of them has been bought.”
“Or both. We’re running that down.”
“Dinner this week?”
“You name it.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Sure, Viv will be here. You bring what’s-her-name.”
“Kate Lee?”
“The other one.”
“Ann Keaton.”
“That one.”
“I’ll do my best. See ya.”
They both hung up.
Joan buzzed. “Ann Keaton on hold for you.”
Stone pressed the button. “Good morning.”
“Afternoon,” she said.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I didn’t get enough of you last night—can we do it again?”
“Careful, I’m on an office line, and it gets recorded.”
“Oops.”
“I’ll call you back on my cell in a minute.”
Stone hung up and waited for the phone to ring. It rang. “Now can we arrange an assignation?”
“Stone, have you gone nuts?” It was Kate Lee.
“Kate, I’m so sorry. I thought it was going to be Ann.”
“I’m sure it will be soon. How are you faring with the media?”
“I’m telling them the truth,” he said.
“Good, that’s all you need to do. Hang in there, and this will blow over.”
“How about Martin Stanton’s case? Will that blow over?”
“I can only hope not,” she said, laughing. “He should get what he deserves. Bye-bye.”
“Bye.” Stone hung up, and the phone rang again. “Yes?”
“It’s Ann.”
“I just had a call from Kate, and I thought it was you.”
“Oh, God, I hope you didn’t say anything compromising.”
“Almost, but not quite.”
“Where were we?”
“I was saying I didn’t get enough of you last night.”
“Ah, yes, I remember now.”
“Any chance of dinner tonight?”
“Unlikely. Can I call you, if I can bust loose?”
“Sure. Tomorrow night I’m having dinner with the Bacchettis. You’re invited.”
“That’s much more likely. I hope you can understand how hard it is for me to make plans.”
“Sure I do. Did you get any poll results on Stanton?”
“Yes, and he’s holding remarkably well. This thing hasn’t played out yet, though. If the woman talks to a tabloid or if her husband is mad enough to press the issue, that could change. I wouldn’t want to be in Stanton’s shoes.”
“How about his delegates?”
“They’re holding, almost to a man, so to speak. How are you doing with the press?”
“Just telling them the truth.”
“That’ll work. Hey, you didn’t tell me you took Kate to dinner at a restaurant. I had to read it in the Post.”
“God, I forgot about that. We still weren’t alone, though—the Secret Service delivered her and took her away when it was over.”
“Good. I’ll call you later.” She hung up.
Stone contented himself for the rest of the day with memories of the night before.
24
Five o’clock was approaching, and Stone still hadn’t heard from Ann. Joan buzzed. “Mike Freeman on one.”
He pressed the button. “Hi, Mike.”
“Good afternoon, Stone.”
“You sound like you’re on a satphone.”
“That I am—somewhere over Kansas, from the appearance of the landscape out the window.”
“Watch out for tornadoes.”
“Will do. I’m having dinner with your friend Teddy Fay, and I’ll be giving him your message.”
“Thank you, Mike. Tell him I wish I could present it myself.”
“I’ll do that. Everything else all right?”
“Well, let’s see, I was at a dinner party on Saturday night when four men with shotguns arrived and took all the available jewelry.”
“How interesting for you. Has the crime been solved?”
“Dino and I think Don Dugan is the mastermind. His company installed the security system.”
“Interesting. He didn’t strike me as the criminal type.”
“He did me. Dino, too.”
“Well, you see, I’ve never been a policeman. I don’t have your finely tuned perceptions where criminals are concerned.”
“You need a year on the NYPD. Maybe Dino can get you a detective’s badge.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the qualifications. Gotta run.”
“Take care, and thanks again for the delivery.”
—
Mike Freeman walked into the garden restaurant at The Arrington, in Bel-Air, and looked around at the tables. He spotted Billy Burnett, aka Teddy Fay, entering from the other side, and they met in the center, where the headwaiter seated them. There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and a special vase of flowers on the table. The two men shook hands and sat down, and a waiter appeared and opened the champagne bottle.
“Would you like a glass, Billy? This is an occasion for celebration.”
The waiter poured the wine, then disappeared. Mike picked up his glass. Billy didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Mike, I would be drinking this under false pretenses.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve thought about your very kind and generous offer, and I’ve decided not to accept.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Billy.”
“May I explain?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been working for Peter Barrington and Ben Bacchetti at Centurion Studios for some months. So has Betsy, for that matter. At first I couldn’t imagine what I’d be doing there, except providing some security