“Will you kindly send these to the nearest hospital or old folks’ home?” Stone said.
“I thought so,” Joan said. “I saw her across the street yesterday afternoon, looking as if she was trying to decide whether to come over here.”
Stone was further alarmed. “Was she alone?”
“There was a large man with her.”
“Her keeper,” Stone said. “Eduardo is allowing her out of the house for shopping trips.”
“Oh, then she must be a lot better,” Joan said.
“Don’t you believe it,” Stone replied. “I saw the look in her eyes: She’s still mad dog crazy.”
Joan looked worried. “Oh, God, what should I do if I see her out there again?”
Stone thought about that. “I don’t know.”
“Well, thanks, that’s very helpful. Should I call the cops or just shoot her?”
“Neither of those options works for me,” Stone said. “Are you on friendly terms with Eduardo’s secretary?”
“Well, I imagine her as some sort of Sicilian bat, hanging upside down in his house, but she’s civil, in an abrupt sort of way.”
“Call her and tell her you didn’t want to mention this to me, but Dolce is hanging around my house.”
“That’s taking yourself out of it very nicely,” she said.
“Look, I do not want to call Eduardo and tell him his lunatic daughter is stalking me.”
“No, you want me to do it.”
“No, just mention it to his secretary in the terms I outlined, and I’m sure word will get to Eduardo in the proper manner.”
“You know I have a.45 in my desk drawer, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I know it. Have I ever mentioned to you the amount of paperwork and the number of court appearances required to deal with charges of murder and possessing an illegal weapon?”
“It’s not illegal; you got me a license, remember? I can even carry it around.”
“Getting you that license the way I got it is almost as difficult to deal with as a murder charge,” Stone said. “So for God’s sake, don’t shoot Dolce-or anybody else.”
“I’ll try not to,” Joan said, and flounced out.
“And don’t flounce!” Stone called after her.
Joan buzzed again. “Bob Cantor on one.”
“Hello, Bob, what’s up?”
“I’ll tell you what’s down,” Bob said, “the spirits of the Leahy boys.”
“What’s the problem?”
“They’re bored stiff. They’re saying I promised they could shoot somebody, but there’s nobody there.”
“Gee, I’m sorry they’re not being entertained by shooting people. You’d think they would be happy they’re not being shot at.”
“What are you gonna do?”