Stuart Woods - D.C. Dead

“Right this way, Ms. Shaker,” the young woman said. She showed her down the hall to a curtained booth ?ght="2and handed her a paper robe. “Undress and put this on, and she will be with you in a moment.”

Carly did as she was told, and had a seat. Another woman, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, came into the booth and checked a clipboard. “Let’s see,” she said, “you’re getting the full-body airbrush, is that right?”

“That’s correct,” Carly said. She got up and pointed at a color chart on the wall. “And I think this shade would be good for me. What do you think?”

“Very good,” the woman said. “Not too dark, just a lovely shade that will go perfectly with your hair. Now, if you’ll take off your robe and stand on the little pedestal, we’ll get to work.”

An hour later, Carly stood naked before a full-length mirror and stared at her new complexion. Her formerly blond whiteness had been darkened to a nearly Mediterranean shade that blended perfectly with her new hair color. It would last for two weeks, then she would have it touched up.

She got dressed, paid her bill, and drove back to her apartment building, a new woman. Back in her apartment she felt a pang of regret. She took the new, anonymous cell phone she had bought at a Radio Shack, looked up a number, and tapped it in. The phone went directly to voice mail, and she left a message.

That would have to do, for now. Later, who knew?

Stone set down the airplane lightly after flying the ILS 19 approach into Teterboro Airport, and was given permission to taxi to Jet Aviation. He was directed to a parking place a few yards from the terminal, and he opened the luggage compartment so that a lineman could unload their luggage onto a cart.

Stone checked the oil in both engines, then opened the rear luggage compartment, disconnected the battery, and handed another lineman the engine plugs and pitot tube covers, to be installed. They followed their luggage into the terminal, then out the front door, where Stone’s secretary, Joan, was waiting in Stone’s car.

Traffic was light going into the city, and they dropped Dino off at his apartment building, then headed for Turtle Bay, and Stone’s house.

Dino let himself into his apartment and took his bags into the bedroom, where he unpacked and put everything away, then he went into his study. There was a large stack of mail, mostly bills and junk, on his desk, and he sat down and began sorting and opening it.

Then he noticed that the light on his answering machine was blinking, and he pushed the button to get his messages.

“Hello, Dino,” a familiar female voice said. “I’ve been thinking about you, and I couldn’t resist calling.”

“Jesus,” Dino muttered to himself, then checked the caller ID. “Number Blocked,” it read.

“I wanted you to know that I’m all right,” she continued. “I had feared something like this might happen, so I made some preparations in advance. I’m in a new place, now, with a new life. Eventually, though, I might get to New York. If I do, would you like to hear from me? Think about that, and I’ll call again sometime. In the meantime, I’ll think about you in bed, and that little thing you do so nicely. Bye-bye.”

Dino hung up and thought for a moment, then he called Stone’s office number.

“Woodman and Weld,” Joan said.

“Joan, it’s Dino. Let me speak to him.”

“Hang, Dino.” She put him on hold.

“Hey, Dino,” Stone said. “Miss me already?”

“Oh, terribly,” Dino said.

“Dinner at Elaine’s, eight-thirty?”

“You’re on, but I’ve got news. Guess who left a message on my answering machine?”