Stuart Woods: Two-Dollar Bill

Stone hung up the phone, feeling this was all wrong. One didn't tell Warren Buffett to watch his ass. Or did one? He didn't really know.

STONE WAS READING in his study when Tiff called. "How's your first day going?" he asked.

"Meeting after meeting, mostly just to get introduced to everybody. I've been brought up-to-date on a couple of cases."

"You sent up Martha Stewart, yet?"

"I told you, I'm keeping my distance from that. I didn't even ask about it."

"My guess is, you're going to get your ass kicked."

"Not my ass, sweetheart; I've got full deniability on that one. Looks like I'm okay for dinner, though. What time?"

"Pick you up at eight-thirty?"

"Why don't I pick you up? The car goes with the job."

"Do we really have to arrive at Elaine's with a security detail? I've got my reputation to think about."

"Tell you what, I'll ditch the Suburban, if the FBI will let me, but the driver will still be an agent. The office has had some threats, and the AG doesn't want me smeared all over a New York sidewalk. Like a lot of yokels, he thinks the city is a very dangerous place."

"I hope your office doesn't record your calls," Stone said, "or you're going to find yourself on the sidewalk job hunting."

"Good point. How does one dress at Elaine's?"

"Any way you like. I probably won't wear a necktie, if that helps."

"Okay, see you at eight-thirty; I'll dress sloppy."

SLOPPY TURNED OUT TO BE a sheepskin coat over a cashmere sweater and tan slacks that showed off her ass beautifully.

They settled at a table and ordered a drink, then Elaine came over.

"Elaine." Stone said, "this is Tiff Baldwin, the new U.S. Attorney."

"I heard," Elaine said, shaking her hand. "You leave Martha Stewart alone, you hear?"

"Not my case! Before my time!"

"Fuckin' Attorney General!" Elaine said. "Next, he'll be after me!" She got up and went to greet some friends.

"You know," Tiff said, "practically everybody I've met so far in this city, including everybody last night, has hit me with that?"

"It's a good thing you're not running for office," Stone said.

"Thank God for small favors. You sleep well last night?"

"Well, I tossed and turned for a while, thinking of you, but I finally got a few hours. Woke up this morning to find the Texan in my kitchen again, this time with his date. Oh, guess what her name is."

"Oh, God, don't tell me."

"I'm afraid so."

"You see the cross I bear."

"I do."

"What do you eat here?"

"Try the osso buco, unless you're dieting."

"I never diet; I exercise instead. The Waldorf has a very nice gym. Do you work out?" she asked, poking him in the belly with a finger.

"I hate it, but I do. I've got some equipment in the basement."

"It looks like a nice house; you had it long?"

"I inherited it from a great-aunt a few years ago and did most of the renovation myself."

"Nice to have a great-aunt, isn't it?"

"Yep. I'll show you the place sometime; my father did all the cabinetwork and millwork."

"Your father was a builder?"

"A cabinet and furniture maker. His father was a textile mill owner in Massachusetts, but they parted company over politics."

"What was the disagreement?"

"My grandfather was a Republican; my father was a Communist."

"No kidding?"

"Don't tell the AG; he'll come after me."

"Don't worry, his time is taken up with Islamists these days. Where'd your first name come from?"

"My mother's name was Matilda Stone."

"The painter?"

"Yes. You know her work?"

"I saw an exhibit of hers at the Morgan Library once, years ago. She's dead, isn't she?"

"They both are. Your folks still alive?"

"Very much so. Daddy is a Washington lawyer, and Mother is, well, a hostess and a great beauty. For a living."

"Baldwin and Peet?"

"The very same."

"So your daddy's rich, and your ma is good-lookin'?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Tough."

"Yes, it's been a hard life."

"You ready to order?"

"The osso buco sounds great."

Stone ordered it for both of them, along with a bottle of Amerone.

Dino came in. hung up his coat and sat down at their table.

"What are you doing here?" Stone asked. "Can't you see I'm trying to seduce this woman?"

"Introduce me," Dino said.

"Tiff, this is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti, commander of the detective squadat the Nineteenth Precinct. Dino, this is Tiff Baldwin, the new U.S. Attorney."

"I heard about you on TV," Dino said. "Why are you trying to crucify Martha Stewart?"

Tiffburied her face in her hands and pretended to weep.

"It'snot her fault, Dino," Stone said, "now go find another table."

"Okay, okay, I know when I'm not wanted," Dino said, getting up. "By the way, I talked to my guy who's heading the investigation of the shooting the other night. He thinks you were the target, not Billy Bob. See ya." And with a wave, he went and sat down with somebody else.

"Somebody's shooting at you?" Tiff asked.

"Ignore Dino," Stone said. "He's making it up."

"Are you really trying to seduce me?"

"Not yet."

Tiff dropped Stone off at his house at midnight.

"You going to be around this weekend?" he asked.

"Yep, I'm apartment-hunting all day Saturday."

"You'll be tired when you're done; why don't I cook you some dinner that night?"

"Sounds great; I want to see your house."

"AndI want to show it to you."

STONE WOKE to the smell of absolutely nothing-no steak, no bacon. Maybe Billy Bob and his girl were sleeping in. Then, as he got out of bed, he noticed a sheet of his stationery on top of the pile of luggage at the foot of his bed. He picked it up.

"Hey, Stone," it read. "I got to go to Omaha right away to set up a deal. Tiffany is going to her place. I'll be back at the Four Seasons tomorrow night. Let me buy you some dinner. Billy B."

There was no date or time on it. He got himself together and went down to the kitchen for some breakfast, this time, his usual bran cereal. Helene, his Greek housekeeper, was tidying up.

"Good morning, Mr. Stone," she said, in her heavily accented English.

"Good morning, Helene. You can clean the big guest room; the occupants have checked out."

"Yes, sir," Helene said, and she went about her work.

Stone was halfway through his cereal when he heard her scream. He ran toward the back stairs and met her halfway up, coming down.

Helene seemed unable to speak, but she was pointing up the stairs.

Stone ran all the way up to the top floor, which was more exercise than he had planned on that morning, and into the guest room. Tiffany was lying on her back in the bed, and he didn't have to look for a pulse to know she was dead. Her eyes and mouth were open, and there were big bruises on her throat. When he felt for a pulse she was cold.

Stone stepped back and looked at her, then around the room. Nothing was in disarray; her clothes were hanging neatly in the closet, and the guest bathrobe she had worn at breakfast the day before was thrown over a chair. He found her handbag under the robe but didn't touch it. He went back to his own bedroom and called Dino.

"Bacchetti."

"It's Stone."

"Whatsamatter? You sound funny."

"Billy Bob's girlfriend is dead in my guest room; looks like she was strangled."

"Did you screw with the scene?"

"Of course not."

"I'll be there with troops."

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, there were cops, crime-scene analysts and EMTs all over his house. Stone sat in his study, answering questions from two cops, Morton and Weiss, while Dino watched and listened.

"Where is the note?" Morton asked.