought you might like to look this over—it’s the order form for the boat, listing all the equipment installed.”
Stone accepted the envelope. “I’ll have a look at it,” he replied.
“Have a good evening,” Betty said, then turned and walked back into the clubhouse.
“Jack,” Stone said, “is this a setup?”
“You mean, you, Betty, and the boat being in the same place at the same time?”
“Let’s not leave you out of the equation.”
Jack laughed and took Stone’s arm. “Let’s go back to the bar. You can look over the specs later.”
“You know,” Stone said, allowing himself to be led toward where the bourbon was, “I own a Hinckley 43 already, which is at my house in England.”
“I know that,” Jack replied. “I guess that means Betty won’t have to sell you on it.”
“I am not buying a boat,” Stone said.