Loitering With Intent (Stone Barrington 16)

Stone tucked into his burger.

“So you all square with young Mr. Keating?” Dino asked.

“I’ve told him all the news from home,” Stone replied.

“And the news from Manny White?”

“Yep.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Like a champ,” Stone said. “Hardly batted an eye.”

“You know,” Tommy said, “if somebody told me there was a hit man coming for me, I think I’d be upset.”

“Upset enough to leave town?” Stone asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, Evan isn’t upset at all,” Stone said, “and he says he isn’t going anywhere. Maybe you’d better save him a slab at your morgue.”

“Oh, we’ve always got a vacant slab,” Tommy said. “And the rates are better than at the Gardens.”

“Cooler, too, I’ll bet,” Dino chimed in.

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L o i t e r i n g w i t h I n t e n t

“Sometimes in summer,” Tommy said, “when the heat and the humidity are up and there’s no breeze, I’ve thought that a slab of marble might make a cool bed.”

“Brrrr,” Stone said, shivering. “Say, have you made any progress on the homicide of Charley Boggs?”

Tommy shook his head. “It was a clean crime scene, and the canvassing of the neighboring houseboats turned up nothing.”

“Not even the talkative lady next door?”

“Nope. Apparently, she sleeps well. One of these days we’ll bust somebody on a drug charge or something, and he’ll want to give us Charley’s killer in exchange for a walk.”

“That often happens,” Dino agreed.

“I guess,” Stone said.

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THA T E V E N IN G S TON E drove slowly to Annika’s house, taking in Key West as he went. He felt oddly let down, having concluded his business with Evan Keating. He had no real purpose in Key West now, and he thought he might as well head home the next day. His business with Annika Swenson, however, did not seem to be concluded, and he was beginning to wonder if her idea of moving to New York mightn’t be a good one. As long as he paced himself.

The front door was open, and the sounds of good jazz wafted from somewhere in the house. “Hello!” he called out.

“Hello! I’m in the kitchen!” she shouted back. He found her there, stirring something in a pot, wearing a wraparound apron. “Smells good,” he said. “What are you cooking?”

“A venison ragout,” she replied.

“And where would you find venison in Key West? I hope you didn’t go out and shoot one of those lovely little Key deer; they’re protected, you know.”

“Of course not; I got it on the Internet, like anything else. You 13 2