Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

“How do you do that?” Stone asked.

“Do what?”

“Recover from exhaustion in half an hour?”

“I slept for an hour, remember?”

“Yes, but you still seemed exhausted.”

“Not exhausted, just sleepy. I’m quite well now. May we go to dinner? I’m starved.”

DINO HAD NOT yet arrived, so Stone ordered a Knob Creek and Felicity’s Rob Roy. “How was your day?” he asked.

“Not bad,” she replied. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Stone laughed. “Of course not; it was a silly question.”

“I’m thinking of quitting,” she said without preamble.

Stone was shocked. “I’m shocked,” he replied. “Truly.”

“I’ve got twenty years in, and there’s a pension.”

“Can one live well on a British civil service pension?”

“One can if one has a comfortable private income, a house in London, another in the Isle of Wight and yet another in the south of France. Daddy died last year, and I was his only child.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Daddy wasn’t sorry,” she said. “He had been in pain for a year, and he was glad to go.”

“I’m sorry he was in pain. I’m glad he left you well off.”

“I would have been really well off but for the taxes. Fortunately, Daddy was liquid enough that I didn’t have to sell the properties. If I retire, will you come and see me?”

“I will come and see you, retired or not.”

She patted his hand. “You’re sweet.”

DINO ARRIVED, WAVED for his Scotch and sat down. “Good evening, one and all,” he said.

“You sound cheerful,” Stone said.

“I’m always cheerful,” he replied.

“Well… no. You are often dour.”

“Me, dour?”

“Often.”

“Well, I’m not dour tonight,” he said.

Felicity spoke up. “Could your good cheer be related to some success with the FBI regarding the photo of Stanley Whitestone?”