“That’s a gorgeous dress,” Arrington said. “Where did you get it?”

Trust Arrington to bring up fashion at a time like this, Stone thought.

“At a little place on Worth Avenue. The shopping is very good in this town,” Dolce replied conversationally.

Stone edged closer.

Without taking her eyes from Arrington, Dolce said, “Stone, if you come any closer, I’m going to have to make a decision.”

Stone stopped moving, but he was afraid to lower his arms.

“You really don’t want Stone, Arrington?” Dolce asked, wrinkling her brow.

“I wouldn’t have him on a silver platter,” Arrington said with conviction. “I’m with Barry, here.” She turned to introduce her escort and discovered that he had vanished. “He must have had to go to the powder room,” she explained.

Stone was beginning to wonder which of them was the crazier.

“Did you get the shoes here, too?” Arrington asked.

“Oh, yes,” Dolce replied. “At Ferragamo.”

What’s going to happen when they run out of clothes to talk about? Stone wondered.

“And those earrings are a knockout,” Arrington said.

“I got those at Verdura,” Dolce said. “It’s down a little alley off Worth Avenue, and up a flight.”

“Wonderful shop,” Arrington said. “I know them from New York.”

“Dolce,” Stone said, “can we—”

“Shut up, Stone,” she replied. “Arrington and I are discussing shopping. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stone said.

“Yes, you are, and we have to talk about that.” She turned back to Arrington. “I love your handbag.”

“Oh, thank you,” Arrington said. “I got it at Bergdorf’s, at that little boutique just inside the Fifty-eighth Street door. I can’t think of the name at the moment.”

Dolce pointed the pistol at her. “Think of it, or I’ll shoot you.”

Arrington thought desperately. “Suarez!” she said, looking relieved. “That’s it.” She held out the handbag. “Would you like to have mine? Please take it as a gift.”

“Why, that’s very kind of you, Arrington,” Dolce said.

I’ve got to do something, Stone thought, but he couldn’t think what. If he rushed her, she’d shoot him, and then only Arrington would be left, and Dolce would shoot her, too. He remembered what Guido had said about Dolce’s shooting skills. Where the hell is fucking Guido?

Then Stone saw a movement behind Dolce. He dared not take his eyes from hers and look at it. Instead, he tried to identify it with his peripheral vision.

Dolce swung the pistol back to Stone. “I may as well get this over with, so Arrington and I can talk seriously about clothes,” she said, raising the pistol.