Стюарт Вудс - Shakeup

Holly shook another five hundred hands. She and Stone waltzed once and boogied once, in a restrained manner, then worked their way out of the building. Stone could see flashes of light in his eyeballs, induced by the strobes of the pro photographers.

The third ball was in a grander hotel ballroom and their work was a carbon copy of the last stop. Finally, they were back in the car, and Stone was not surprised that the time was just past ten o’clock.

The fourth ballroom was much smaller, with much richer people and top White House staffers and cabinet members. It was held in the ballroom of a large, private house, and Holly shook hands on a line that stretched across the room, where the host and a woman who looked like his mother greeted them with big smiles and hugs.

“I’m so sorry Pat couldn’t be here,” the man said. “She’s down with a horrible migraine.”

“That’s all right, Don,” Holly said to her new secretary of commerce. “We understand perfectly.”

More perfectly than she knew, Stone thought.

This time, they were seated in comfortable chairs in the paneled library, where people wandered past for a handshake and maybe a selfie. They were even given some very good food, to keep them going a little longer.

Stone’s eyes were glazing over, now, but he hung on, with Holly as his example, until they were back in the car. Dino and Viv were being driven directly to the hotel, while Holly and Stone were driven back to the White House.

“You know you can’t come upstairs, don’t you?” Holly asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “We play only in New York.”

“I’m glad you’re being so understanding,” she said.

“There’s something I have to tell you before you go up,” he said.

“You mean about Pat Clark’s death?”

“You already know?”

“Deborah Myers stopped by earlier this evening and gave me a full briefing. I was amazed at the way Don stood up to the evening. It was too late to cancel, and he insisted on hosting.”

“You stood up pretty well, yourself,” Stone said.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she replied. “I tried to stay in the moment. Do you have anything new to tell me?”

“Chief Myers knows everything I know. She gave me the perp interrogation for a while, but the ME’s report and the photograph of you, me, and the Clarks at the inauguration nailed it down, so I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Deb would have nailed you, if she could.”

“I asked her not to tell you until tomorrow, but that didn’t work.”

“It’s best this way. I don’t have to play dumb.”

The car pulled up to the White House portico, and Stone began to get out with Holly.

“No,” she said, stopping him with a kiss. “Not even to the door. We don’t want that photograph taken.”

“I guess I have some things to get used to, as well,” he said. “Sleep tight. Call me tomorrow evening, when I’m back in New York.”

“Will do.”

After she got out, the car moved to the gate, then the rear door opened. “We have another car for you, Mr. Barrington,” an agent said.

Of course you do, Stone thought, getting out. He couldn’t be seen being driven around alone in the president’s limo.

Dino and Viv were sitting in the living room, watching TV, brandies in hand.

“You didn’t stay the night?” Dino asked.

“No, we’ve agreed that that will happen only outside Washington. We can’t even seem to be sharing a bed in this town.”

“Is New York out of bounds, too?”

“No, we reckon we can manage there.”

“So, you’re going to be living a sex-free life most of the time?” Viv asked.

“We’ve never denied each other the company of other people.”

“It’ll be interesting to see how that works out.”

Stone sat down on the sofa, sipped his cognac, and watched himself waltz on television.

They landed at Teterboro, and Dino’s official car dropped Stone off at home. As Stone was about to insert his key in the front-door lock, the door opened, and a man who looked familiar stood there, his right hand behind him.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Barrington. I’m Agent Jeffs.”

“Hello, Agent Jeffs,” Stone said. Jeffs holstered his weapon and shook Stone’s hand. “I’m alone, so you can stand down.”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Washington has listed your residence and the Carlyle Hotel as places frequently visited by the president, so we’ll have one person on duty here at all times. Otherwise, whenever the president visits you here, we would have to perform a full-site security inspection, which might take a full day and would certainly be inconvenient for you.”

It was damned inconvenient, Stone thought. “Glad to have you aboard, Jeffs.”

“My first name is Jefferson,” the man said. “I’d be pleased if you’d call me Jeff.”

Stone blinked. “Of course,” he managed to say.

Fred, Stone’s factotum, got the luggage inside. Then Stone changed out of his suit and went down to his office, where he was greeted by his secretary, Joan Robertson.

“Oh!” she enthused. “You waltz so divinely!”

“If you keep that up,” Stone said, “I’m going to have to shoot you.” He went to his desk and started to go through the stack of mail and messages. “I assume you’ve made the acquaintance of Agent Jefferson Jeffs,” he said. “But you can call him Jeff.”

The phone on his desk rang, and Joan picked it up. “The Barrington practice at Woodman & Weld,” she said, then handed the phone to Stone. “Dino for you.”

Stone took the phone. “Didn’t I just see you somewhere?”

“Yes, but I have news unavailable until now.”

“Shoot.”

“Deborah Myers called. Her department is trying to clear Donald Clark of anything to do with his wife’s killing.”

“Well, there goes the easy suspect. Who do they like for it now? Me again?”

“Her lover, possibly one of several.”

“How did he get into our suite?”

“There are ways to deal with electronic locks, and he apparently used one of them.”

“Who is he?”

“Unknown at this time. They got a phone tip from somebody, a woman, saying that Pat was screwing around and deserved what she got.”

“Call me when they make an arrest,” Stone said.

“Dinner tonight?”

“Give me a rain check. I still haven’t recovered from all the waltzing.”

“I thought you had more stamina.”

“Not for waltzing. That really takes it out of you.”

“Bye.” He hung up.

“Poor baby,” Joan said. “All tuckered out?”

“Completely tucked.”

“I’ll leave you to your nap, then.”

“Will you ask Helene to send me a ham sandwich and a beer upstairs? I’ll nap better if I’m fed.”

At the word fed Bob, Stone’s yellow Labrador Retriever strolled into the room, his tail clearly saying, I’ll have something, too.

“I’ll take care of it,” Joan said.

Stone scratched Bob behind the ears, then down his spine, his dog’s favorite thing. The tail told him Bob was glad to see him.

Stone woke at half past six, and his first impulse was to head up to Elaine’s, his favorite joint since he was on foot patrol in Germantown. Then he remembered that Elaine had died a few years back, and her restaurant had soon followed. He picked up the phone, glanced at his watch, and called Dino.

“What?” Dino said.

“I changed my mind. P.J. Clarke’s, half an hour?”

“Done.” Dino hung up.

Half an hour later, Stone strolled into Clarke’s. Dino was already drinking Scotch. The bartender saw him coming and put a glass of ice on the bar, then filled it with Knob Creek bourbon. Stone nodded his thanks.