“Well, if that’s how you feel about it,” she said huffily, struggling back into the sweater.

“It certainly is,” he said. “You go and take a look at your life, and if you find some room in it, call me.”

“Typical,” she said, throwing things into her duffel.

“Typical?” he nearly shouted.

“Don’t raise your voice to me!”

Stone’s bedside phone buzzed, and the intercom light flashed. He ignored it and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Good for you.”

“Is this our first fight?”

“It could be our last one,” she shot back, getting into her coat.

The intercom buzzed again. Stone picked it up. “Yes?” he said.

“Stone, I’m sorry to disturb you,” his secretary said, “but Bill Eggers left a message on the office machine last night. He wants you to be at his office this morning at ten for a meeting; he said it was important.”

“Thanks,” Stone said and hung up.

“Now you’re being rude to your secretary,” Arrington said.

Stone looked at his bedside clock and got out of bed. “I’ve got a ten o’clock appointment,” he said, “and it’s nine-thirty now.”

Arrington looked at him. “So now you’re going to parade around naked and try to turn me on.”

“It’s a desperate move, but it’s the only card I have left to play.”

“It’s working,” she said, walking over to him, dropping the duffel.

She made a grab at his crotch, but he dodged her and ran toward the bathroom. “Oh, no,” he called back, “you’re going to have to wait until I can make room in my busy schedule for you.”

“Bastard!” she yelled after him. “I’ll call you tonight.” She picked up the duffel and left.

Stone arrived at Woodman & Weld five minutes late and went directly to Bill Eggers’s office.

“Come in, Stone, and have a seat,” Eggers said, pointing at a chair next to the sofa. “You know Glynnis Hickock from Amanda Dart’s dinner party last week.”

Dick Hickock’s wife sat primly at one end of the sofa. “Good morning,” she said.

Stone sat down. “Of course. How are you?”

“Just great,” the woman said through clenched teeth.

“Would anyone like some coffee?” Eggers asked.

“I would,” Glynnis responded.

“Bill, could I speak with you outside for just a minute?” Stone asked. He had an idea of where this might be leading, and he wanted to head it off before it got started.

“Stone, don’t worry, anything you’ve got to say you can say in front of Glynnis.” He set a cup on the coffee table and poured from a Thermos. “The short version of this is, Glynnis needs some surveillance on her husband, in preparation for divorce proceedings.”

“Bill, I really have to speak to you alone, and right now.”

Eggers looked at him, surprised. “Glynnis, I’m sorry, will you excuse us for just a moment?”

Glynnis crossed her legs and picked up her coffee cup but said nothing.

Stone walked into the adjacent conference room, waited for Eggers, then closed the door. “I can’t be involved in this,” he said.

“Now you tell me,” Eggers cried. “Do you know how big a divorce this is going to be?”

“I can guess, but I can’t be involved. I have a conflict.”

“What kind of conflict?” Eggers was working up an anger now.

“I’m representing her husband on this DIRT thing.”

“What? You’re supposed to be representing Amanda on that, not Dick Hickock.”

“Hickock called me when he saw the sheet; I told him I couldn’t represent him, so he called Amanda, and she called me and told me to go ahead.”

“As an investigator, then, not as a lawyer?”

“Same thing, as far as I’m concerned. If you’d talked to me ahead of time, I could have explained it to you.”

“What am I going to tell Glynnis?”

“The truth; do you want me to do it?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Stone went back into Eggers’s office and sat down. “Glynnis, I’m sorry, but I have an ethical conflict in representing you in this matter.”

Her hackles went up. “You’re working for Dick, aren’t you? Good God, you’ve been following me?”

“No, I have not been following you, nor have I been asked to. I’m representing Dick in another matter, and that creates a conflict for me; I hope you can understand that.”

She swiveled her head and looked out the window, saying nothing.

“Glynnis,” Eggers broke in, “this doesn’t mean that the firm can’t represent you, just that Stone can’t. He’s not employed by the firm; he is only of counsel. I promise you we’ll deal with this matter in a manner that will represent your interests to the highest possible degree. Stone, I think that will be all,” he said.

Stone made a brief good-bye and left the office.

He was barely back at his desk when his secretary buzzed him. “Tiffany Potts is on the phone.”

Stone punched the flashing button. “Hello?”

“Hi, remember me?” she asked cheerfully.

“Of course.”

“You said to call you if I thought somebody might be following me.”

“Yes.”

“Well, somebody is.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“My apartment.”

“Let’s not meet there.”

“How about the Oak Bar at the Plaza in an hour?” she asked.

She got there first. When he entered the high-ceilinged, dark-paneled room she was sitting at a window table wearing a gorgeous fur coat, a Perrier before her, looking out the window. It was early yet, and except for the bartender and a waiter, the two of them were alone in the big room. Stone sat down.

She rewarded him with a broad smile. “How are you?”

“Very well; and you?”

“I’m just fine. Sorry to get you out on such short notice.”

“Not to worry; I’m at your beck and call.”

She liked that. “How nice.”

The waiter approached. “I’ll have one of the same,” Stone said, nodding at the Perrier. They made small talk until the drink came. “Now,” Stone said, “tell me about it.”

“I was at Bloomingdale’s yesterday afternoon when I saw him. I was browsing in several departments, and whenever I looked up, he was there.”

“What did he look like?” Stone asked.

“Tall.”

“How tall?”

“Not as tall as you.”

“I’m six-two,”

“Six feet, then.”

“How built?”

“Slender.”

“Hair?”

“Light brown, tending to be sun-bleached at the ends. Collar-length.”

“Clothes?”

“Fashionable. A long raincoat, below the knee.”

“Describe his face.”

“Long, straight nose, eyes a little close together, strong jaw, wide mouth, full lips.”

“That’s very good,” Stone said, impressed.

“I can do better,” she said, bending down and taking a copy of Vanity Fair from a large purse. She put the magazine on the table, flipped through the early pages and turned it toward Stone. “That’s real close,” she said, tapping a full-page photograph. “It’s not him, but it’s real close.”

It was an ad for a men’s cologne, and the model fit her description perfectly.

“You’re sure it’s not him?”

“I’m sure. I don’t make mistakes about men as good-looking as that. The guy who followed me could be doing that kind of work for a living.”

“Modeling?”

“Or acting, or both. He’s the type who turns up in classes at mediocre acting schools.”

“Did he follow you when you left Bloomingdale’s?”

“Yes. I walked home, and he was with me all the way. At first, I thought he was just interested, you know? But he never approached me, always stayed well back. A couple of times he was on the opposite side of the street, but he was always there. When I got home I looked out the window, and he was half a block down the street, watching.”

“When did you last see him?”

She glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

Stone sat up straight. “He followed you here?”

“Yep. He was out there this morning. Change of clothes, but the same raincoat.”