Unnatural Acts (Stone Barrington 23)

“What does that mean?”

“It means I brought in some serious business.”

“What sort of business?”

“A large corporate security business called Strategic Services, Centurion Studios, the Steele insurance group, and a new hotel being built now in Bel-Air, California.”

“Sounds like a great list. Did you and your wife have any children?”

“A son, Peter, who’s at the Yale School of Drama now.”

“Studying acting?”

“Studying everything. He wants to direct. In fact, his first film is being released this fall.”

“An indie, of course.”

“Yes, but it got picked up by Centurion.”

“You have anything to do with that?”

“I introduced Peter to the CEO. He did the rest.”

“Sounds like a very bright boy.”

“You have no idea.”

They lingered over their wine, then he showed her the house. Just before eleven, she made her way back across the garden to her own place, unmolested.

Stone couldn’t remember ever having let that happen before.

17

Herbie slept his usual six hours and made it into work at seven-thirty a.m.. He walked into his office, which was oddly dark, and felt for the light switch. He was in the wrong office.

“What do you think?” Cookie asked from behind him.

Herbie looked at her, then turned back to the strange room. It was now lit by lamps in the four corners and one behind an Eames lounge chair, with a matching ottoman, which seemed to have replaced the desk. A glass coffee table sat next to that, and a leather sofa on the opposite side, with matching armchairs on the other two sides of the table. A beautiful oriental rug glowed golden in the light from the lamps. Sunlight was shut out by venetian blinds that matched the wood in the floor.

“Do I work here

?” Herbie asked.

“You do, if you want to,” Cookie said. “I can send it all back, if you don’t like it.”

Herbie went and sat in the beautiful chair and put his feet on the ottoman. His back didn’t hurt. “I like it,” he said. “No, I love it. Where’s all my stuff?”

“In the credenza at your right hand,” she replied. “There are four file drawers and eight ordinary ones.”

Herbie reached to his right and his hand fell on the phone. Next to that was a marble pencil box. He looked around and saw handsomely framed pictures on the walls and a Chinese terra-cotta horse in the center of the coffee table.

“It’s T’ang dynasty,” she said, “about eleven hundred years old.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “Here’s the bill for everything.”

Herbie looked at it: $54,540. “You’re nearly five grand over budget.”

“Tell me what you’d like to send back,” she said.

Herbie looked around. “Absolutely nothing. How’d you get this done so fast?”