ON SATURDAY NIGHT, Tiff arrived at Stone’s house at seven, bearing an armload of shopping bags and looking a little frazzled.
“Whew!” she said, giving Stone a kiss. “I’m beat!”
“You need a drink,” Stone said, steering her toward the kitchen. They passed through the living room and the library.
“This is a beautiful house,” Tiff said. “Is this the cabinetwork your father did?”
“It is, all of it. The doors, too.”
In the kitchen, she dropped her bags. He deposited her on the sofa tucked into a corner and took a green-tinted bottle of vodka from the freezer.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A specialty of the house,” Stone replied. He found two thin crystal martini glasses, poured the liquid into each and returned the bottle to the freezer. He handed her a glass. “Try that.”
Tiff sipped and smiled. “That’s wonderful! What is it?”
“It’s a very special vodka gimlet.”
“Sounds powerful. What’s in it?”
“Not as powerful as a martini. It’s three parts of vodka and one part of Rose’s Sweetened Lime Juice. What’s special about it is the intensity. Normally, you’d pour the ingredients into a cocktail shaker, shake it until your fingers freeze to the shaker, then strain it into a glass. What I do is take a full fifth of vodka, pour six ounces of it into another bottle and replace that with the lime juice. Then I put it into the freezer for a few hours. That way, when it’s poured, it’s colder than ice, because the vodka doesn’t freeze, and it hasn’t been watered down by the melting ice in the shaker.”
“Heaven.” She sighed, sinking into the sofa.
“Did you have a good day?”
“Spectacular. I found an apartment.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s what you New Yorkers call a classic six, on Park Avenue in the sixties, and it’s already been renovated, so it’s in move-in condition. It had been sold, and the owners moved out, but the co-op board turned down the buyer, so it’s sitting there, empty, ready for me.”
“Sounds great, but how long will it take for you to get board approval?”
“The board meets at the end of next week, so if I can get all the paperwork together in a hurry, I’ll know then. My real-estate agent says the board will like the idea of a U.S. Attorney living in the building, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Co-op boards can be tricky,” Stone said.
“I’ll get the AG to write a letter of recommendation—the president, if I have to. Say, can I borrow your shower? I’ve been apartment-hunting and shopping all day, and I haven’t had time to change.”
“Sure, follow me.” He led her up the back stairs into his bedroom, carrying her shopping bags. “There’s a robe on the back of the bathroom door,” he said.
“I won’t be long,” she replied, setting her gimlet on his desk.
Stone went back to the kitchen and began organizing dinner.
SOON, SHE CAME DOWN the stairs, her hair wet, wearing tan leather pants and a tight sweater.
“New clothes?” he asked.
“Fresh from Madison Avenue’s finest shops.”
He poured her another gimlet. “I’m going to start dinner, now,” he said. “I’m making risotto, so I may need some help stirring.”
He emptied a packet of arborio rice into a copper pan, with half a stick of butter and some olive oil, and cooked it until it was glossy, then began adding hot chicken stock to the pan, a little at a time. Halfway through the process, he tossed a pair of thick veal chops onto the grill of the Viking range and let them brown for a few minutes on each side.
When the risotto had absorbed all the chicken stock and the rice was tender, he added half a cup of crème fraîche and a considerable amount of freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese and stirred them in, then set the pan on a trivet on the kitchen dining table, forked the veal chops on two plates and added haricots verts that he had cooked earlier. He opened a bottle of Far Niente cabernet and held a chair for her to sit down.
“It looks wonderful,” she said.
“We’ll see.”
She tasted the risotto. “Marvelous!”
They dined slowly, enjoying the food and wine. When they had finished, he took away the dishes and served them each a tiny slice of Italian cheesecake from a deli he knew.
He made espresso and poured them each a brandy.
“I feel so much better,” she said. “You heard anything from Rodney Peeples?”
That brought Stone up short.
“We going to talk shop?”
“Just for a minute.”
“This is only the second time I’ve heard that name—both from you. I am not acquainted with the gentleman.”
“And he is not your client?”
“I would have to be acquainted with him for him to be my client.”
“Good point.”
“But, as long as we’re talking shop, could I ask a favor of you?”
“Maybe.”
“Your office handles cases with the Treasury Department, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You know anybody in the Secret Service you could have a word with?”
“Probably.”
Stone dug into a pocket and came out with Billy Bob’s two-dollar bill. “Could you ask someone there to run the serial number on this bill and see if anything pops up?”
She took the bill and looked at it. “Why?”
“Just a favor.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Stone took back the bill. “Never mind.”
“That was a very odd request. Do you think the bill might have been stolen?”
“No, I’m just curious to see what I can learn about it. You don’t see a lot of two-dollar bills.”
“I’m going to have to have a better explanation than that if you want me to have it run.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a better explanation than that,” Stone said. “Let’s just forget it.”
She grabbed the bill back. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I’ll call in a favor and have it run on an informal basis.”
“That would be great.”
“You’re sure you don’t know Rodney Peeples?”
“Will you stop with that name, Tiff? I’ve told you repeatedly that I don’t.”
“Okay, okay.”
“How long will it take to run the two-dollar bill?”
“I’ll make the call on Monday; a day or two, I guess. This isn’t going to get me into trouble, is it?”
“If I thought it were, I wouldn’t ask you to run it. It’s just that I’m curious, and I don’t have any contacts in the Secret Service. I’m only looking for information; I’m not asking anybody to intercede on behalf of a client.”
“You have contacts in other federal agencies?”
“One or two,” Stone said. “I recently had dinner with the United States Attorney for New York.”
She laughed. “Yes, you did, didn’t you? Now what?”
He leaned over and kissed her. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“So am I,” she said, kissing him back.