Desperate Measures
- Автор: Вудс Стюарт
- Серия: Stone Barrington #47
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: G.P. Putnam's Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-7352-1922-9
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Desperate Measures». Краткое содержание книги:
“Don’t worry, I’m armed.”
She looked at him in mock alarm. “With what?”
“A little Colt.380 semiautomatic.” He patted his chest under his arm.
“And for what reason?”
“A jealous husband.”
“I can’t say that surprises me.”
“That is a slur on my character. I do not dally with married women. She came to me as a client, sort of, and her husband misunderstood.”
“What does ‘sort of’ a client mean?”
“Well, I met her in a luggage store, when she broke a heel and fell into my lap. I offered her a lift home, got her to her apartment in a wheelchair, and arranged a house call from a doctor. While we were waiting for him to show up, she learned that I was an attorney, and she asked me to suggest someone to represent her in a divorce. She also asked me to recommend a Realtor, as she was looking to buy an apartment and to sell her old one.”
“And what was the upshot of all that?”
“Her ankle is better, she is divorced, and she has just moved into a new apartment. And sold her old one.”
“My, you do give good advice, don’t you?”
“I endeavor to — it doesn’t always work that quickly.”
“I’m beginning to think I should have opted for the professional relationship with you.”
“Oh, no, it would have ended badly.”
“Why?”
“Because I would still have wanted the personal relationship. If you had taken advice from me under those circumstances my judgment would have been clouded, and you’d have dismissed me and ended up married to a man who was interested only in your money and, because of that, broke.”
“You’ve been listening to Swifty Whitehorn, haven’t you?”
“If I had not, we wouldn’t be sitting here about to order the chateaubriand and an excellent cabernet.”
“Is that what we’re having?”
“Unless you are not a carnivore.”
“I am, order it.”
They had finished their dinner and were on coffee.
“Are you really armed?” she asked.
“Really.”
“Do you always go armed?”
“Only when there’s a jealous husband about.”
“Does that happen often?”
“I try to avoid the circumstance.”
“Doesn’t it feel unnatural to have a weapon concealed on your person?”
“It does not. I was once a police officer and, thus, always armed. One becomes accustomed to it.”
“You were a police officer?”
“A homicide detective, for most of my career.”
“How long did your career last?”
“Fourteen years, then they asked for their badge and gun back.”
“Why?”
“They attributed my exit to a knee wound, suffered in the line of duty, but that was just an excuse. The truth is: I was a pain in the ass, and they were sick of me.”
“Then it is their loss,” she said, leaning over and kissing him. “Enough of this chitchat,” she said. “Why don’t you show me where you live? I’m still looking for clues to your character.”
Stone waved at a passing waiter. “Check!”
38
Edie Beresford stood in the middle of Stone’s living room and turned 360 degrees, slowly. “I like the pictures,” she said, “they show good judgment.”
“I’m afraid they say nothing at all about my judgment,” Stone replied. “They were painted by my mother, so all they demonstrate is maternal loyalty. However, I like them, too.”
“Who was your mother?”
“Matilda Stone.”
“I remember that name. She has some work in the American Collection at the Met, doesn’t she?”
“She does.”
“Is the piano in tune, or is it there just as an objet d’art?”
“Both,” Stone replied.
“Then play me something.”
Stone sat down, opened the keyboard, and played some Gershwin.
“Very nice. Tell me about the rest of the house.”
“My study is over there. Would you like a brandy?”
“Yes, please.”
He took her into the room, seated her, lit the fire, and poured them both a Rémy Martin. “This room is very much you,” she said, looking around. “Who was your decorator?”
“I was.”
“Tell me about the rest of the house.”
“There are six bedrooms upstairs, on three floors, and seven baths.”
“Why more baths than bedrooms?”
“There are two in the master suite.”
“Very wise.”
“Downstairs are my offices — in what used to be a dentist’s office — a small gym, and a kitchen that opens onto the common gardens out back. There’s also a garage.”
“How did you find the house?”
“It found me. It belonged to my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, and she left it to me. I did the renovation, except for the plumbing and electrical work.”
“You mean you did the actual work?”
“I couldn’t afford to hire a builder on a cop’s salary.”
“How did you become a lawer?”
“By studying at NYU Law, before I was a cop. When I wasn’t a cop anymore, Bill Eggers offered me a job at Woodman & Weld, if I could pass the bar. After a two-week cram course, I did.”
“And the rest is history?”
“History in the making. It occurs to me that you have me at a disadvantage. You know nearly everything about me, and I know nearly nothing about you.”
“Pretty straightforward: born and raised in an antebellum house in northwest Atlanta; Daddy a judge; Mother a college professor; educated at Agnes Scott College, in Atlanta; came to New York looking for adventure, found it, married young — big mistake; married a second time — another big mistake, but he had the grace to die and leave me his fortune. Met a nice man at a dinner party, and that brings us up-to-date.”
“I’m sure a lot fell through the cracks in that account,” Stone said.
“Then you can explore the cracks for the rest.”
Stone’s phone rang and he checked the ID. “Please excuse me, I have to take this.” He walked across the room. “Hello?”
“It’s Faith.”
“How are you feeling?”
“More and more human. I’m receiving visitors tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Night, night.” She hung up, and Stone returned to the couch and his brandy.
“Not bad news, I hope,” Edie said.
“Good news. An employee of mine is in the hospital with extensive injuries; but she’s getting better, and I can see her tomorrow.”
“How was she injured?”
“She was attacked, but her attackers are in jail, awaiting sentencing.”
“What does she do for you?”
“She’s my chief pilot — sorry, my only pilot. I bought a new airplane, and it requires two pilots; I’m the other one.”
“Will she come back to work when she recovers?”
“I certainly hope so. She’s a very good pilot.”
Edie glanced at her watch. “Goodness, is it that late?”
“I suppose it is.”
“Then I have to go home; I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Fred will drive you,” Stone said. “Dinner next week?”
“Of course, call me.”
He walked her downstairs, kissed her, and put her in the car.
As he reached his bedroom his cell rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dino. You alone?”
“I just put her into the car.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know this one. Her name is Edith Beresford.”
“You’re right. Sounds old.”
“It only sounds that way. I have good news. Your guys can question Faith tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid she’s old news,” Dino said. “Her assailants have already pled out.”