He put the trays on the dumbwaiter and sent it downstairs, then returned to bed.
She was reaching for him again when her cell phone rang.
“Shit!” she said.
“Let it ring.”
“Nobody has that number but my office,” she said. “If they’re calling on a Sunday morning . . .” She dug into her handbag and came out with the phone. “Hello? Yes, I’m awake, but I wasn’t when you called earlier. What’s up? That’s good. You’re kidding—on a Sunday morning? An hour, then, in his suite.” She hung up. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“The AG has got a bug up his ass about a case, and he flew to New York this morning.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe that?” Stone asked.
“Well, you wouldn’t, if you knew the case and the AG. The whole business is crazy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I can’t,” she said, “I have to get into a shower right now. I can’t show up for a meeting, smelling of sex, with a religious fundamentalist.”
“You never know, it might make his day.”
“I very much doubt it.” She struggled out of bed and he watched her backside appreciatively as she ran to the bathroom. A moment later, he heard the shower come on.
Stone fell back on the bed, a little relieved at not having to perform again so soon.
STONE HAD FINISHED the Times and was struggling with the Times crossword puzzle when the phone rang. He glanced at the instrument and saw the doorbell light illuminated. He looked at his watch: two-thirty P.M. Who the hell would be calling on a Sunday afternoon? He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Stone Barrington?”
“That’s right.”
“This is Agents Williams and Marconi of the United States Secret Service. We’d like to speak with you.”
“On a Sunday afternoon?”
“That’s correct.”
Stone sighed. “I’ll buzz you in; find the living room and have a seat while I get dressed. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”
“Very good.”
He buzzed them in, then got up, brushed his hair, put on some clothes and walked downstairs.
Two men in business suits rose as he entered the living room. They flashed their badges and introduced themselves, then everybody sat down.
“What can I do for you?” Stone asked.
Agent Williams produced a plastic bag containing a two-dollar bill and handed it to Stone. “I believe you wanted some information on this two-dollar bill?”
Stone looked at it and handed it back. “I wanted information on a two-dollar bill; I can’t guarantee it was this one.
Williams nodded. “Here’s your information,” he said. “It is one of a very large number of two-dollar bills stolen from Fort Dix army base in New Jersey in 1955.”
Stone blinked. “You keep track of fifty-year-old robberies?”
“When the robbery is of four hundred thousand dollars and change.”