She reached for the doorknob. “May I?”

“You may.” She opened the door and entered. “Such a nice room,” she said, “and so you.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, if you would escort me to the top floor of the house, I think we can skip what’s in between and save you some money, which Mike Freeman says is dear to your heart.”

“Mike exaggerates.” He led her back to the elevator and out onto the fourth-floor landing and into the master suite.

“Another very nice room. And is that a dumbwaiter?” She pointed.

“It is. Does it concern you?”

“Makes a nice ride up for a burglar, doesn’t it?”

“Touché.”

She opened a door. “Dressing room?” Then quickly closed it. “A lady’s.”

“From time to time.”

“I don’t think you’d look well in a thong.”

“That one is mine. Do you think it’s a target for a burglar?”

“Own any watches or other jewelry?”

“Touché again.”

She finished the room. “What’s on the ground floor rear?”

“The kitchen—opens to a common garden.”

“Better have a look.”

After her look at the rear of the house, she handed him a card. “Before you ask.”

“When will I hear from you?”

“Normally, that’s my line, but figure a couple of days to see a plan and some equipment. If you want to see an example of our work, visit Laurence Hayward’s apartment.”

“Good idea. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

“I’m glad,” she said, then departed.

Stone mopped his brow; that had been a near thing.

39

BUTCH CRANE was working on a display in the Purple Label room when he looked up to see Curly walk in. There were half a dozen people, clients and sales associates, in the room. He strode across the room. “May I help you, sir?” he asked with a stone face.

“Yeah, sure. Where’s the cash register?”

“The men’s room is on the lower level. Take the elevator,” Butch said, smiling. Then, sotto voce, “In the park, Fifth and Seventy-second, half an hour.”

“Thanks, pal,” Curly said, then left.

Butch went back to his work.

“Who the hell was that?” an associate asked.

“He was in the wrong store.”

“He sure was. He looked like that guy with the Three Stooges.”

“I didn’t notice.”

—

BUTCH TOOK HIS LUNCH HOUR and ambled over to the Central Park entrance at Fifth and Seventy-second, as if he were taking lunch in the park. He saw Curly on a park bench, just across the street; he crossed and sat down at the other end of the bench, taking the Times from his pocket and opening it. “What the hell do you mean, coming into the store?” he asked without turning his head.

“I go where the fuck I like,” Curly replied. “Last night I was in Stone Barrington’s house.”