Foul Play

Forty-Nine

Stone and Brooke arrived simultaneously at the door of Caravaggio and embraced warmly.

“I’m so glad to see you here,” she said.

“I’m so glad to be here or anywhere else,” he replied.

“Did you think you were going to die?”

“All I remember thinking about was staying alive. Let’s go in, so I won’t have to repeat myself.”

Dino and Viv were parked at a real table, and they all embraced.

“I’m so glad I didn’t see your death notice before Dino told me you were alive,” Viv said, kissing him.

“I’m glad I didn’t see it, either. I might have believed it.”

“You must be hurting all over,” Dino said.

“Morphine dealt with the worst of it,” Stone said, “and bourbon is going to deal with the rest.”

A waiter set that very thing down before him and inquired as to the ladies’ pleasure. Then, all having been well-served, they peppered Stone with questions about his experience.

“What do you remember doing?” Dino asked.

“Two things: yanking the life jacket tight and turning the knob that released me from the seat and the harness. Everything else was just thrashing about.”

“Where was the bomb?” Viv asked.

“In the tail section of the interior. Apparently, the rear luggage door was kept locked when not in use, so the bomb had to go in through the main cabin door and be tossed or placed aft. Some sort of altimeter must have set it off, and quickly. I never got the gear up. Fortunately I was unconscious soon after that. I woke up in the ER, and they said I had been out for five hours.”

“I expect you needed the rest,” Dino said.

“I still do,” Stone replied.

“All right, all right, let’s not milk it for all it’s worth.”

“I’m trying not to overstate the case. Morphine was my friend. Dino, do you think you could poke around your evidence locker and see if you can scare up some more of the stuff?”

“I could probably find you some crack and a dirty syringe,” Dino said.

“Never mind.”

They order dinner and another drink.

“Is the bourbon finding its way to all the right places?” Brooke asked.

“It’s doing very nicely,” Stone said, sipping from his second Knob Creek.

“So,” Dino said. “How are we going to kill this guy?”

“Don’t talk that way in front of Brooke. She’ll get the wrong impression.”

“I’m getting the right impression,” Brooke replied. “And I want to help.”

The others laughed.

“I just want to watch,” Viv said. “Others can do the dirty work.”

By the time they had dined, it was feeling like any other evening, Stone reflected. “It’s nice to have friends who would have cared if the newspaper had been right,” he said, raising a brandy glass to them all.

“It’s nice to be drinking your cognac, instead of mine,” Dino replied.

Brooke spoke up, “I think I had better get Stone home while he’s still ambulatory.”

“Yeah, and before he gets weepy,” Dino said. “I don’t think I could stand that.”

The party broke up, and the celebrants went their ways.

I don’t think I can undress myself,” Stone said, sitting down heavily on the bed.

“I’ll deal with that,” Brooke said, working on his buttons.

“I wish I could do the same for you,” he said, falling back onto the bed.

She got his feet under the covers and pulled them over him. “We’ll finish this in the morning,” she said, “when you’re a new man.”

“In the morning, I could have been dead,” Stone said, then he fell soundly asleep.

“Poor baby,” Brooke said, kissing him on the forehead and switching off the lights.

The following morning, with sunlight streaming through the blinds, Stones sat up, erect in every sense of the word.

“I see duty calls,” Brooke said, pulling back the covers and mounting him.

“That was the patriotic response,” Stone replied, doing what he could to help.

After they had collapsed and dozed off, they were awakened by the dumbwaiter’s bell, and Brooke got up and served them.

“You look wonderful naked,” Stone said, observing her sleepily.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the naked ones.”

“Shut up and eat breakfast,” she said.

It was mid-morning before Stone could bestir himself to dress, shave, shower, and go downstairs.

Joan brought him a sustaining second cup of coffee.

“Anything up?”

“A FedEx came from the lawyer in California, Ted Stein.”

“Who?”

“From the L.A. office. He called about it. It’s the closing documents on the Malibu house Shep bought, and some personal papers of his,” she said. She left and came back with a FedEx box.

“Just leave it on the sofa,” Stone said, opening the Times. “I’ll go through it later.” He began his morning stroll through the newspaper, and when that was done, settled into the crossword, with his feet on his desk and his chair rocked back.

Joan woke him in time for lunch. “Why are you so punchy this morning?” she asked. “Is this a hangover from the morphine?”

“If it is, it’s very pleasant,” Stone said.

The phone rang, and Joan answered it. “It’s Lance,” she said, covering the phone.

Stone picked up. “Good morning, Lance.”

“You sound drowsy. Still on the morphine?”

“I haven’t been able to get anybody to give me any.”

“Careful, you may have an addictive personality,” Lance said.

“If that were true, I’d have died from a diseased liver long ago.”

“What a pleasant thought. Have you given any more thought to the Kronk problem?”

“I thought I’d let him sweat for a while, before I make a move.”

“What move is that?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Stone said.

“You’d better come up with something before he does,” Lance said, then hung up.