Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

“Yep.”

“That’s wonderful!”

The phone rang. David walked into the living area and picked up the extension on the coffee table. “Hello?”

“Listen carefully,” a familiar voice said. “Are you alone?”

“No,” David replied.

“I’m around the corner from your apartment in a bar. You know the place?”

David identified the voice now. “Yeah, I guess I’ll have to come in. Be there in ten.” He hung up.

“Be where?” Kelli asked.

“At the office. I forgot to check some pages before I left, and we have to go to press tonight. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“You want me to cook dinner?” she asked.

“Can you actually do that?” he asked back. She never had before.

“I can make very respectable spaghetti Bolognese,” she said.

“Okay, I’m game,” he said, putting his coat on. “I’ll pick up some Alka-Seltzer on the way home.”

She threw a pencil at him.

“You need anything else?”

“You can pick up a head of romaine lettuce and some bread,” she said.

“Okay.” He closed the door behind him and got on the big freight elevator.

David walked into the bar and spotted the back of his cousin’s head immediately, in a booth at the rear. He shucked off his coat, hung it on a hook

, and sat down. “Hello, Tim,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

A waitress came, and David ordered a scotch. “You’re running, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t do it,” Tim said.

David said nothing.

“They’re trying to hang it on me, though.”

“Who’s trying?”

“The sheriff, the university-everybody.”

“If you didn’t do it, why did you run?”

“I didn’t have a chance. I got a call from somebody who told me she was dead. It was the first I knew of it.”

“Who called you?”

“You don’t want to know that,” Tim replied. “It’s better if you don’t.”