Dirt (Stone Barrington 2)

“That’s what the old man has in mind. The rent will be more than we pay now, but he’ll lay some cash on Mary Ann, to make up for it.”

“That sounds fairly clean. You’re going to need a checkable story that starts right from the beginning – how you find the agent, how you heard about the agent, a proper lease. It’s got to look like anybody could find this apartment, you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Tell Mary Ann to make sure her daddy understands, too.”

“What, you think the old guy doesn’t know something about hiding ownership?”

“This isn’t like holding a cement company, Dino; if the commission starts looking into this, it’s got to be airtight, and you be sure that neither the agent or the head of the corporation has a name that rhymes with a pasta.”

“Right, right.” Dino looked up and smiled. “Hey, look what’s coming in,” he said.

Stone turned to see Arrington enter the restaurant

. “Not bad,” he said offhandedly.

“Not bad? You’re losing it. As it happens, I know this one.” He waved at Arrington, who waved back and started for the table. “Give us a few minutes, then get lost, okay?”

“Sure, Dino, whatever you say.”

Dino was on his feet, taking Arrington’s offered hand. “Long time no see,” he was saying. “This is my friend…”

Arrington let go of Dino’s hand, turned to Stone, and planted a large kiss on his lips. “We’ve met,” she said.

Stone held her chair while Dino stood, dumbfounded. “Sit down, Dino,” he said; then he leaned over and whispered, “Give us a few minutes, then get lost, okay?”

When Dino had left, Arrington pulled out a copy of the new Vanity Fair. “My first piece for them,” she said, opening the magazine. “It’s about the mayor’s wife.”

“That’s great, Arrington,” Stone said. “That has got to be a tough market for a writer to break into.”

“Not if you’re a good enough writer,” she said.

“Can I have this? I’d like to read it later.”

“Later you’re going to be busy,” she said, “but you can have it for tomorrow.”

Stone flipped through the pages of the magazine. “You know any models, by any chance?”

“I have a passing acquaintance with a few,” she replied.

Stone found the cologne ad. “How about this guy? Know him?”

Arrington looked at the ad, then back at Stone. Her face was suddenly expressionless. “Why did you have to do it this way?”

“What?” Stone was baffled.

“Why didn’t you just…” She turned away, and there were angry tears in her eyes.

“Arrington, I don’t understand,” Stone said. “I just wanted to know who this guy is. It’s a business thing.”

She turned back angrily. “You know who it is,” she said.

“I swear to you I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I am not. Arrington, what is going on?”