“Certainly not. She has a friend.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I hear she’s all right. What the hell, you might like her. Her name is Willa Crane.”
“Oh, all right. Where are we dining?”
“I thought maybe the Park Avenue Café.”
“Sounds good.”
“I thought we’d come to you at seven for a drink, give you a chance to impress the lady with your good taste, then dine at eight.”
“All right. I’ll get Helene to do us some of her hors d’oeuvres.”
“See you then.”
Later, Stone showered and got into a suit and necktie, because he knew that’s what Dino would wear, then he went downstairs to the library.
Helene, as requested, had laid out some things to nibble on and had placed a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame champagne in a silver ice bucket. Stone removed the plastic wrap from the tray and tossed it, then got some champagne flutes from the bar cabinet. At ten past seven, the doorbell rang. Stone picked up the phone and pressed the electric unlock. “Come in,” he said.
He walked to the living room and waited for the elevator to stop, then open. Dino emerged with two women: one was very small and cute; the other was tall and, Stone had to admit to himself, drop-dead gorgeous, with long, straight black hair, dressed in a black-and-white sheath that reminded him of a pinto pony. He held his breath while introductions were made.
“Stone Barrington, this is Doris Trent,” Dino said, indicating the small one.
Stone heaved a sigh of relief. “Hello, Doris.”
“And this is Willa Crane,” Dino concluded.
Stone shook her hand. “Hello, Willa,” he said. “Please come into the library.” He led them into the next room, seated them, and began to open the champagne. “Would anyone like anything else besides champagne?” he asked.
Heads were shaken. He popped the cork and poured, then set the tray of food on the coffee table and took a good look at Ms. Crane, wondering about her.
He took a glass for himself and sat down next to her. “Willa, what do you do?”
“I’m a deputy district attorney,” she said.
Deputy. That meant she was a career prosecutor and senior in the office. He supposed she was thirty-five.
“Tried anyone interesting lately?”
“Well,” she said, “I thought about prosecuting a client of yours, but I haven’t decided yet.”
“Uh-oh,” Stone said. “I hope we’re not headed toward a conflict of interest here.”
“You can hope,” she said, sipping her champagne.
THIRTY-SIX
The subject somehow got changed, and eight o’clock was approaching, so they were on their first course at the Park Avenue Café before they came back to Willa’s work.
“Aren’t you curious about which of your clients I’m considering prosecuting?” she asked. “Want to guess?”
“Willa,” Stone said, “so many of my clients are teetering on the brink of prosecution that it could be an injustice to even mention a name.”
Willa laughed, a healthy sound. “All right, it’s Herbert Fisher.”
Dino began laughing.