Stone followed his gaze to see two women who had just walked in. One of them was a tall, very beautiful woman in, maybe, her early thirties; the other was Eliza Larkin, M.D. Stone stood up and waved them over.

Eliza gave him a kiss. “Stone, Dino, this is my friend Genevieve James.”

Everybody shook hands, and Stone seated them. Dino, he noticed, seemed stunned by Genevieve.

“I’m sorry,” Eliza said, “We just wandered in for a drink. I know you and I are not supposed to meet while this thing with Daltry is going on.”

“The snake,” Genevieve said.

“It’s okay, Eliza,” Stone said. “As it happens, I know exactly where he is at this moment, and he won’t be a concern. I am very glad to see you.”

Dino leaned toward Genevieve. “And I’m very glad to see you.”

“You’re cute,” she said, as a cosmopolitan was set before her. They clinked glasses. “How tall are you?” she asked.

“Not as tall as I look,” Dino said.

She laughed. “You’re not intimidated; that’s good.”

“I am not intimidated.”

“So many men are. I mean, I’m only six feet; I’ve known lots of women taller.”

“So have I,” Dino said. “I’m very pleased to hear that you have a low opinion of Devlin Daltry.”

“I certainly do,” she said. “He made my life hell for weeks last fall.”

“I’ll personally see to it that he never does that again,” Dino said.

“Oh, I don’t want you to get involved with him; he can be dangerous.”

Dino flashed his badge. “Allow me to introduce myself; it’s Lieutenant Dino.”

“Oh, good, then you can shoot him.”

“Only if I get the chance.”

“Dino has Daltry under surveillance as we speak,” Stone said.

“I hope you catch him doing something criminal,” Genevieve said.

“I hope so, too,” Dino said. “I’ve already charged him with something minor; now I’m hoping for something major.”

Willa Bernstein sat at the bar with Devlin Daltry, sipping single-malt Scotch. “Mmmm, this is a lot better than that Queens wine at the gallery.”

“Certainly is. Willa seems an odd name for a Jewish girl.”

“My mother was reading Willa Cather—Death Comes for the Archbishop—when I was born, and I’m not Jewish. My father is, but Jewish identity is passed down through the female line, and my mother is Episcopalian. So am I.”

“My mistake.”

“Everybody makes it. When are you having another show?”

“I opened one a couple of weeks ago, but it’s sold out, so we’re closing it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’d love to have seen it.”

“I have a number of pieces at my studio. Maybe I can show them to you after dinner.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

The headwaiter came over. “Your usual table is ready, Mr. Daltry. May I take your drinks over?”