Stuart Woods - Insatiable Appetites

“Good thinking.”

She led him to a leather Chesterfield sofa that she had moved out of the master bedroom and sat him down. “We have more to think about,” she said, and her heart was pounding.

“What’s on your mind?” Frank asked. He took on a professional mien.

“Now don’t get all priestly with me. This is a conversation between a man and a woman.”

Frank laughed. “I guess I’m not accustomed to that conversation,” he said.

“Have you enjoyed your time here, Frank?”

“Have I ever! You lead the most wonderful life, and I’ve been lucky to share a little of it.”

“How would you like to share it all?” she asked, stroking his cheek.

“It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t see how it’s possible,” he replied. “I can’t commute from the Vatican.”

“It’s not only possible, it’s easy,” she said. “All you have to do is say yes. I’ll do the rest.”

“You mean I should go back, resign, and move in with you?”

“You don’t even have to go back,” she said. “You can mail them your resignation.” She kissed him.

“That is an overwhelming thought,” Frank said.

“We’ll have the Park Avenue apartment, and this estate — all ours. And whatever else we might want in the world.”

“What would I do with my time?”

“You’re a psychiatrist — open a practice. I’ll set you up with an office in a good building. I expect there’s a good trade to be had in lapsed Catholics and their resulting guilt.”

He laughed. “They’re thick on the ground, all right, but there’s something you don’t understand.”

“What’s that, my darling?”

“I’m a priest. Not just by education and title — it’s what I am, through and through, and I can’t do that and be with you all the time, too.”

“You can go on being a priest,” she said. “I’d rather like that.”

“How on earth could I continue as a priest and simultaneously be with you?”

“Become an Episcopalian. They would welcome you. I’ll buy you a good church. They’ll deal just like anybody else. A contribution to whatever they like, and you get your pick of churches.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a Roman Catholic priest. If I couldn’t be that, I’d slowly die.”

Dolce began to feel her blood getting warm, and her face became pink. She felt herself becoming desperate. “You’d reject me, just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“Don’t you think I’ve dreamed about doing just what you suggest? I’ve thought of it again and again, but the Church is there, tugging at my sleeve. Always and forever. That is my only destiny.”

“I see,” Dolce said, rising. She walked into the kitchenette and got a bottle of water from the fridge, then she took a boning knife from the wooden block that held the implements and held it, blade up her sleeve. “Come here, Frank,” she said. “There’s something I want to show you. She set down the water, because her hand was trembling.

He got up and came toward her; they met in the center of the room. She took his arm and maneuvered him onto the plastic drop cloth.

“What do you want to show me?” Frank asked.

“Only, this,” she said, drawing back the knife and swinging it at him in a wide arc. The razor-sharp blade found its mark, leaving a six-inch slit that included both the carotid artery and the jugular vein.

Frank clutched at his throat, trying to speak, but making only a gurgling noise. Blood poured down his chest.

She took his arm and tugged. “This way a little bit,” she said. “We don’t want to make a mess, do we?”

Frank’s knees buckled and he sank onto the plastic drop cloth. At first, a pool of blood spread, but then it stopped.

“I’ll just get some tape,” Dolce said. She came back with a thick roll of masking tape and had a good look at him. He was already gone. Then she went to work.

An hour later, after a rest to calm herself, Dolce walked back to the main house and rang for Pietro.

The man appeared quickly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Pietro,” Dolce said, “my father always told me that you were a man who could be relied upon in any situation.”

“I am proud that he thought so,” Pietro replied. “I was at his beck and call, as I now am at yours. My duty is anything you should require.”

“I have a job for you,” she said, and she explained.

Pietro made a little bow. “It shall be done,” he said.

“And don’t forget his luggage, upstairs.”

She poured herself a drink, avoiding the Irish whiskey, and sat down, taking deep breaths, allowing her heart and respiration to return to normal.

Stone, Peter and Hattie, Ben and Tessa, and Dino and Viv gathered in the rear library room of the Writing Room for dinner. It occurred to him that he was the only stag there; he wished Ann could be there, too. It also came to him that, one day, one of these dinners would be their last together. He hoped that would not be for a long time.

They ordered drinks and dinner, and Stone found an excellent Cabernet on the wine list and ordered two bottles.

Then Stone heard a knife rapping on a glass and the table became quiet.

Peter spoke up. “Ben has an announcement to make,” he said. “The floor is yours, partner.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Ben said, keeping his seat. “Peter and I have been having some serious conversations lately, and with his agreement, I’ve made an important decision in my life.”

Stone noticed that Dino seemed to have no idea what was coming.

“Peter and I have made a wonderful team, and we will continue to collaborate. However, Centurion Studios has offered me the job of head of production for the whole studio, and I just can’t resist it. I’ll be moving to an office in the executive building, but I’ll keep my office at our building, too. This is all effective next week.” He stopped and looked around.

It was quiet for a moment, then everybody cheered and clapped. Dino walked over, stood him up, and hugged him. “Now you’re going to be making more money than your old man,” he said, pounding Ben on his back.

“Dad,” Ben said, “I hate to break this to you, but I’ve been making more money than you since I left Yale.”

Everybody laughed, no one harder than Dino.

Dino’s phone vibrated. He picked up his drink, stepped away from the table, and entered into earnest conversation.

“The NYPD never closes,” Viv said.

Dino came back and sat down with his drink. He didn’t say anything.

“Come on, Dino,” Stone said, “let us be the first to hear the news.”

“What news?” Dino asked.

“The news you just got on the phone.”

“Oh, that news .”

“Come on, Dad, give!” Ben said.

“It’s not going to go very well with the osso buco.”

“We’ll live.”

“All right: a couple of hours ago a trawler in Jamaica Bay pulled in the trawl and found, in addition to many examples of marine life, a severed head in a weighted plastic bag. Quite fresh, too.”

“Ugh,” Tessa said, and made a face.

“I warned you, but my friend and my son just had to know.”

“Whose head was it?” Hattie asked.

“The full resources of the NYPD are now directed at answering that question,” Dino replied. “How soon we know will depend on whether the gentleman has a DNA record or dental records on file somewhere.”

“I guess there are no fingerprints,” Ben said drily.

Groans from all present.

Dinner arrived, Stone tasted and poured the wine, and they all dug into dinner.

They had just finished the dessert wine and were on coffee when Dino got another call. As before, he stepped away from the table to answer it. He talked for five minutes or so, then returned and sat down. “I can now answer your question, Hattie,” he said.