Criminal Mischief

14

Stone had just finished his lunch when the phone rang, and Joan was at lunch. He picked up. “This is Stone Barrington.”

“Oh, I had hoped it would be,” Kitty said. “I realized after our last conversation that I had forgotten to mention something important.”

Stone managed not to groan. “What is it, Kitty?”

“I want to sue Viktor Zanian,” she said.

“Kitty, everybody wants to sue Viktor Zanian.”

“Not Mr. Zanian, exactly. I want to sue Harry.”

“Your ex-husband?”

“Yes.”

“Sue him for what?”

“Bad advice.”

“What advice?”

“It was he who urged me to put all my money with Zanian.”

“Well, you might have some sort of case, but you’ll need to speak to your attorney about that.”

“I want you to be my attorney.”

“I’m afraid that would be unethical,” Stone said.

“How would it be unethical? I need an attorney, you’re an attorney.”

“Yes, but the bar association frowns on attorneys who have, ah, a relationship with the client.”

“Do you mean because we’re fucking?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Well, that’s very old-fashioned of them.”

“I suppose it is. Why don’t you talk to Herb?”

“Oh, he’s just for divorces, and Harry and I are already divorced.”

“No, Herb handles all sorts of legal cases. He’s an excellent attorney, and I’m sure he would be happy to represent you in the matter.”

“You’re sure?”

“He’s my law partner at Woodman & Weld. I’m sure.”

“You know,” she said, “when I mentioned that word — you know the one — I got a twinge, you know?”

“I think I do. I got a twinge, too.”

“Sort of like an itch?”

“Very well put.”

“Why don’t we scratch that itch?” she asked.

“What a good idea. How about dinner at my house this evening?”

“Perfect. What time?”

“Drinks at six-thirty, scratching after dinner.”

“See you then,” she sang, and hung up.

Stone called Herbie Fisher.

“Herb Fisher.”

“It’s Stone. You’re going to get a call from Kitty Crosse about suing her ex-husband.”

“I thought he was about all sued out.”

“She has a new grievance: old Harry persuaded her to invest all her money with Viktor Zanian.”

“Does she have anything left?”

“She mentioned a figure of $245, give or take.”

“You’re sending me a penurious client? Thanks a lot.”

“She’s already your client. How much is Harry worth?”

“According to his financial statement submitted to the court, in excess of sixty million dollars.”

“There you go,” Stone said. “Perhaps, in light of events, you can reopen the settlement negotiations.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to handle this yourself?” Herb asked.

“You’ve already pointed out it would be unethical for me to do so.”

“Have you stopped yet?”

“No.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll take her call.”

Stone hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. He called Fred’s wife, Helene, who was the cook and housekeeper, and ordered dinner for two in the study at seven o’clock.

The phone rang again. Stone hoped Kitty had not changed her mind. “Stone Barrington.”

“Don’t you have a secretary?” a man’s voice said with a British accent.

“She’s at lunch. Who is this?”

“It’s Harry Hillman. I’d like to arrange an appointment with you.”

“For what purpose?”

“I’d like to discuss you handling a legal matter for me. My ex-wife is suing me.”

“Stop right there,” Stone said. “I have no interest in representing you in any matter.”

“It’s because you’re fucking her, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Hillman, I have no interest in representing you.”

“And I was going to apologize to you!”

“For what?” Stone asked.

“Well, I did treat you rather roughly, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the way I remember it,” Stone said.

“I mean at the bar at Clarke’s. That poke in the back I gave you. I apologize for doing that.”

“Apology accepted. Good day.” Stone hung up.

Joan came into his office. “Anything new?” she asked.

“Nothing whatever. If a person named Harry Hillman calls, on no account put him through to me. You can say that I do not wish to speak to him.”

“I understand. It’s the ex-husband, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Lordy, how I wish you would stay away from women with ex-husbands.”

“You want me to take up celibacy? Virtually every attractive woman over thirty in the city has at least one ex-husband. They’re a standard liability, and not all of them are violent or crazy or both.”

“It just seems that way, I suppose,” Joan replied. “Okay, no calls from a Mr. Harry Hillman. How about Mrs. Hillman?”

“The former Mrs. Hillman. I believe you’re referring to Ms. Crosse.”

“Ah, that I am.”

“Her calls are welcome.”

“Understood.”

Stone spent a little time tidying up his study and opened the folding table, so that Fred could set it. When it was all done, he went upstairs to shower and change, considering his wardrobe along the way. It didn’t seem necessary to wear a jacket, underwear, or socks; they would just be impediments. He buttoned every other button on his shirt.

Kitty was only a few minutes late, and it was immediately apparent to Stone that she had made wardrobe choices that very much followed his thinking: a pretty dress, short with straps, no underthings that he could detect. He fixed them drinks.

“Oh,” Kitty said, taking an envelope from her purse. “I have a little present for you.”

He handed over her martini, and they toasted each other, then sat down. Stone opened the envelope and found that it contained a cashier’s check from her bank, made out to him in the amount of $266,000. “Oh,” he said, placing a hand on his chest, “that makes my heart go pittypat.”

“Herb Fisher called this afternoon to say that his office had received the final payment from Harry for our divorce settlement, which was wired to his firm’s account. It was a little over seven million dollars. I had quite forgotten about it. Herb asked me to give you the news.”

“My God,” Stone said. “A woman who can forget she has a seven-million-dollar payment coming! You are extraordinary!”

“Just a little untidy about financial matters.”

They had a second drink before dinner, which was veal scallopini. Stone felt that something light would be best.

After dinner they went to the master suite, Stone following Kitty up the stairs. The view was marvelous, he thought.

Kitty pushed the straps off her shoulders, and her dress collapsed around her ankles, revealing all. Stone was nearly as fast, kicking his trousers across the room. She pushed him onto the bed and stroked him erect, then did wonderful things with her lips and tongue. Stone reciprocated.

They made love slowly, drawing out the orgasm to its maximum extent before letting go.

“That was everything I remember from before,” she said, cradling his head in her lap and stroking his hair.

“Same here,” he said. After a little rest, he took two dishes of ice cream from the freezer in his little fridge. “I thought we’d have dessert after dessert,” he said.

“Yum,” she said. “What is it?”

“Macadamia brittle,” he replied. “My favorite.”

“Stone,” she said, setting aside her bowl, “have you ever had fellatio from someone who’s been eating ice cream?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Stone replied.

“Hang on,” she said, bending to her task.

Stone made appreciative noises, with no effort at all.