D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“I doubt it,” Stone said, “but I think she may have something to say. I wanted you to know up front that it wasn’t my idea to see her alone, it was hers.”

“It’s okay, pal,” Dino said.

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure. Anyway, there’s a movie on HBO I want to see.”

“Okay,” Stone said.

STONE PRESENTED HIMSELF AT the Watergate apartments at five minutes past the hour, and the maid was waiting for him when he got off the elevator. She showed him into the living room, where Milly Hart was sitting on the sofa, just as last time, in another beautiful peignoir. She offered him a hand and patted the sofa next to her. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Barrington,” she said.

“I never turn down a free lunch,” Stone replied, sitting.

“Marilyn,” she said to the maid, “you may have the afternoon off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said, smiling. She disappeared.

As soon as she left, there was a knock on the door from the foyer.

“Come in,” Milly called out.

The door opened, and a waiter pushed in a room service table and set it up before the windows overlooking the river.

“Come,” Milly said, leading Stone to the table. “I believe you’re feveet ond of lobster salad,” she said, waving him to his seat.

“You’re very well informed,” Stone said, surprised.

“It’s Washington,” she said.

Stone laughed. “I was surprised to hear from you.”

“I’m sorry I had to cut our first meeting short, but you hadn’t called ahead, and I had another engagement.”

“I believe I bumped into your engagement as we got off the elevator.”

“Did you,” she said, but it wasn’t a question. She poured them each a glass of a good white Burgundy, and they raised their glasses. “To truth and justice and the American way,” she said.

Stone smiled and sipped his wine.

“I take those things very seriously,” she said, popping a morsel of lobster into her mouth.

“Is that how you were brought up?”

“Well, yes, but it was my late husband, Senator Hart, who instilled those values in me in a more permanent way. Since he died, I have hated injustice in its every form, and I always tell the truth.”

“Are you going to tell me the truth today?” Stone asked.

“I am, to the extent that I know it.” She sipped her wine. “Tell me, what have you heard about me?”

“That you come from go

od stock, that you married a good man, but one who left you in dire straits.”

She smiled broadly. “And that I was forced to take money from men as a result?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m afraid the truth is more shocking than that,” she said.