“Neither do I,” Stone said. “I mean, she lived there a long time, and I suppose she could have some business there.”
“On a weekend?”
“You have a point,” Stone admitted.
“Well, let us know if we can be of further service,” Willie said, and, with a little wave, he left.
Stone was still thinking about this when Joan buzzed him. “Brian Doyle on one.”
“Hello, Brian.”
“Morning. I found Mitzi a car: a Bentley, would you believe?”
“How did you come to confiscate a Bentley?”
“Drug bust, what else? It’s an Arnage, a few years old, but it looks good.”
“I guess it would,” Stone said.
“Listen, Mitzi’s new friend Rita found out there’s a party at Derek Sharpe’s studio tonight. She wangled Mitzi an invitation, but she doesn’t want to go with her, figuring that her connection to Parsons might affect the way Sharpe sees Mitzi. Will you take her to the party?”
“Sure, I guess so.”
“Great. A Bentley, chauffeured by a cop, will pick you up at six thirty.”
“Sounds good.”
“Some guys have all the luck.” Brian hung up.
Joan came into his office and put a box on his desk. “Sorry, the printer couldn’t get them done yesterday.”
Stone opened the box and removed one of Mitzi’s new cards. “Very nice,” he said. “That should do the trick.”
AT SIX THIRTY sharp Stone’s bell rang. When he opened the door, it was filled by about six feet four inches of Irish American, dressed in a black suit with a black tie.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m Tom Rabbit.”
Stone shook the extended paw. “Good to meet you, Tom.”
“You ready?”
“Yep.”
“She’s in the car already.”
Stone set the alarm and locked the door, then walked to the car. Tom had the door open for him. He slid in beside Mitzi and kissed her on the cheek.
“Don’t say anything about yesterday afternoon when Tommy is around,” she whispered, before the driver could get into the car.
“Right.” He handed her the box of cards. “Your credentials.” She opened the box and inspected the contents. “Hey, very good,” she said, tucking some of them into her small purse. “Makes me feel like I really live there.”
“Is it a nice place?”
“Haven’t you seen it?”
“Nope.”
“It’s a fucking palace,” she said. “Sorry, I’m talking like a cop. Got to get over that.”
“I’m glad you’re comfortable there.”
“My room is better than anything at any hotel in this city,” she said.
“I wouldn’t talk about that tonight,” Stone said. “The card will say everything that’s necessary to impress Sharpe.”
“What’s Sharpe like?” she asked.
“Reptilian,” Stone replied, “but women seem attracted to him.”
“Oh, we love reptiles,” Mitzi said, laughing. “They can always be relied on to slap us around and steal our money.”
“I’m sure Derek Sharpe won’t disappoint,” Stone said.
They drove downtown and arrived at Sharpe’s building to find half a dozen drivers waiting outside in their cars, mostly black Lin colns, the preferred transport for New York ’s affluent, who don’t like to arrive at a party in a taxi.
The building looked like a factory, except for the huge murals splashed on the outer walls.
“Ugh,” Mitzi said.
“Be sure to compliment Sharpe on them,” Stone said.
The elevator held a dozen arriving guests without crowding any of them and opened into a huge space filled with big canvases and many people. Some sort of pop music Stone didn’t recognize was blaring from a sound system.
“His paintings are worse than I expected,” Mitzi said.
“Sharpe may be, too,” Stone replied. He steered her to a bar and collected two plastic flutes of champagne. “This is as bad as the paintings,” Stone said, sipping his.
“Shall we hunt down Mr. Sharpe and introduce me?”
“No, let’s look at the pictures and pretend to appreciate them,” Stone replied. “That should bring him to your side.”
They walked along a wall, stepping around people and gazing at the big canvases, stopping before a particularly awful one.
“He’s looking our way,” Stone said. “Nod and smile a lot.”
“I’m nodding and smiling,” she said, pointing at a corner of the canvas. “Look, he had the guts to sign it.”
“Well, good evening and welcome,” a deep, Texan voice said from behind them.
Stone turned and tried to look surprised to see Derek Sharpe accompanied by Hildy Parsons. “Hello, Derek, Hildy,” he said. “May I introduce Mitzi Reynolds? She’s recently moved to New York from Charleston, South Carolina.”
“Well, hey, sugar,” Sharpe said, taking her hand, draping an arm over her shoulder and leading her back the way they had come. “Let me show you some of my work.”
“I’d love to see more,” Mitzi said. “I particularly liked the murals on the building.”
“Everybody likes those,” Sharpe said. “It’s a pity I can’t peel ’em off the building and sell ’em.”
Mitzi laughed becomingly. “Oh, I like your composition here,” she said, framing a canvas with her hands.
Then, from behind them, came a female voice. “Well, hello, Mitzi,” it said.
The two couples turned around to find Carrie Cox standing there with a willowy young man.
“Carrie!” Mitzi said, and a big air kiss was exchanged. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I live here,” Carrie said.
“Isn’t that funny!” Mitzi replied. “So do I!”
“That is funny,” Carrie said. “It was my information that you returned to Charleston yesterday.” She glared at Stone.
“Oh, shit,” Stone muttered to himself.
21
MITZI LOOKED INQUIRINGLY AT STONE. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, stepping forward, taking Carrie by an elbow and steering her away from Mitzi and the others. She tried to snatch her arm away, but he held on tightly.
“Don’t say anything,” he said, marching her across the room toward an unoccupied corner.
“I’ll say whatever I damn well please,” Carrie spat.
“Not until you’ve heard me out.” He stopped and turned her so that her back was toward the group across the room. “Remember that police operation Dino and I were talking about last night?”
“Sort of,” she said petulantly.
“It’s happening right now, and Mitzi is a part of it.”
Carrie brightened. “Oh, she’s going to be arrested? This I want to see.” She tried to turn around, but Stone stopped her.
“Mitzi is a New York City police officer,” he said.
Carrie screwed her face into an incredulous glare. “That is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard! You’re going to have to come up with a better story than that.”
“No, I don’t,” Stone said firmly, “and unless you can accept the fact and keep your mouth shut I’m going to throw you out of here right now.”
“And how does a shrimper’s daughter get to be a New York cop?” Carrie demanded.
“Some years ago, she took the police exam, was accepted, and graduated from the academy. She served as a street cop for several years before she was promoted to detective. That’s how it’s done.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I haven’t formed the habit of lying to you or anybody else,” Stone said, “and if you repeat any of this to anyone, you will put Mitzi’s life in danger, and that is no exaggeration.”
Carrie stood there smoldering, avoiding Stone’s gaze.
“Do you understand me?” Stone demanded.
She wheeled on him. “Yes!” she said. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.” She turned and yelled across the room, “Paco!!!”
The willowy young man came trotting across the space.
“We’re leaving,” she said to him.