D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“No kidding? I’ve never been there.”

“Neither have I, but I have directions,” Stone replied, waving a piece of paper.

ENTRY TO THE CENTRAL Intelligence Agency’s grounds was very much like entry to the White House grounds. They gave their names at the gate, were checked off a list, then given visitors’ passes and directed to a parking spot. They were met on the ground floor by a fiftyish woman who introduced herself as Director Lee’s assistant and led them through the security gate and to an elevator, along the way passing a wall where nameless stars represented agents who had lost their lives in the line of duty.

The director’s dining room was pleasant, paneled in a light wood, and featured fo qblf duty.a large window with a view of the woods surrounding the building. Holly was already there, sipping fizzy water.

“Why, Mr. Barrington, Lieutenant Bacchetti, what a surprise to bump into you,” she said gaily.

Before they could respond, the director breezed into the room, followed by her assistant, who was jotting notes on a steno pad. “And tell them to be quick about it,” Kate Lee said, then took a seat at the table, waving the others to chairs. “I’m very much afraid that this is not going to be a very good lunch,” she said, “because I’m on a diet, and you have to suffer along with me.”

A small salad of some sort of leaves, splashed with lemon juice, was served.

“All right,” the director said, after they had begun to eat.

Stone recited what they had learned so far, which he knew would not please her, but she perked up when he came to the brick with the lipstick on it.

“Tell me,” she said, “how do you think lipstick got to be on the brick? Did the murderer kiss it?”

Her question was met with silence.

“Maybe Mrs. Kendrick was wearing it,” Dino said hopefully.

“No,” Holly replied. “She had just come from a tennis date.”

“Well,” the director replied, “I have played tennis with women who were wearing lipstick, but Mimi Kendrick never wore makeup at all. She had this glowing skin that cosmetics had never touched, and she looked great.”

“The lipstick does suggest that the murderer was a woman, though,” Stone said.

“Or a transvestite,” the director murmured.

Holly couldn’t resist laughing. “At the White House? That would be something!”

“Yes,” the director said, “it would be something, but you’re right, Stone, it’s hard to come to any other conclusion but that the murderer was a woman.”

“Or,” Dino said, “a man with a tube of lipstick who left some on the brick, just to drive us crazy.”

“That would indicate premeditation,” Stone said, “but a brick is not a weapon of premeditation, just the first thing the murderer could lay his or her hands on.”

“Stone’s right,” Dino said. “A premeditator would bring a knife or a gun.”

“Not at the White House,” Holly pointed out. “He—or she—would never be able to get a weapon past security.”

Everybody was quiet again.

Stone finally spoke up. “Of the people on the FBI’s list of those in the area, six were women: Charleston Bostwick, one undersecretary of state, one Secret Service agent, and the president’s three secretaries. And they all have unimpeachable alibis.”

They waited while a waiter took away their salad plates and replaced them with dinner plates, each containing a spoonful of a green substance and a single lamb chop.

“Well, there is one helpful thing about this information,” the director said, finally. “I never knew Brix Kendrick to wear lipstick.”

AFTER LUNCH, HOLLY WALKED Stone and Dino down to the lobby, and the three paused at the front door.

“Dinner tonight?“Dinneight?” Stone asked Holly.

“I can’t tonight,” she said, “but I’m glad you two got to visit the building.”

“I’m not glad,” Dino replied.