Shakeup

26

Dino got up. “I gotta run. What are you going to do with the guy on the sofa in your study?”

“I’ll have to find him a new hotel.”

“What’s wrong with one of your guest rooms?”

“We’d have a Secret Service problem there. They’d have to do a major background check, and it would annoy them that he was a suspect in a murder for a few minutes.”

“You and Holly could also trip over him on the way to bed.”

Stone nodded. “There is that, too. And we don’t need to expand the list of who knows about our arrangement. That way lies Page Six in the Post and People magazine.

“Everybody wants to get in the way of your getting laid,” Dino said.

“It seems that way sometimes.”

“Where’s Lara?”

“Out shopping. Fred is going to meet her somewhere.”

“What happens if — rather, when — Holly calls and says she’s on the way to New York?”

“There are airlines between here and L.A.”

“Suppose she doesn’t want to go?”

“Then we’ll crate her and ship her.”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘we’?” Dino left, and Stone went down to his office. He buzzed Joan, and she came in.

“Yes, boss?”

“Lieutenant Jacoby is asleep on the sofa in my study. He’s had a bad experience, and we have to get him out of the Lowell and into somewhere else.”

“When?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“I’m on it.” She went back to her office.

Stone’s phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID: encrypted. “Hello?”

“Hi, there,” Holly said. “How’s tricks?”

“Tricky.”

“How tricky?”

“A dead cop outside Turnbull & Asser, and another asleep in my study that I have to get transported to a hotel, to keep him out of harm’s way.”

“Is there room for me in all that?”

“You don’t want anything to do with all that, but there’s room where it counts.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Hang on, let me clear the joint, or the Secret Service will go nuts.”

“What time would you like me to arrive?”

“Do you want to dine in or out?”

“Would it cause too much of a fuss, if we went to P.J. Clarke’s?”

“Yes, and so much so that I don’t think your detail would allow it. We need something with the tables farther apart: How about Caravaggio?”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Can you come directly there at eight? Your driver can take your luggage to the house.”

“Sure.”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up, and Fred came into the room. “Ms. Parks is back, sir.”

“She certainly is,” Lara said, squeezing past him with her shopping bags.

“Stand by, Fred. We’re going to need you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone kissed Lara and pointed her at the sofa. “Have a seat and excuse me for a moment.”

She did so, and he walked into Joan’s office.

“Yes, sir?”

“I need a one-way, first-class ticket to Los Angeles.”

“You are flying the airlines?”

“Lara is. Seven or eight o’clock.”

“Okay.”

Stone went back to his office and sat down next to Lara. “Events have occurred,” he said, “that require your relocation.”

She blinked. “To where?”

“L.A., unless there’s somewhere else you’d like to go.”

“Well, if I’m being tossed out, I guess L.A. will do.”

“There’s big trouble: a dead cop and an attempt on another, who happens to be asleep in my study.”

“I guess that rules out a tumble on the sofa in there,” she said. “How about this one?”

“Too much traffic.”

Joan buzzed him, and he picked up the phone on the coffee table. “Yes?”

“Seven-forty-five,” she said, naming an airline.

“Print an e-ticket.” He hung up. “You’re on a flight to LAX at seven-forty-five.” He glanced at his watch. “That means rush-hour traffic. You’d better pack right now.”

She sighed, kissed him and left the room, taking her shopping bags with her.

He buzzed Fred. “Give Ms. Parks fifteen minutes, then go up for her bags; she’s headed to JFK, for a seven-forty-five flight.”

Joan came in. “I got Art into the Morgan, a little farther uptown.”

“Good. Have the Lowell pack his things and send them up there. Tell them mum’s the word.”

“Here’s Lara’s e-ticket,” she said, handing it to him.

“Oh, and book me a table for two at Caravaggio at eight; a quiet table. And tell them there’ll be an unnamed VIP.”

“Practically done.”

“And get Helene upstairs as soon as Lara clears the place, and tell her to make it look like it never happened.”

“Of course. Do I get to know who’s coming?”

“Holly. Tell Helene to keep the Secret Service guys fed and happy.”

“Right. Flowers?”

“It couldn’t hurt. Yellow roses, two dozen. Use the big vase. And get Art a car in fifteen minutes.”

“Done.” She went back to her office.

Stone walked upstairs and into the study. Art Jacoby was sleeping like a child. Stone shook him. “Art, wake up!”

Art opened an eye.

“We’re relocating you; time to go.”

Art sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Where am I going?”

“To another hotel: the Morgan.”

“I’ll have to stop by the Lowell.”

“No need. They’re packing your things and sending them to the new place. It’s just up Madison a bit.”

Art stood up, put his jacket back on, and smoothed the fabric. “Nice,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Come on, Joan has a car ordered for you. Fred is otherwise occupied.” He sent Art downstairs, then took the elevator to the master suite.

Lara was tucking lacy things from a shopping bag into her suitcase.

“Is your luggage going to hold everything?”

“I may have to sit on it to close it, but yes.”

Fred knocked on the door. “The car is ready, Ms. Parks.”

Stone helped her close and latch the suitcase, and Fred took it away.

“It’s been more than fun,” Lara said, giving him a wet kiss.

“It sure has,” he said.

“Call me when you come to L.A.”

“By then, you’ll be a very big movie star and unavailable,” Stone replied.

“I’ll be sitting home alone every night.”

Stone walked her down to the garage and tucked her into the Bentley. As he walked back to his office, he could hear Helene upstairs, vacuuming.