Shakeup

13

Promptly at seven, the doorbell rang, and the butler answered it.

Stone arrived downstairs a moment later and found Lara Parks seated in a chair before the fireplace with a drink in her hand and a magazine in her lap.

“Good evening,” he said, shaking her hand. His bourbon was already resting on the chairside table, and he sat down.

“You didn’t tell me about this,” she said accusingly, holding up the magazine.

Stone peered at the publication. “I believe it’s a copy of People magazine. I believe this, because it says People at the top.”

“Please tell me how this came to be.”

Stone took a swig of his drink and drew a breath. “Well, many years ago — I forget exactly how many — Time magazine had a weekly column called People that offered tidbits of gossip about movie stars and such. It proved so popular among readers that they inflated it into an actual weekly magazine, and it became very popular.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Did I misidentify the magazine? I admit I haven’t read it for years, but it did have that name on the cover.”

“Yes, but it’s not what I mean.”

“I’m sorry, I’m baffled,” Stone said. “What did you mean?”

“You know.”

“Am I meant to divine your thoughts? If so, I’m not doing very well.”

“I mean this,” she said, opening the magazine and holding it up with both hands, displaying a double-page color photograph of Stone waltzing with Holly Barker.

“I hadn’t seen that,” Stone said.

She remained silent, glaring at him.

“Really,” he said, “I hadn’t seen it until this moment.”

“How did you miss it?” she demanded.

“By the simple device of not reading the magazine, which you have thoughtfully done for me. I also didn’t read the newspapers the following morning, and I instructed my secretary to keep all knowledge of such from me.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to have conversations like this one. You seem to have taken it as a personal affront that I have not raised the subject of inaugural night. Why is that?”

“Because it makes me feel like a fool.”

“I’m sorry, that just doesn’t make any sense,” Stone said.

“You should have told me who you were, instead of leaving me to find out for myself.”

“I beg your pardon, I believe I answered each of your questions fully and honestly. If more than that is required of me, please ask me more questions.”

“All right. How did you come to be waltzing with the president on inaugural night?”

“We are old friends, and she invited me to escort her.”

“And you are ‘just good friends’? I believe the saying is?”

“No, we are very good friends,” he replied. “She chose the waltz.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“I think the most acceptable answer to that question is ‘None of your business,’ which would also be the answer if someone asked it about you.”

Lara made an odd, strangling noise, then threw the magazine into the fireplace.

“If that magazine belonged to the Arrington, then I will have to report you to the management for destroying hotel property,” Stone said.

Finally, she laughed. “You would be within your rights to do so,” she said.

“And you are within your rights to ask for another drink,” Stone replied.

“Same again,” she said.

He spoke those words into the phone and another round arrived.

She sipped hers. “Would it be an intrusion if I ask how you know Holly Barker?”

“No, but it’s a complicated story, probably requiring another drink.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “I can take it.”

“Some years ago I was in Vero Beach, Florida, to accept delivery of a new airplane from the manufacturer Piper Aircraft, whose factory is there. I had transferred the funds to a bank, in a neighboring town called Orchid Beach, and I went there to obtain a cashier’s check for the amount owed on delivery. While I was waiting in line, some people wearing masks and bearing shotguns entered the bank and shouted at everybody — the sorts of things you’ve seen on television: ‘Shut up, give us the money,’ et cetera.

“In their haste to be done with their work, they roughed up a woman who had had the temerity to ask them what they thought they were doing. They knocked her down with a shotgun butt. The man standing behind me in line made to ward them off and help her, and received a shotgun blast to his chest for his trouble. I did my best to help him, but he died before the ambulance arrived, about three minutes later, as did the police.

“They asked the customers not to leave until they were questioned, so I was present for some time, during which the chief of police arrived and identified the body as that of her fiancé, to whom, I later learned, she was to be married the following day. She stayed on to help question the people in the bank, among them, me. Her name was Holly Barker. She gave me her card and asked me to call her if I thought of anything else, and I gave her mine. About three months later I went back to the Piper factory on airplane business, and I invited her to lunch. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“What about the robbers? Were they caught?”

“That’s a much longer story, with more details than I can remember, but someone wrote a book about it called Orchid Beach, and I’m sure the concierge can get a copy for you.”

The butler entered the room and announced dinner, so they moved to a table that had been set for them.

They dined slowly, getting along well. As the dishes were taken away after dessert, Lara said, “I apologize for shouting at you. I had begun to think that I was the victim of a practical joke, what with my meeting tomorrow with your son.”

“Peter is not in on the joke, so I wouldn’t mention it to him.”

“All right, don’t rub it in.”

“If you’ll pardon me for reverting to my original intentions, that sounds like a very good idea,” Stone said.

“Yes, it does,” she replied.