Severe Clear (Stone Barrington 24)

“Because that’s what people were willing to pay me to do. One of Strategic’s clients asked me to investigate a couple of his employees in my spare time. As a result, both employees were fired, and I was hired. Word about me somehow got around that hiring me more than paid for itself, and other work appeared. Now I’m well afloat.”

“Admirable,” Herbie said.

They both ordered steaks and onion rings, and Herbie picked out a good red from the list.

—

Well,” Harp said, when they had finished dinner and reduced the bottle to half a glass. “I’m not tired, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Show me where you live,” she said.

“That’s direct.”

“Saves time. One of the ways I judge people is by how they occupy the spaces they live in. If you live in a rat hole, tell me now, and I’ll be on my way.”

Herbie signed the check and pulled the table out for her. “Come with me,” he said.

They took a cab over to Park Avenue, to Herbie’s building. They took the elevator up, and when they walked into his apartment she didn’t take her coat off until she had had a look around. Finally, she handed him her coat. “You’ll do, Herb,” she said.

7

Herbie was awakened by the smell of bacon frying. He pried open an eye, stumbled into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and hair, and got into a robe.

He was salivating as he arrived in the kitchen and found her setting the table by the window. “Good morning,” he said.

“First kitchen I’ve seen in New York that has a window that doesn’t overlook an air shaft,” she said, raking eggs out of a skillet onto the plates as two English muffins popped out of the toaster.

“It’s a penthouse,” Herbie said. “The air shaft surrounds the apartment.”

She recovered the bacon from the microwave, buttered the muffins, poured orange juice, set the coffeepot on the table, and sat down. “Join me?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Herbie sat down and tasted the eggs. “Wow,” he said. “What’s your secret?”

“If I told you my secrets, they wouldn’t be secret.”

Herbie was eating too fast to talk.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

“Mmmmf?”

“You’re thinking, as my father would put it, ‘How did I fall into this pot of jam? How could I meet such a beautiful woman, experience the best sex of my life, and have the best breakfast ever, all in such a short time and with so little effort?’”

Herbie swallowed. “You’re a witch,” he said, then filled his mouth again.

Harp smiled. “There you have it. Tell me, how did you get rich enough at the age of thirtyish to live like this? Inherited wealth?”

“I inherited it from the New York State Lottery.”

Her mouth fell open.

“I kid you not.”

“So, you blew it on fast living, the wa

y lottery winners always seem to?”