New York Dead

in what must have been a very bad week.”
    “I think being alone helped me make the adjustment better,” he said, “but I like the way you make up for slights.” The doorman took their names and directed them to the elevator.
    When the door had closed, she moved close to him. “I wonder how long we have before the elevator reaches Barker’s floor?” she said.
    Stone leaned down and kissed the top of a breast, accessible above the low-cut dress. “Not long enough for what I have in mind,” he said. “By the way, you look spectacular. It’s a wonderful dress.” She laughed. “You like cleavage, don’t you?”
    “The sight of breasts is good for morale.”
    “You look pretty sharp yourself. The suit suits you.”
    “I had good advice.”
    The elevator door opened. A uniformed maid answered the door and took their coats.
    “Well, good evening,” Hi Barker said, sweeping into the hall from the living room.
    Stone introduced Cary.
    “You’re a fine judge of women, Stone,” Barker said, kissing Cary’s hand.
    “Why, thank you, sir,” Cary responded. She turned to Stone. “You didn’t prepare me for this man.”
    “How could I?”
    Barker ushered them into the living room, where two other couples and a woman waited. “Meet everybody,” he said. “This is Frank and Marian Woodman.”
    Stone shook their hands. “Mr. Woodman and I have met,” he said.
    “Oh?” Barker said. “You’re better acquainted around town than I thought.”
    “All in the line of duty,” Stone said, “just the way I met you.”
    “That’s right,” Woodman said. “Sasha Nijinsky was my client, and Detective Barrington came to see me. Or, I should say, Mr. Barrington. My congratulations; I hear that sort of medical retirement is every police officer’s dream.” “Most of the cops I know would rather serve the thirty years healthy,” Stone said.
    “Oh, the penny just dropped,” Mrs. Woodman said. She was a small, handsome woman some years her husband’s junior. “You’re the detective in the papers.”
    “I’m afraid so,” Stone said.
    “You’ll have to interrogate him later, Marian,” Barker said, pulling Stone and Cary away. “He has other guests to meet.” He took them to the other couple. “This is Abbott Wheeling and his wife, India. Stone Barrington and Cary Hilliard.” Wheeling was an elderly man, a former editor of the
New York Times
, now a columnist on the Op-Ed page. He shook hands warmly, and, before Stone had a chance to speak to him, the other woman in the room approached.
    “I’m Edith Bonner,” she said, shaking hands with both of them. She was tall, on the heavy side, but quite pretty and elegantly dressed.
    “Edith is my date for the evening,” Barker explained.
    A waiter approached and took their drink orders. Bonner excused herself, and Cary pulled Stone to the window.
    “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” she said, pointing at the United Nations building.
    “I hadn’t seen it at night,” Stone said.
    “Do you know who Edith Bonner is?”
    “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell.”
    “She’s a sort of society psychic,” Cary explained. “She’s a wealthy widow who does readings of her friends — strictly amateur — but she has quite a reputation.”
    The Wheelings joined them at the window and admired the view. “Your leaving the force at this particular time has caused quite a bit of speculation,” he said to Stone.
    “Well, I was scheduled for the physical some time ago,” Stone replied. “It was unfortunate that I was in the middle of an investigation at the time.”
    “I don’t mean to interview you, Mr. Barrington…”
    “Please call me Stone.”
    “Thank you, and you must call me Ab; everyone does. As I was saying, I don’t mean to interview, and this is certainly off the record, but do you think this Morgan woman had anything to do with the Nijinsky business?” Stone nodded toward Bonner, who was returning to the room. “Maybe we should ask Mrs. Bonner,” he said. “I expect she has just as good an idea about it as anyone assigned to the case.”
    Wheeling smiled. “You should have been a diplomat, Stone, or somebody’s press secretary. That was as neat an answer as I’ve ever heard, and I couldn’t quote you if I wanted to.”
    The maid entered the room. “Dinner is served,” she said. People finished their drinks and filed into the dining room.
    Stone was seated between India Wheeling and Edith Bonner and across from Frank