Foul Play

Fifty-Six

The following morning, Stone called Brooke.

“Hello, sailor.”

“Are you up for a little dinner party tonight?”

“You betcha.”

“Our guests will be a young man named Huey Horowitz, whose help I need, and his date, whoever that maybe.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“Just your breasts, beautifully packaged and highly visible. Huey is susceptible to cleavage, and we want him happy.”

“I never go anywhere without them. Is he inclined to unhappiness?”

“He’s very, very bright, and it can be hard to get his full attention. If there are breasts in the room, it’s easier.”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said, then hung up.

Joan buzzed. “Mike Freeman on one.”

Stone pressed the button. “Hi, Mike.”

“I’m just wondering if you still need security people.”

“More than ever, at least for a week or two,” Stone replied.

“Something I should know about?”

“I’m supposed to be dead, and I’m not. Word is getting around.”

“Any idea what form the threat will take?”

“Well, last time, it was a bomb. Do assassins like to repeat themselves?”

“They tend to have their specialties. The people who hire them don’t.”

“Then let’s plan for everything. By the way, I’m having Dino and two outside guests over for dinner this evening, a young man and his girl, six-thirty.”

“I can plan for that.”

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.”

“I understand, believe me.”

Huey Horowitz stood still while his girlfriend, Trish, tied his necktie. He was okay with suits these days, but ties still defeated him.

“Who’s this guy we’re dining with?” Trish asked.

“A very interesting man named Stone Barrington. The food and wine will be terrific — he has his own cook — and he’s very good-looking.”

“Will he have a date?”

“Absolutely, and if the past is any indication, she’ll be a knockout.”

“I like a little competition,” Trish said, buttoning his collar and affixing his cuff links.

“You need a non-compete clause in your contract.”

“We have a contract?”

“Well, I think so, but I’m not sure you do.”

She laughed and kissed him. “You’re sweet.”

Wow,” Stone said, when Brooke took off her coat.

“Well, you asked.”

“And I have received in abundance.”

“I’m not sure who this is for, Huey or you?” she said.

“It’s a sight any male human being would be grateful for.” He heard Dino let himself in and call out.

They met him in the living room then went to the study. Fred Flicker, Stone’s man, stood by the bar.

“Wow,” Dino said.

“Told you so,” Stone said to Brooke.

Fred made their drinks, then stood by the front door.

“Who’s Huey bringing?” Dino asked.

“We don’t know.”

“She’s going to be jealous,” he replied.

The bell rang, and a moment later, Fred appeared with Stone’s guests. “Mr. Horowitz and Ms. Trish,” he said.

“I’m Huey,” he said to Brooke, his eyes widening slightly.

“And I’m just plain Trish,” she said.

“She’s a model,” Huey said. “She doesn’t have a last name.”

“Not one that anybody could pronounce on the first try,” Trish said.

Fred dealt with their drinks, brought a tray of canapés, then disappeared.

They chatted through drinks, then dined on foie gras, pheasant, and mille-feuille, a light cake, then had port and Stilton in the study.

Okay, Stone,” Huey said. “What’s your insoluble problem?”

Stone tossed him the book. Huey looked at it and smiled. “This is your insoluble problem?” he asked.

“Huey, as you well know, I am computer semiliterate, no more.”

“I recall.”

“Can you translate that material into something I can use?”

“Stone,” Huey said, “I wrote this book.”

“Eh?”

“It doesn’t have my name on it, because my contract with the Times says that they get first dibs, but this was a freelance job that wouldn’t turn up in bookstores, and the money was fabulous.”

“Who was your client?”

“I’m not supposed to say, but he’s dead now, so what the hell? It was a man named Shepherd Troutman.”

“Who was also my client, and whose executor I am. Do you know how he died?”

“Something about an aircraft accident.”

“I was flying the aircraft, and it wasn’t an accident, it was a bomb.”

Huey blinked. “Oh.”

“He was murdered by — or on the instructions of — a man named Gregor Kronk, who bought the family business from the Troutmans but neglected to buy the patent rights to a lot of crucial equipment, in each of the seven plants, worldwide.”

“I know about the patent rights. That was what this book addresses. What’s the problem now?”

“Once, in earnest conversation with Kronk, I made a threat that if he harmed the Troutmans we would reduce his factories to smoking ruins, by manipulating the machines’ software. Now that Kronk has murdered both of them, I don’t know if I can actually do that. Can you?”

“I can make the machines run backward, if I want to,” Huey replied.

“Huey, I believe we’re getting somewhere,” Stone said.