An hour and a quarter later, the red Jaguar took him home. At eight, precisely, he sat opposite his mother in the shadowy dining room of the Sloan mansion, gustily spooning soup.
“Have a good day, son?”
“Passable.”
“Any plans for the evening?”
“Thought I’d pick up Lenore Bailey “
That suited Mrs. Sloan for an opening. Her eyes fastened briefly on her hungry son and moved thoughtfully into the distances of the formal room where the gold rims of place plates gleamed from china racks, and cabinets of cut glass sparkled dully.
“You’ve seen a lot of the Bailey girl, lately.”
“Yeah.”
“Does that mean anything, Kit?”
He smiled at his mother. “Ask Lenore.”