True Blue

CHAPTER 32

THE PLACE Beth had chosen for dinner was Café Milano, one of D.C.’s most chic restaurants, where folks loved to go see and be seen, in a Hollywood-esque sort of way. It had a wall of windows looking out onto a quiet street, although tonight there was a string of Carey cars and black government SUVs parked up and down its narrow confines.

The bar emptied out into the dining area so it was a little noisy, but Beth’s high-ranking position garnered her a table in what was probably the quietest corner in the place. She had changed out of her uniform and was dressed in a knee-length skirt and a white blouse open at the neck, her blond hair splayed over her shoulders. Her work shoes had been replaced with black heels. The bulk of her security detail waited outside, although two armed plainclothes were at the bar enjoying multiple glasses of ginger ale.

Mace roared up in her Ducati, shook off her helmet, and slipped inside, dodging past a party of suited men and their rental dates, all of whom would have failed a breathalyzer test in any state in the country. Her cop’s eyes watched them until they climbed into a white stretch Hummer driven by a sober driver in a black suit.

Mace scanned the room and saw her sister waving. She sat down and slid her bike helmet under the table. The tablecloth was white and starched, the aromas wafting from the kitchen pleasing, the crowd an interesting mix of young, middle-aged, and old, variously dressed in suits, jeans, sneakers, and spike heels.

“You clean up nice, sis,” she said.

Beth smiled and gazed at Mace’s clothes. Black slacks, low-cut gray clingy sweater, and high strap heels. “Did you do some shopping today?”

“Yep. Like you said, I’ve lost some weight.”

“How were the stilettos on the Ducati’s gear shifter?”

“No problem. I just skipped over the even ones.”

The waiter came over and Beth ordered them two glasses of wine. After he left she said, “Since you’re paying, and driving, let’s go easy on the vino. And the list here can get pretty expensive.”

“Sounds good. I guess you’re not packing tonight.”

“Not while drinking alcohol; that’s still department policy.”

“Is your off-duty carry still the.40 caliber or the Glock 26?”

“Twenty-six, same one I carry on duty.”

“Must be nice.”

“Nothing nice about having to carry a gun, Mace. It’s a necessity in our line of work.”

“In your line of work.”

“Well, tonight, we’re both out of bullets.”

When the wine came they clinked glasses and Beth said, “Here’s to many more decades of the Perry sisters hanging together.”

Mace had regained her good humor. “Now that’s something I can drink to.”

Beth stared over her wineglass. “So your buddy Kingman found a key in a book that Tolliver sent him.”

Mace munched on a hard olive roll and tried to look surprised. “Really? Key to what?”

“We don’t know.”

“Prints?”

“Yes.”

“Tolliver’s?”

“Yes again, how’d you know?”

“Assumed if she sent it, she had to touch it.”

“Why did you go and see that sleazeball Binder today?”

Mace took a long slurp of wine before setting her glass down. “Are you having me followed, Beth?”

“I would not call it followed, no.”

“Then what the hell would you call it?”

“I’m having you hovered.”

“Hovered? Has the world changed so much in two years that I’m supposed to know what that means?”

“Beth!”

They both turned to see the mayor standing there, his entourage columned behind him. He was young and good-looking and had by most accounts done a good job for the city. Yet he was a cagey politician, meaning that the person he looked out for the most stared back at him in the mirror every morning.

“Hello, Mayor, you remember my sister?”

They shook hands. He leaned down and said in a low voice, “Good to see you. Let me know if I can be of any assistance. Right. Take care. Stay out of trouble.”

This came out in such a blur of polished speech that Mace doubted the man had stopped for a breath or even heard what he’d actually said.

He stood straight. “Having a girls’ night out, are we?”

“I guess we are,” said Beth.

“Excellent. How we doing on the Tolliver case?”

“You getting calls?”

“I always get calls, I’ve just learned the ones to pay attention to.”

“And these are such calls?”

“Just keep me in the loop.”

“We’re making progress. The minute I know more, so will you.”

“Good, good.”

“About that other case?”

“Right. Sorry about that. Above my pay grade.” He turned and was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. His staff shuffled off behind their leader, each with a cell phone out, talking, no doubt, to suitably important people.

“That guy will be in office for life,” said Mace.

“Long after I’m gone,” replied Beth.

“So, getting back to hover.”

Beth playfully crossed her eyes. “I thought this was a celebration.”

“Fine, but I’m going to need another glass of wine. To celebrate being hovered.”

“No, one is enough. And you’re going to have plenty to eat and get some fresh air before you ride off on that bike.”

“And here I was thinking Mom lived all the way out past Middleburg.”

“Mace, please.”

“I’m not going to embarrass you further.”

“That’s not what I meant. A DUI gets you sent back.”

“Then let’s order before I get totally wasted and you have to perform a field sobriety test right here on the table.”

The food was excellent, the service attentive, the people coming up to greet the chief only a dozen or so in number and polite for the most part, except when they were either complaining or groveling.

“You’re popular,” remarked Mace. “Just think if you were in uniform.”

“Maybe I’m too popular.”

“What?”

“Don’t look now, but here comes our favorite DA.”

“Ah, hell, and I’ve only had one glass of wine and not a single controlled substance all day.”

They both turned to watch Mona Danforth marching toward them.