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S tone sat down in the hallway and began to talk to the sheriff. They were interrupted when the crime-scene team arrived and took their instructions from the sheriff, who then returned to Stone’s side.
“I’m sorry about all this,” he said to Stone, waving his hand at all the people in the hall.
“I’m a retired homicide detective,” Stone replied. “I know what you have to do.” He introduced Dino.
The sheriff listened as Stone related the facts of his morning, carefully and fully. “That’s it,” he said finally, “right up to this moment.”
“I’d like to talk with your son and his friend,” the sheriff said.
“Come with me.” Stone led him into the living room. “Peter, Hattie, this is the sheriff. He needs to ask you some questions.”
“Separately,” the sheriff said.
“Hattie, you come with me,” Stone replied. “Peter, can you answer his questions now?”
“Yes, Dad,” Peter said.
Stone led Hattie into the study, where they sat down on a sofa.
“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Barrington,” she said.
“Thank you, Hattie. I’m all right. How do you think Peter is holding up?”
“A lot better than I would be,” she said.
Hattie’s parents came into the room and expressed their condolences.
“Is there anything we can do?” Sean Patrick asked.
“I don’t think so,” Stone said. “The sheriff will want to talk with you, I’m sure. I expect you’ll want to go back to New York this afternoon, and Mike will have room on his airplane for you.”
“I want to stay with Peter,” Hattie said.
“We’d be glad to have you, Hattie,” Stone replied, “but that’s up to your folks.”
They looked at each other and nodded. “You can stay on for the rest of the week, Hattie,” her father said. “We’ll arrange for you to get back.”
“Please let me deal with that,” Stone said. “I’ll need a day or two to handle matters here, then I’ll let you know when we can get Hattie home.”
The Eggerses and Mike Freeman came in, expressed their sorrow, and everyone sat quietly. Shortly, Peter came in.
“Hattie, the sheriff wants to talk with you now,” he said.
Hattie returned to the living room.
Two hours later the sheriff and his people had completed their work, and Arrington’s body was being wheeled to the ambulance.
“I’ve sent people to find Dr. Rutledge,” the sheriff said to Stone, “but so far, they haven’t been able to locate him. He’s not at home, and his car isn’t there, either. You were right, he drives a Ford station wagon. Is that what you saw driving away?”
“It could have been a Ford,” Stone said. “I couldn’t swear to it.”
“Mr. Barrington, I haven’t asked you this yet, but I need to now. How was your relationship with your wife?”
“We were newlyweds,” Stone said, “married on Christmas Day. We hadn’t even had an argument.”
“I understand. I’m aware that your wife was a wealthy woman. Can you tell me about her will?”
“I haven’t read it,” Stone said, “but Mr. Eggers over there wrote it, and he has my permission to tell you whatever you want to know.” He beckoned to Eggers and asked him to speak to the sheriff. Fifteen minutes later the house was empty of law enforcement, and two maids were cleaning the hall floor where Arrington had fallen.
