Free Swimming to Catalina by Stuart Woods Page A

place?”
    “We like it that way,” the waiter said, then he left them alone.
    “I think everybody knows about this place that they want to know about it,” Stone said.
    “God, the wine is good!”
    Stone made a note of it. “I want some for home,” he said.
    “I want the chef for home,” Betty cried, stuffing more pasta into her mouth. “I could make him very happy.”
    “Heads up,” Stone said. “One of them is coming this way.” He addressed his rabbit as the man walked past and entered a hallway at the rear of the restaurant. “He was looking right at me; do you think he recognized me?”
    “Really, Stone,” she replied, “he was looking at me. ”
    “Oh. I wonder what’s in the rear hallway.”
    “The men’s room. See the sign?”
    “Oh.”

    Stone watched as the man returned to his table. “You’re right, he was looking at you.”
    “I’m accustomed to that,” she said, twirling the last of the pasta on her fork. “That is the first time in ten years I have finished a whole meal in a restaurant,” she said, swallowing. “If you bring me here again I’ll be able to audition for Roseanne’s replacement.”
    The waiter appeared and began gathering their dishes. “How about some of our cheesecake?” he asked.
    “Don’t say that,” Betty said, throwing up a hand. “I could gain weight just listening.”
    “A double espresso for me,” Stone said.
    “I’ll have a cappuccino,” she said.
    The waiter left.
    “I want to have a look around the back,” Stone said, rising.
    She caught his sleeve. “Are you nuts?”
    “I’m just going to the men’s room; I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked into the rear hallway, looking to the right and left. He passed the kitchen and came to the men’s room door, looked inside, found it empty, and continued down the hall, where he found a door marked STAFF ONLY. He looked over his shoulder, then walked in.
    It was a good-sized storeroom, with refrigerators lining one wall and steel shelving lining the other. In the middle of the floor were empty crates with the remnants of vegetables stuck to them. Stone walked to the rear of the room and found a toilet and, across from that, a small office.
    “Hey!” a deep voice yelled.
    Stone spun around. A large man in kitchen whites was standing a few feet behind him. “I was looking forthe men’s room,” he said, and he caught sight of something familiar on the floor between him and the man.
    “You walked right past it,” the man said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and walked toward the door.
    Quickly, Stone stooped and picked up the small object, tucking it into a pocket.
    “It’s right here,” the man said.
    “Thanks, sorry for the trouble,” Stone replied, turning into the men’s room.
    “No trouble.”
    Stone opened the men’s room door and found another of Ippolito’s party standing at one of the two urinals; he took his position at the other one. The man ignored him, in the way of strangers standing at urinals. Stone washed his hands and went back to his table.
    “So?”
    “I got caught in a storeroom,” he said.
    “Drink your coffee, and let’s get out of here,” Betty said under her breath.
    Stone sipped his espresso, then dug into his jacket pocket. “I found something, though.” He held it up her to see.
    “A matchbook? Congratulations, you’ve won the California lottery.”
    “But look where it’s from.”
    She didn’t look. “Tell me.”
    “It’s a matchbook from Elaine’s,” he said.
    “Can we get out of here now?”
     
    They were driving back to the Bel-Air with the top down, enjoying the desert air.
    “Elaine’s in New York?” she asked.

    “Right. Arrington and I spent a lot of time there; she used to steal matches by the handful.”
    “I guess finding one at Grimaldi’s is a little too much of a coincidence, then?”
    “Yes, especially since we know that Arrington called from the restaurant.”
    “No, we don’t,” she said.
    “Why