The menus arrived, and they ordered dinner. When the food arrived, Chris Wheaton took another tack.
“I used to work local news in New York,” she said. “I remember when you were on the force.”
“You mean you remember when I left the force, don’t you?” Stone said, cracking a crab claw.
“That’s what I mean. Your name still pops up now and then.”
“Does it?”
“You haven’t exactly been press-shy, have you, Stone?”
Stone laughed ruefully. “I’ve never sought coverage, but sometimes coverage has been thrust upon me by your colleagues in the media.”
She found that funny. “Still, your occasional flash of fame must have brought you a lot of cases as a lawyer.”
“I’ve ducked more of that kind of case than I’ve taken,” he replied. “Most of my work has been fairly run-of-the mill.”
“Didn’t you get a very nice personal injury verdict a while back?”
He nodded. “Got a nice one last year; we even collected.” And it had made life a bit easier for him, too, he remembered. “I’m not the sort of lawyer who gets the big cases; those usually go to the big firms, and I’m pretty much an independent.”
“But you’ve done well, haven’t you? I seem to remember something about a townhouse in
Turtle Bay.”
“I inherited that from a great-aunt and did most of the renovation myself. That verdict you mentioned paid off the construction loan, though. That was a relief.”
“I’ll bet.” She was looking at him the way he had once looked at perps in interrogations.
“Chris, have you got something on your mind about me?”
“It just seems odd that you would just happen to be here when Allison Manning came sailing in. Could that be a bit more than a coincidence?”
Stone pointed toward the marina. “If you’ll go down to the marina office and check their reservations log, you’ll find that I booked my charter nearly three months ago, and since you’re from New York, you’ll know firsthand about the blizzard. If not for that I would now be south of Guadeloupe somewhere with a rum and tonic in one hand and the girl of my dreams in the other.”
“And who is the girl of your dreams?”
“Her name is Arrington Carter; she’s a magazine writer, a freelancer.”
“I’ve met her,” Wheaton said. “As a matter of fact, I saw her two nights ago in the company of an actual movie star.”
Stone nodded. “Vance Calder. She’s working on a New Yorker profile of him that she was offered after the snowstorm hit; that’s why she’s not here now.”
“Aren’t you just a little uncomfortable knowing that your girlfriend is in New York with Vance Calder, instead of here with you?”
“Not really.” He smiled. “As a matter of fact, Vance introduced us last fall.” This was not quite a lie. “And she’s not in New York, she’s in L.A. They both went out there today.”
“Ah,” Wheaton said, sounding disappointed.
I hope I bent that needle, Stone thought, but it irritated him no end that she knew about Arrington and Vance. He hoped it didn’t show.
There was a brief silence, then Wheaton turned to her producer.
“Jake, when we’re done tomorrow, you take the tape back to New York and do the editing; you can play me the track over the phone later in the week.”
“And where will you be?” Burrows asked.
“I’ll be here,” she said. “I’m staying for the trial, and so is the camera crew. You work it out with Don or whoever.”