“God, I hope not, I’d never hear the end of it. You available for pizza or Chinese this evening?”

“Chinese, yes, pizza, no. I’ve been warned by an Italian that Italians talk among themselves.”

“You know a place called Evergreen?”

“I’ve got their menu in my desk drawer.”

“Order a lot for me, then attend to your own needs.”

“That’s your job,” he said. “What time will you show?”

“Seven?”

“That’s good. Come in through the office door, that’s how the Chinese will arrive. I’ll buzz you in.”

“Will do. See ya.”

Stone called the restaurant, ordered a dozen dishes, and asked for a seven o’clock delivery, downstairs.

Joan came back in. “I’m done, unless there are goons to shoot.”

“Seems quiet. Have a nice evening.”

“You’re staying on?”

“I’m expecting Chinese in half an hour.”

“Enjoy!” She left for her apartment next door.

—

At seven sharp the office doorbell rang. Stone went and relieved the deliveryman of three shopping bags of food and paid him in cash. He closed the door and was picking up the bags when a man appeared at the door. He was large and rough-looking, and he began to look over the door and the lock, not realizing that Stone was on the other side of what amounted to a one-way mirror. He took something from his pocket and began to fool with the lock.

Stone set the bags aside, went into Joan’s office and retrieved her .45, then he went back to the door and jerked it open, the pistol ready. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, holding the gun shoulder high.

The man froze, then looked worried. “Sorry,” he said, “wrong house.”

“This is a dentist’s office,” Stone said. “Never mind the sign. If you come back you’ll leave minus some teeth.” The man hurried away just as a cab pulled up outside, and Caroline got out, carrying a large purse and a small suitcase.

“Hey,” she said, kissing him. “Was that who you’ve been expecting? I mean, there’s a .45 in your hand.”

“I believe it was,” Stone said. “He was trying to pick the lock.”

“That’s pretty brazen.”

“Yeah, I guess he thought there would be no one in the office this late, and he could get into the house this way. He was nearly right.” Stone picked up the food bags. “Let’s get to the kitchen. We’ve got two hundred dollars’ worth of Chinese food here, getting cold.”

He locked the door behind her and set the alarm, then led her through his office to the kitchen.

“This house just goes on and on, doesn’t it?”

“Sort of. I own the one next door, too. My people live there.”

“How many people?”

“Fred and Helene, my cook/housekeeper, and Joan Robertson, my secretary.”

“How convenient.”