Stone took the card: “ 71 East Seventy-first Street? I thought you lived on Park.”
“It’s the side-door address for those who want to be discreet. Maybe you should use 740 Park on her cards for Sharpe’s edification.”
“Sure.” The women wandered off, and Stone went back to his call. “I’m back.”
“I was particularly interested in the battery and attempted murder charges,” Brian said, resuming. “I got hold of a San Francisco detective who worked the latter case, and he told me that Sharpe has a very bad temper, especially when drinking, and he has a propensity for violence. The attempted murder case arose out of a fight between him and another guy he nearly beat to death. It took four cops to pull him off.”
“What was the battery charge about?”
“He beat up a girlfriend, and she called the cops.”
“Mitzi tells me her partner is out of town until tomorrow,” Stone said.
“And she won’t start until then,” Brian replied. “Her partner, Tom Rabbit, is a big Irish guy who can handle anything and who is very protective of her.”
“Brian, can you get her a car to be driven around in? Rabbit could be the chauffeur.”
“Good idea. Let me check the pound and see what we’ve confiscated lately.”
“You were right,” Stone said. “She’s a very bright lady. Oh, here’s her new address: 740 Park Avenue.” Then he read out the phone number.
Brian let out a low whistle. “How’d you swing that building? I read a book about that place.”
“It’s where Rita Gammage lives; Rita works for Philip Parsons.”
“Then she’s a very rich lady.”
“Or her parents are.”
“Same thing,” Brian said. “I gotta run. Tell Mitzi to call me later today, and I’ll check on a car.”
“Nothing too flashy,” Stone said. “Let’s not overdo it.”
“Gotcha.” Brian hung up.
Stone walked to his office, then down the hall to Joan’s room. “Can you get some of these printed in the name of Mitzi Reynolds? 740 Park Avenue? Same zip and phone. It’s a rush job.”
“Sure,” Joan said. “I’ll run them over to our printer and wait for them.” She grabbed her coat.
“On nice stock,” Stone said.
“I get it.” Joan was gone.
Stone walked back to the kitchen, where Helene was washing the champagne flutes by hand. “Where are the ladies?”
“Haven’t seen them,” Helene replied.
“That was a delicious lunch,” Stone said, and Helene beamed at him.
He walked up to the living room and had a look there and in his study: no sign of the women. He walked upstairs and looked into a couple of guest rooms, then continued on to the master. As he approached, the door was ajar, and he heard giggling. He opened the door and stood there, transfixed.
The two women were in his bed, and, judging from the pile of clothing on the floor, they weren’t wearing any. He didn’t know what to say.
Rita took up the slack. “Join us?” she said.
19
STONE WOKE SLOWLY in a champagne-induced haze. He was in the middle of his bed, and the women were nowhere to be seen. Then he heard a laugh from his bathroom and heard the shower go on. He drifted off again.