She laughed. “Smart guy. All right, born and bred in a small town in Georgia called Delano, bachelor’s in art history at Vassar, then a master’s in design at Pratt. I met the Kelly boys right after school in a bar, and the next thing I knew I was an art director at their nascent agency. Now I’m head of the art department. Your turn.”

“Born and bred in Greenwich Village, educated at PS 3, NYU, and NYU Law. When time came to practice law I decided to do it on the street, instead of in the courts, so I joined the NYPD, and did that for fourteen years, then I finally passed the bar and became a proper attorney-at-law.”

“Considering your house and your collection of Matilda Stones, you must have done very well at it.”

“I inherited the house from my great-aunt—my grandmother’s sister—and the beginnings of my collection from my mother, but I can’t complain about the hand life has dealt me.”

“Why did you leave the police department?”

“You aren’t drunk enough for that story. Suffice it to say, it was time I grew up and got a real job, even if it wasn’t as much fun as being a cop.”

“What kind of cop were you?”

“I started as a patrolman, like everybody else, and ended up as a homicide detective.”

“And that was fun?”

“You’d be surprised how entertaining a corpse can be. And anyway, everybody loves a murder mystery.”

“Then you should write murder mysteries.”

“I’ll save that for my golden years.”

They had another drink, then Fred drove them to the Four Seasons.

Chapter 6

They dined exceedingly well. Stone assumed that, although Caroline Woodhouse was “fond” of the Four Seasons, she didn’t often dine there, so when ordering, he pulled out all the stops.

Caroline took her food seriously, savoring each bite and making appreciative groans at intervals. When they had finished their appetizers and main courses, then a Grand Marnier soufflé, she sat back, patted her lips demurely with her napkin, and gave him a little smile. “Now what?” she asked.

“Tell me what you’d like, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I would like to go back to your house, then fuck your brains out.”

Stone’s heart skipped a beat. He was unaccustomed to being solicited in that fashion.

“I can’t find anything to object to in that,” he replied finally, signaling the captain for a check. He signed it quickly, and they left. They were shortly back at his house, and in the elevator.

“Tell me,” she said, “how were you going to get around to seducing me?”

“I was going to offer to show you four more Matilda Stone paintings,” he said, “which are in my bedroom.”

“You make me almost sorry I asked you first.”

“Don’t be sorry.”