D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“Yes, you could send up canapes for two.” His attention was attracted by Dino, who was waving both hands. “Make that for three.”

“Hot or cold?”

“Room temperature.”

“It will be done. Good evening, Mr. Barrington.”

“Good evening.” They both hung up. Stone called the bell captain, and twenty minutes later a bellman appeared at the door with a brown paper bag, grinning in anticipation. Stone handed him a hundred and took the bag.

“Thank you,” the man said, then dematerialized.

Stone went to the bar and looked around. “We don’t seem to have a measuring cup,” he said.

“Do we have a shot glass?” Dino asked.

Stone looked further. “No.”

“How much vodka do you have to pour out of the bottle?”

“Six ounces.”

“Stop at the top of the label,” Dino said.

Stone found a tumbler and poured the six ounces into it, then he refilled the bottle with the Rose’s and held it up to the light. “That looks perfect,” he said. “Where did you learn that?”

“From you,” Dino said.

“When?”

“One night when we had finished a bottle of gimlets and you had to make some more. You had a measuring cup

that time, but you were still sober enough to notice that, after pouring out six ounces, the vodka level was at the top of the label. You weren’t sober enough to remember it, though.”

“Now

I know why I hang around with you,” Stone said, tucking the bottle of gimlets into the freezer compartment of the bar fridge.

“Nah,” Dino said, “you hang around with me to learn, not to remember.”

Stone held up the tumbler of spare vodka. “What am I going to do with this?”

“You’ll think of something,” Dino said.

32

HOLLY TOOK THE FIRST SIP OF HER FIRST GIMLET. “WOW,” she said. “Super cold!”

“Colder than ice,” Stone said, “because alcohol freezes at a much lower temperature than water—that’s the point. You don’t have to water it down by putting it in a cocktail shaker with ice.” He offered her a canape.

She chose something with smoked salmon on it. “Yum.”

Stone took a sip of his gimlet. “I concur in your judgment of this drink.”

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“What did you find out from the DCPD?”

“I thought you’d get around to asking that,” she said, taking another pull at her gimlet.