Carnal Curiosity - Stuart Woods Page 0,4

ground floor, then, after a final tweak, he let go of the finger and stepped backward off the elevator, keeping an eye on Dugan, and the doors closed.

Mike was already on his cell phone. “A gentleman is coming down on elevator two,” he said into it. “Please escort him to the street door and see that he doesn’t reenter the building. It’s going to take at least two of you.”

“Well done,” Stone said. “You know that guy?”

“Sort of,” Mike said. “He owns an investigative agency. Was he trying to get to Ms. Hart?”

“He’s her ex-husband,” Stone explained, “and she didn’t want to talk to him.”

“I was thinking of buying his business,” Mike said, “but I just changed my mind.”

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Stone returned to the party and discovered that he had handed his drink to Dino, who returned it.

“Did you and the big guy have a nice conversation?” Dino asked.

“A very brief one. I did all the talking. Where were you when I needed you?”

“Drinking,” Dino said, raising his glass. “And you didn’t seem to need any help.”

“Thank you,” Crane said. “That could have turned ugly.”

“Is he in denial about the divorce?” Stone asked.

“Well,” she said, looking embarrassed, “we’re not quite divorced.”

“How close are you?”

“We negotiated a property settlement, and now he won’t sign it.”

“Has your attorney spoken to his lawyer?”

“Yes, but he has been ineffective.”

“Who is he?”

Crane told him. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” Stone replied. “He’s the sort of attorney who would let the divorce run on, just to up his billable hours.”

“I’ve been getting the bills.”

“Tomorrow morning, messenger him a letter firing him and telling him to give your file to the messenger. I’ll get this done.” He gave her his business card.

“I’ll do it first thing,” she said, tucking the card into her bra.

Someone was clinking a glass. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mike Freeman called from the other side of the room, next to a giant television screen. “If I may have your attention, an important announcement is about to be made.” The TV came to life, framing an empty podium on a dais. “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice said, “the first lady of the United States.”

Katherine Lee stepped to a podium and the camera zoomed in for a close-up. “Good evening,” she said. “I’ve asked you here this evening for an announcement. I have decided to enter the race for the Democratic nomination for president of the United States.” The friendly crowd burst into applause. She waited for it to die down, then continued. “I realize it’s late in the day, but I’m very concerned with the state of the race in the primaries, so tomorrow morning I will file for the New Hampshire primary, and I will be in the race until the convention chooses a candidate.” More applause. “I won’t be taking questions from the press until tomorrow, but I would like to make one thing perfectly clear: I have not asked the president to support me in the primaries, and he is free to support anyone he likes—sort of free, anyway.” Big laugh. “My husband will be releasing his own statement tomorrow morning, but the gist of it will be that he will have no comment on the race until the party has chosen a candidate, and that he expects to support that candidate wholeheartedly . . . whoever she may be.” More laughter and applause. “I thank you all for coming tonight, and now members of my staff will pass among you with collection plates.” More laughter, more applause, then the camera cut to Chris Matthews and a roundtable of journalists for discussion. The TV went dead.

“Dinner is served,” Mike announced, and the group turned to the buffet table.

Later, Stone and Crane said good night to the Bacchettis and entered his house.

“Would you like a drink in the study?” Stone asked.

“Yes, and I think we should talk.”

Stone settled her on the sofa, poured them cognacs, then joined her.

“Here’s the history in a nutshell,” Crane said. “Don and I met a little over three years ago, and I guess he sort of swept me off my feet. He can be very charming when he wants to be. We were married, and he turned out to be a violent drunk. I left him after five months. That was two years ago.”

“And nothing has happened since? You didn’t file for divorce?”

“No. He was trying to sell his business, and he said any publicity might queer a deal, so I held off. Six or seven months ago I