Dirt (Stone Barrington 2)

“Want me to loan you one?”

“What’s the matter with my suits?” Dino demanded indignantly.

“They’re probably a little too Italian for an East Side co-op board. A trip to Brooks Brothers or Ralph Lauren might be a good investment.”

“I’ll think about it. When this board hears us talk, they might bounce us.”

“Use your interrogation English.”

“Huh?”

“Talk to them the way you interrogate upscale witnesses.”

“Oh, that. That could work, if I don’t let Mary Ann talk at all.”

Stone laughed. “Come on, get me out of here.”

Dino dropped him in front of the house, and Stone climbed the front steps more slowly than he’d planned. Helene met him at the door, fussing, and in five minutes she had him tucked in bed.

“Don’t bring food,” Stone said. “There’s a lady coming whom you haven’t met yet, and she’ll want that privilege.”

Helene went back to her work, chuckling.

An hour later, Arrington showed up. He could hear her and Helene coming up the stairs together, laughing. When they came into the room, Arrington was carrying what looked like a large leather portfolio and a paper bag.

“I take it you two have met,” Stone said.

“Yes, we have,” Arrington said, handing the paper bag to Helene. “I stopped by the deli for soup; can you warm this up?”

Helene went to the kitchenette and came back in five minutes with a large steaming mug.

Arrington made him drink it. “Good for what ails you,” she said. When he had finished the soup, she opened the leather thing, which turned out to be a portable massage table. “A little gift,” she said.

“Thanks very much,” he replied. “How does it work?”

She took a sheet from the linen closet and spread it over the table. “Get out of that nightshirt, and hop up here; I’ll show you.” She retrieved a bottle of oil from her large purse.

Stone climbed onto the table and stretched out, his face in an opening provided for breathing.

Arrington started with his neck and shoulders. “You’ve got a very large bruise right here,” she said, poking the back of his neck. “Is that sore?”

“You bet it is; go easy there.”

She worked her way slowly down his back and buttocks, letting her hands stray now and then.

“You keep that up, and I’ll forget I’m sick,” Stone breathed.

“Oh, shut up.” She moved down to his legs and feet, then had him turn over.

“What was that angry phone call the other night about?” Stone asked. “The one on the machine.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to tell you until you were better.”

“Tell me what?”

“Somebody broke into my apartment earlier that evening.”

Stone sat up, but she pushed him back down. “What was taken?”