Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 12 by Dark Harbor Page A

dancing around it. Laser gunsight. He hit the ground and crawled behind the car.
    â€œStand up and keep your hands where I can see you!” a deep voice shouted.
    â€œAre you going to shoot me?” Stone called back.
    â€œMaybe. We’ll see. Now get up.”
    Stone sat up and looked over the car. On the other side stood a large, bearlike man somewhere in his sixties, Stone reckoned, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, a large mustache and round, steel-rimmed glasses. He was holding a Sigarms P220 pistol, and the laser sight was still on him.
    â€œI said, ‘Stand up,’” the man said.
    Stone stood up.
    â€œNow walk to the front of the car and put your hands on the grille.”
    Stone did so, and the man walked over and frisked him from his neck to his ankles in a thoroughly professional manner.
    The man backed away. “Now stand up straight, turn around and stand still.”
    Stone did so.
    â€œWhy are you driving Dick Stone’s car?” the man demanded.
    â€œCan I show you some I.D.?”
    â€œDo it carefully.”
    Stone produced a wallet with his badge and I.D.
    The man snatched it away from him and read it carefully, keeping his aim with the gun. “Your first name is Stone?”
    â€œDick was my first cousin.”
    â€œAnd you’re a retired cop?”
    â€œYes, and you seem to be, too.”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œI’m Dick’s executor. I’m up here to settle his estate.”
    The man lowered the gun but didn’t put it away. “Okay,” he said. “You ought to be more careful whose driveway you drive down.”
    â€œI’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it was a driveway; there was no sign or mailbox. I was just exploring.”
    The man put the gun in his belt and held out a hand. “I’m Ed Rawls,” he said. He took a remote control from his pocket and pressed a button. The log ahead of Stone swung slowly out of his way. “Explore your way down to the end of the drive, and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” he said, then he turned and disappeared into the trees.
    The gate behind him was still closed, so Stone got into the car and drove another fifty yards before the drive ended at a sharp turn into a clearing. Stone noticed a large convex mirror mounted on a tree at the turn. Ed Rawls was a very careful man.
    He got out of the car and approached a small, handsome, shingled cottage. As he stepped onto the porch, Ed Rawls opened the front door.
    â€œCome on in,” Rawls said. “The coffee is already on.”
    Stone stepped into a large room paneled in old pine, with a fieldstone fireplace to his right. Two walls were covered in pictures, oils and watercolors of Maine and European scenes and landscapes. Rawls disappeared and came back with a coffeepot and two mugs on a tray.
    â€œHave a seat,” he said. “You take cream or milk?”
    â€œBlack is fine.” Stone sat down in a leather chair.
    â€œGood. I don’t have any cream or milk.” He poured them both a mug of coffee, handed one to Stone and sat down himself. “So you’re a retired cop? I wouldn’t have thought there was a cop in Dick’s family.”
    â€œI’m from the black sheep branch,” Stone said. “Since I retired I practice law in New York.”
    â€œYou look pretty young to be retired.”
    â€œA bullet in the knee retired me.”
    Rawls nodded. “So you’re Dick’s executor? Why, is Caleb dead, too?”
    â€œNo.”
    Rawls stared at him for a moment, then decided not to pursue that line of questioning. “You gonna be on Islesboro long?”
    â€œAs long as it takes.”
    â€œAs long as it takes to what?”
    â€œTo find out who murdered Dick and his family.”
    Rawls looked at him carefully. “And why do you think he was murdered?”
    Stone shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of homicides and quite a few