Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

Guido looked at Stone closely. “You think we don’t know how to dress?”

“I thought we already covered that point, Guido. This is Palm Beach; it’s different.”

He nodded. “Different from Brooklyn.”

“Different from anywhere you’ve ever been before. Give me the names of your people, and I’ll get them on the guest list.”

Guido took a notebook from one of his many shirt pockets and jotted down some names, then ripped off the sheet and gave it to Stone.

Stone read them aloud: “Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, Mr. Williams and Mr. Edwards?”

“I’m Mr. Edwards,” Guido said.

“Got it.” Stone put the piece of paper into his pocket and stood up. “Thanks for checking in, Guido. I appreciate your help with this.”

“I ain’t doing it for you,” Guido said, then walked away.

Stone watched him go, then walked back to the yacht and found Callie. “Please add these names to the guest list for Sunday,” he said, handing her the paper.

Callie looked at it. “Do these people have first names?”

“No,” Stone said.

53

STONE WALKED DOWN WORTH AVENUE WITH DINO AT his side, trying not to look behind him or at the reflections in windows.

“What are we doing, Stone?” Dino asked.

“We’re trolling.”

“For Dolce?”

“Yes.”

“Which one of us is the bait on the hook?”

“I am.”

“So what am I?”

“You’re the cork.”

“I must remember to stay out of the line of fire,” Dino said.

“Don’t worry. Guido and his buddies are on the job.”

“Oh, that really makes me feel better: protection from goombahs.”

“You’re a goombah,” Stone said.

“You say that again, and I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Come on, Dino, the only thing separating your life from Guido’s and his chums’ is the entrance exam to the police academy.”

“You’re really trying to piss me off, aren’t you?”

“Can’t you take a joke?”