“Wild Turkey on the rocks, if you have it.”
Brougham grabbed a bottle that looked like a crystal decanter and poured Stone a double. “This is Wild Turkey, but it’s got a leg up on the standard stuff.”
Stone tasted the whiskey. The man was right. This stuff cost thirty bucks a bottle; he was beginning to like Brougham.
A couple arrived at the front door, and Brougham went off to greet them. “Wander around,” he said. “Meet some people.”
Stone looked around. The room was jammed with people, and somebody was playing the piano rather well. “I see at least four cops,” he said to Dino.
“So what? There are a lot of civilians here, too.”
“If you consider assistant DA’s civilians. Who’s the tall guy by the fireplace?”
“Tom Deacon. He runs the DA’s investigative division.”
“I don’t like him,” Stone said.
“Have you ever even met him?”
“No.”
“What the hell is the matter with you lately?”
“He’s got shifty eyes.”
“He’s with the DA, isn’t he?”
The party had clearly been going on for some time, because there was no food left, and everybody had had several drinks. Stone was as drunk as any of them but not as gregarious. He looked for a quiet corner. He left Dino with Dana Brougham and walked through a pair of double doors, into a handsome library. A pair of leather wing chairs faced each other before a cheerful fire, and Stone headed for one. He sat down, glad to be alone; then he saw that the other chair was occupied.
A chestnut-haired woman in a pin-striped suit sat with her legs pulled under her, reading by firelight from a leather-bound book. She glanced at him, raised her glass a millimeter in greeting, then went back to her book.
“You’ll ruin your eyes,” Stone said.
She gazed at him for a moment. “You’ve changed, Mom.”
“Sorry. What are you reading?”
?
?Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”
“I haven’t read that since high school,” he said.
“I haven’t read it at all,” she replied.
“It seemed terribly erotic at sixteen, but then almost everything did.”
She smiled a little but didn’t look up. “I remember.”
“Where were you when you were sixteen?”
“At Spence.”
Spence was a very tony Manhattan private school.
“And after that?”
“Yale.”