“Listen, why don’t you put some of your little-used police skills to work and find out who she is?”

“So what am I going to go on? Beautiful blonde with phony phone number? I don’t think our computers could handle that.”

“I guess not.”

“And besides, it’s not as though she committed a crime. I don’t think it’s a felony to offer massage and not show up.”

“It ought to be,” Stone said.

“In a more perfect world.”

“I was looking forward to that massage.”

“And I was looking forward to hearing about it.”

“I hope I run into her again,” Stone said.

“What are you going to do, slug her? Besides, she looks like she could take care of herself. Pretty big girl.”

“Parts of her.”

“That’s probably what Carmine wants you to do, so he can have her beat you up.”

“Good-bye, Dino.”

“Have a nice day.”

10

Stone sat and stared at his desktop. His back was still stiff and sore; he had really wanted that massage. He buzzed Joan.

“Yes?”

“Do you know a really good masseuse who makes house calls?”

“What is this sudden obsession with massage?”

“It came with the sudden contact of my back with a sidewalk.”

“No, I don’t know anybody.”

“I’ll bet your sister who knows the cosmetic surgeon knows somebody.”

“You should have been a detective. I’ll call her. When do you want it?”

“At the earliest possible moment, if not sooner.”

Five minutes later, Joan buzzed him. “Two p.m.,” she said. “Her name is Celia.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“You requested availability, not beauty.”

“Is she good?”

“You didn’t request good, either, but seeing that she’s available on such short notice, I wouldn’t be too optimistic about her skills.”

“Joan, just being around you fills me with hope.” He hung up and went to the kitchen to make himself a ham-and-Swiss on whole grain with mayo and honey mustard. Since he planned to spend the early part of the afternoon semiconscious anyway, he treated himself to a cold Heineken, as well.

At two o’clock sharp the phone buzzed in Stone’s bedroom. “She’s here,” Joan said. “Shall I send her up?”

“Please do. Is she beautiful?” But Joan had already hung up. A moment later he heard the elevator door open, and he rose to greet the masseuse. The sight of her caused a sharp intake of breath.

She was more than just beautiful; she was a giant of a woman, at least six-two, his own height. As he shook her hand and introduced himself, he measured: He hoped she was wearing heels, because he came up to about her eyebrows.

“I’m Celia Cox,” she said.

“How do you do, Celia. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I had an appointment with someone else, but she didn’t show up.”