Iron Orchid

FIFTY-EIGHT

BOB KINNEY CAME HOME from the Bureau at midnight. Nancy was waiting up for him.

“Want some eggs?” she asked, kissing him.

“Love some,” he said. “I didn’t get any dinner.”

“Can you tell me what was going on?”

“You know I never tell you Bureau secrets.”

“Of course not.”

“Teddy Fay is dead.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“You know it. I expect that opinion is being voiced at a number of residences around the city, including the big white one on Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Is there going to be an investigation of all this?”

“You can’t investigate something that never happened.”

“That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it?”

“You got it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I hope so, too, baby.”

“You want bacon or ham with your eggs?”

“I want you with my eggs.”

“Done.”