Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

“I thought we weren’t due at Calder’s place until three,” Max said.

“We’re human animals, and we require more than sex. We need food three times a day.”

“Ah. And where are we seeking food?”

“A French restaurant called La Goulue, not far from Robbie’s house.”

They got the last available table, seated in a corner of the room with an excellent view of the clientele.

“Who are these people?” Max asked.

“Well, about half of them are women lunching with women,” Stone replied.

“The ‘ladies who lunch,’ to quote Stephen Sondheim.”

“He might have written the song about this restaurant.”

“And who are the men?”

“Business types lunching with their mistresses — no, that’s a bad guess. Here, a man would run the risk of bumping into either his wife or a friend of his wife, who would rat him out.” He took another look around. “The men are business types taking women from their offices out for what is, ostensibly, a business lunch.”

“How do you know that’s not true?”

“Look at the gentlemen’s faces. Are those smiles and laughter consistent with doing business or doing something else?”

“Something else, I would guess,” Max replied. “How do you think they would assess us?”

“Probably as what we are: two romantics who have just fucked each other’s brains out.”

She laughed. “What would be the tip-off?”

“You’re too beautiful and too beautifully dressed to work in an office.”

“I’m starving,” she said, looking at the menu.

“If you’re starving, have the steak frites, the French bistro version of our steak and fries.”

“Order for me,” she said, pushing back from the table. “I need the ladies’.”

“All the way back,” he said, nodding in that direction.

He summoned a waiter and order the steak frites for both of them, along with a bottle of the house Côtes du Rhône.

As the waiter departed a woman, apparently returning from the ladies,’ stopped at his table. “You’re Stone Barrington, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and you?”

“That’s not important. I just wanted to tip you off about something.”

“And what would that something be?”

“Roberta Calder.”

“I’m afraid I can’t ask you to sit,” Stone replied. “My date might not understand.”

“I’ll be quick. I’ve seen you around the shop, sometimes with Robbie, sometimes with the police.”

“That’s correct,” Stone said.

“I just thought you’d like to know that something funny is going on there.”

“What kind of funny?”

“Financial funny. Robbie gave out cash bonuses this week, something she has never done.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Cash instead of checks? You figure it out. Not that anybody’s complaining,” she said. “Cash spends real nice, and she said we don’t have to pay taxes on it.”

“Thank you. Anything else?”

The woman looked around the room furtively. “Robbie knows more about guns than she wants the police to know.”

“How do you mean?”

“She carries one in her purse a lot of the time. I’ve seen it.”

“What kind of gun?”

“I don’t know anything about guns that I haven’t seen on TV, but it’s little, not big.”

Stone looked up and spotted Max on her way back to the table. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Good day.”

She left his table, then exited the restaurant.

Max sat down. “Were you attracting women in my absence?” she asked.

“No, that was an employee of Robbie Calder,” he said, “but apparently, not a fan.”

“What did she have to say?”

“She told me about the cash bonuses and said that had never happened before. She also told me that Robbie packs a lot of the time.”

“Packs what?”

“Something small that fits into her handbag.”

“It would be nice if it were a snub-nosed .38, wouldn’t it?”

“That would be nice.”

“Do you suppose the lady has some sort of axe to grind with Robbie?”

“It would seem so. Also, Robbie is the kind of person who might engender enmity among her employees.”

“How?”

“Just by being herself. Robbie is, shall we say, mercurial?”

“Okay.”

Their steaks arrived, and they dug in.

Stone was paying the check when his phone vibrated, and he answered it. “Hello?”

“It’s Herb.”

“Good afternoon, Herb.”

“Sounds like you’re in a restaurant.”

“La Goulue, for about another sixty seconds.”

“Have you been in touch with Robbie?”

“I’m taking a lady friend over to her place to look at some clothes. We’re due there at three.”

“She hasn’t been returning my calls,” Herb said, “and I’m trying to wrap up on her husband’s estate. Will you kick her in the ass and tell her to call me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Stone said.

“Thanks, pal.” Herbie hung up.

“That was my colleague, Herb Fisher, who is Robbie’s attorney. He’s having trouble communicating with her.”

“Is he holding the police off?”

“No, he’s handling the work on her husband’s estate.”

“He’s the one who died with all the cash in his safe?”

“That’s right.”

They got up and made their way out of the restaurant.

“Where’s her place?” Max asked.

“Not far. We’ll walk. Something to remember when we get there.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t leave me alone with her.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid she’ll jump you?”

“She has that tendency, and she works fast.”

They climbed the steps of Robbie’s townhouse and rang the bell. The door was answered by the woman who had stopped at Stone’s table a few minutes before.

“Watch yourself,” she whispered as she let them in. “I’ll get Ms. Calder for you. Please go into the living room.” She directed them to the door. “She may be a minute. She’s looking at some new fabrics.”

“Thank you,” Stone said.

“Very nice,” Max said, looking around. “Taste, style, the works!”

“Why don’t you display your feminine instincts for me?” Stone asked.

“You want me to unzip your trousers here and now?”

“Later, please. I was referring to your gift of knowing where women hide things.”

“Ah, that gift.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Depends on what we’re looking for.”

“Anything incriminating,” Stone replied.

“Be more specific. It matters.”

“Cash? Guns?”

“Gotcha,” Max said. She slipped out of her shoes and started to walk up and down the living room, starting in a corner and coming down hard with her heels.

“You’re going to attract attention from downstairs,” Stone said, making hand motions for her to be quiet.

“This is the dance that has to be done,” Max said. “If you want results.”

“Please explain this to me.”

“Shut up,” Max said firmly, “and listen.”

“Thank you for that explanation.”

Max continued her march around the living room, then stopped. “We have to move the coffee table,” she said.

Stone looked at the coffee table; it was, perhaps, six by eight feet and was laden with thick art books and fabric samples. “I think we’d need a crane,” he said.

“Oh, come on, we’re strong. We can handle it.”

“I think you’re stronger than I,” Stone said.

Then, as if to stop their arguing, Robbie came into the room. “Good afternoon!” she said. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Hello, Robbie,” Stone said. “This is Max.”