Стюарт Вудс - Foul Play

Stone held up two fingers to the waiter.

“Can’t you speak?” she asked.

“Just barely. And a bottle of the Bâtard-Montrachet,” he said to the sommelier.

“Do you look at the prices, or just the names?” Brooke asked.

“Just the names.”

“Because that wine has a breathtaking price next to it.”

“It’s a breathtaking wine,” he replied.

They had finished their dessert and were on espresso.

“Would you like a nightcap at my place?” Brooke asked.

“I would like nothing better.”

They got their coats on and left the restaurant. Fred was braced next to the rear door of the Bentley, and the two police cars were parked discretely on the opposite side of the street.

“Oh,” Brooke said, tugging at his sleeve. “We won’t need the car. I live right there.” She pointed at the first awning.

“Fred, I think you can send our escort home. Come to think of it, you can go home, too.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir,” Fred replied. “The commissioner would have me arrested. My instructions are to stick with you, no matter where you go.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Stone said. “Stick with the car. I’ll be a while.”

He followed Brooke to her building, which turned out to be not apartments, but a townhouse, beautifully furnished.

“Your home is beautifully furnished,” Stone said.

She hung up their coats in a hall closet. “My job in my marriage was to choose houses and decorate them,” she said. “My husband’s job was to pay for them. Making money was the only thing that interested him, and he didn’t care what I spent.”

He had thought they would sit in the living room, but she continued toward the rear of the house and into a large master suite.

“Now you can deal with the hook,” she said, turning her back to him.

Stone dealt with it quickly, and the dress fell into a puddle around her feet. As it turned out, the dress had been the only thing she was wearing.

A ray of sunshine settled on Stone’s brow, causing him to blink and look around. He was in a half-empty bed, his suit was folded neatly on a nearby chair, and there were shower noises coming from somewhere. He sought out the bathroom and let himself into the shower with her.

“Plenty of room for anything,” she said over her shoulder. He tested her theory, which turned out to be correct.

She toweled him off, something he enjoyed, and dried his hair. “Would you like a shave?” she asked.

“Perhaps another time,” he replied. “I’ve just got time to get home before breakfast arrives in my bedroom.”

“And who delivers it?”

“A dumbwaiter. Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

“It would take me too long to dress,” she said.

“After last night, I should think you could dress in seconds.”

“But there’s hair and makeup,” she said. “All those things.”

He dressed and got out of there. Fred, bless his heart, was snoozing away in the driver’s seat, and the cops were nowhere to be seen. Fred awoke as he opened the rear door. “Sorry to keep you waiting so long,” Stone said.

“Quite all right, sir,” Fred replied, starting the car. “I slept quite well.”

“That’s an awful lie, Fred. When we get home, you go straight to bed. Orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone arrived in his bed less than a minute before breakfast came. He switched on the TV, to the local news channel. He got the tail end of a report of a beating at Seventy-Sixth and Park Avenue, a block from the Carlyle. He called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“I saw a report of a beating on Park at Seventy-Sixth. Please tell me it wasn’t Shep Troutman.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Dino said.

“Oh, no.”

“No, it wasn’t Shep, but there’s a theory that whoever beat the guy up thought he was. The same description would work for both, and the location said ‘Shep,’ too.”

“Any witnesses?”

“None. The cameras are being checked as we speak, and detectives are talking to the victim at Lenox Hill.”

“Keep me posted, will you? This is too creepy to be a coincidence.”

“Why did you dismiss my guys last night, after all the trouble I went to?”

“Turns out, my date lives next door to the restaurant. I thought they’d be pleased.”

“Actually, they were pleased.”

“By the way, if you want them to pass for ordinary citizens on the East Side, you need to find them a new barber.”

“That skin-on-the-sides look doesn’t work uptown, huh?”

“Let’s put it this way: if you’d had that haircut when you applied to buy your apartment, your co-op board would never have let you in the front door.”

“I suppose you’re right. It’s going to take a few weeks to grow.”

“I’ll leave the growth rate in your capable hands. Now, can I finish my breakfast?”

Dino hung up, and Stone finished his breakfast.

A half hour later, as Stone was finishing the Times crossword, his phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Shep. It wasn’t me this time.”

“I already checked with Dino. He’d had the same thought. The victim even looked a little like you.”

“It’s creepy.”

“My thoughts exactly. Would you like to revisit your thoughts about who might have it in for you?”

“I have already done so. I came up with zilch.”

“My other line is ringing. It must be Dino.”

“Bye.”

Stone picked up. “What do you hear?”

“The same Mercedes, or an identical one, was parked across the avenue, and the license plate was masked.”

“They’ve heard of cameras, huh?”

“I guess criminals are getting smarter. Maybe Fred was wrong, and they were never after you. I think Shep must have made an enemy or two.”

“I just talked to him; he swears not. Anyway, he’s such a pleasant guy. He doesn’t seem to be the type to make enemies.”

“Enemies aren’t picky,” Dino said. “They choose their victims from a wide range. It’s more to do with their own personalities.”

“You’re practically a shrink, you know that, Dino?”

“I get more traffic than your average headshrinker.”

“I guess you do, at that.”

“Dinner at P.J.’s tonight? Viv is off again this morning.”

“Sure.”

“Maybe I’ll have more on the case by then.”

“I hope so.”

They both hung up.

Stone and Dino were in the midst of demolishing their steaks, when Shepherd Troutman appeared at their table.

“May I join you for a few minutes?” he asked.

“Of course.”

A waiter produced another chair.

“Would you like to order something, Shep?”

“No, I had something earlier. First, I want to apologize to you both.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“I wasn’t entirely frank with you about my recent past. I thought I could handle it on my own, but I can’t.”

“Start at the beginning,” Stone said.

“A couple of weeks after my father’s death, a lawyer appeared at my office who said he had a client who was interested in buying the business. I thanked him and asked him to submit his client’s offer to my attorneys, and I would get back to him. He said that his client didn’t work that way, and he pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase which had a number printed on it. It was for $250,000,000.

“I said it was an interesting offer, but that I would need the details in a written document. He produced a suitcase, like a military footlocker, set it on my conference table and opened it. It was full of cash, and he said it contained twenty-five million dollars, which would serve as a deposit. I had never seen that much money before.”