“I’m cooking this evening. Would you like to join me?”

“What’s an Irish girl doing cooking Italian?”

“Would you rather I cooked Irish?”

“Italian will be just great. What time?”

“Seven thirty.”

“Can I bring the wine?”

“You’d better.” She gave him the address.

“See you then.” Stone hung up and walked through the ground floor of his house to a room he kept cooled as a wine cellar. He found two bottles of the Masi ’91 Amarone and set them on the kitchen counter to settle. “Yum,” he said aloud to himself as he wiped the dust from the bottles. He had been saving them for a special occasion, and this was a special occasion.

He went cheerfully back to work.

Shortly before five, Joan came into his office with a large package.

“This just arrived by messenger,” she said, setting it on his desk.

Stone stood up and looked at the package. “Any return address?”

“Some gallery downtown,” she said, picking up the scissors to cut the string holding it together.

“No!” Stone said, holding up a hand. “Come with me.” He took her by the arm and led her upstairs.

“What, are you expecting a bomb or something?”

“No, I am not, but that package is from Devlin Daltry’s gallery, and nobody is opening it but the bomb squad.” He picked up a phone and called Dino.

39

Stone sat in his living room with Joan and Dino.

“I hope it’s a bomb,” Dino said.

“Are you nuts?” Stone inquired. “It’s sitting on my desk.”

“If it’s a bomb, then I can charge Daltry with something that’ll keep him in jail while he’s awaiting trial.”

“That office is where I earn my living,” Stone said.

“You earn your living in your head. Wouldn’t it be worth a little redecorating to get that guy off the street?”

“It might,” Stone said.

There were heavy footsteps on the stairs and a man wearing a lot of protective gear stood in the doorway. “Okay,” he said, “you can come downstairs now.”

The three followed him back to Stone’s office, where the box still rested on his desk. Next to it was a bronze head.

“There was no bomb,” the officer said. “It’s just a sculpture thing.”

Stone walked over and picked up the head. “It’s Celia,” he said.

“Looks like the head was sawed off a statue,” Dino pointed out. “What do you think the symbolism is here?”

Stone nodded. “It’s a threat,” he said, “pure and simple.”

“You better call Celia,” Dino said.

Stone sat down at his desk and found Celia’s number in New Jersey. She answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Stone.”

“Oh, hi. I’m glad you called; I’m bored out of my skull out here.”

“Is everything all right?”

“So far, so good.”