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But after they had checked in and followed a bellman out a rear door, they found themselves in a large courtyard with two pools, surrounded by small cottages. Stone and Dino were shown to a pair of them connected by a front porch, and were soon sitting on the porch in rockers sipping something tropical with a little umbrella in it, ogling some girls in the pool at their feet.
“So,” said Dino, “when do we start looking for this kid, Evan Keating?”
“What’s your hurry?” Stone murmured, sipping his drink and watching the girls. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”
15
4
TO R E A C H T H E restaurant, Stone and Dino walked out the front entrance of the hotel and to the street corner, to the front door of the dining room. It was a tastefully decorated space, with a bar to the left and a dozen or fifteen tables to the right. An attractive blonde greeted them.
“You must be Mr. Barrington and Mr. Bacchetti,” she said,
“according to my list.”
“That’s us,” Stone replied. “And we have another gentleman joining us.”
“I’m Janet,” she said. “Right this way.” She seated them at a corner table and left menus. A waiter materialized, greeted them and asked for their drinks order.
“I don’t suppose you have Knob Creek bourbon,” Stone said resignedly.
“You may suppose we do,” the waiter replied. “We have another customer who forced us to order it.”
“On the rocks, please.”
Dino ordered his Scotch.
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The restaurant was filling up rapidly; even all the bar stools were taken. “Busy place,” Stone said.
“The food must be good,” Dino replied. “Hey, here’s Tommy!”
He stood up to greet their old acquaintance as he entered the restaurant, and so did Stone. Shortly, Tommy had a margarita before him.
“You’re drinking that tropical swill?” Dino asked.
“After a while down here, it gets to be unpatriotic if you don’t,”
Tommy replied.
“How’s retirement treating you, Tommy?” Stone asked.
“Who’s retired? A week after I hit town, I was a detective again.”
“Working homicide?”
“Are you kidding? You’re in Paradise; we get like one homicide a year, if we’re lucky, and it’s nearly always perfectly clear who the killer is. He’s usually standing there, holding a gun or a claw hammer in his hand, when we walk in. The only problem is getting him not to talk too fast while we’re taking his statement.”
“What keeps you busy, then?” Dino asked.
“Drug stuff, burglaries, mostly small-time. We get a lot of drifters down here, especially in the winter. They at least know they’re not going to freeze to death, and they can steal enough to eat. We get the usual domestic stuff, too, only more of it is gay than in New York.”