Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

He caught a glimpse of Dolce’s face as they hugged; the eyes were daggers. “How are you, Arrington?” he whispered in her ear.

“I’m all right,” she whispered back, then they broke their embrace.

“Arrington,” Vance said, “I’d like you to meet Dolce Bianchi; she is the daughter of my old friend Eduardo Bianchi; you’ve heard me mention him.”

“Of course,” Arrington said coolly, taking Dolce’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Dolce; it’s always good to see Vance’s old friends.”

“Thank you, it’s good to be here,” Dolce replied.

The two were looking each other up and down. Stone noticed that Arrington’s nails were, indeed, lacquered, and she was wearing a discreet necklace of diamonds and rubies.

“And this is Peter,” Arrington said.

Stone now met the baby who might have been his son. The boy was a quiet, grave infant, who was the image of Vance. If Stone had had any doubts about the blood tests, he no longer did. Dolce made the right noises at the baby, then a young nanny materialized and took the boy away.

The butler brought Arrington a martini on a silver tray. “Why don’t we go out onto the terrace,” she said. “It’s such a lovely evening.”

“Yes, it is,” Dolce agreed.

Vance led the way to a patio filled with cushioned white furniture, and they took seats. The evening was pleasantly cool, and the crickets kept them company. “Betty asked me to give you her most affectionate regards,” he said to Stone.

Betty was Vance’s secretary, with whom Stone had had a brief liaison in LA the year before. Stone saw Dolce shoot a glance his way at the mention of a woman’s name. “Please give her mine,” Stone said.

“She’s holding down the fort at the office, of course. Oh, you remember Lou Regenstein, the chairman of Centurion Studios?”

“Of course I do.”

“He’ll be with us for dinner.” Vance glanced at his watch. “I’ve sent a car to Oxford Airport for them; they should be here any moment. It’s only a few miles away, and it has a runway long enough for the Centurion G-IV.”

“It’ll be nice to see Lou,” Stone said.

They chatted idly for a while, then Lou Regenstein arrived in the company of a lovely redhead, thirty years his junior.

“Dolce!” Lou cried, hugging her. “What a surprise!”

Nobody was more surprised than Stone; the world was getting smaller by the minute. He and Lou shook hands, and Stone was presented to the redhead, whose name was Lola.

“Would you like to freshen up?” Arrington asked.

“No, we changed for dinner on the airplane,” Lou replied.

Stone remembered from his one ride on the airplane that the Gulfstream had a shower. He was relieved that another couple would be with them for dinner; it eased the strain, a little. As they chatted, he cast an occasional surreptitious glance at Arrington. Dolce had been right; she was slim and taut. He strained to catch the sound of her voice when she was speaking to someone else.

Lou sat next to Stone. “I’m astonished that you and Dolce know each other.”

“Yes,” Vance said. “How did you meet?”

“My former partner, Dino Bacchetti, on the police force, is married to Dolce’s sister, Mary Ann.”

“And how is Mary Ann?” Both Vance and Lou asked simultaneously.

“She’s very well,” Dolce said.

As the conversation continued, Lou leaned over to Stone. “After Oney Ippolito went to jail last year, Eduardo bought his Centurion stock. It was a great relief to me to have someone of his caliber as an investor; it lends stability.”

Incest, Stone thought. All these people are in bed together. It occurred to him that his thought was something more than a metaphor.

Then they were called in to dinner.

THEY DINED AT A ROUND, BURLED-WALNUT table in a lovely room with a bay window overlooking the gardens, which were illuminated in the twilight. An unnecessary, but cheerful fire glowed in the fireplace. Stone suddenly had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

“Vance,” he said, “when I was at Centurion during your shooting of a film last year, wasn’t I in this room?”

“You’re very observant, Stone,” Vance replied. “Much of the design of the cottage set was based on photographs of this house. Then, when I saw how they had done the dining room, I bought the furnishings and sent them here. I suppose it’s a bit ‘through the looking glass,’ isn’t it?”

“Just a little disorienting.” Stone was seated on his hostess’s right, between her and the scrumptious Lola. It occurred to him that he had never been at a table with such gorgeous women. Dolce was opposite him, between Vance and Lou, charming them both. Nobody was playing footsie with Stone.

“Stone,” Vance said, “I saw the piece in the Times about the explosion at the art gallery. Tell us about that, will you?”

Stone was immediately uncomfortable; he didn’t want to get into this. “Fortunately, nobody was seriously hurt. The feds are working on the bomb and the van, and Dino is in charge of the local investigation.”

“I understand you saved some lives,” Arrington said.

“I was lucky enough to notice the van before the explosion, so everybody was well away from the windows.”

“Except Stone,” Dolce said. “You should see the cuts on his back.” She shot a glance at Arrington.

“It really was nothing,” Stone said quickly.

“But what’s behind it?” Lou asked.

“The police don’t know, yet.”

“Stone, you’re too modest,” Dolce said. “Someone Stone arrested for murder years ago is out of prison, and bad things are happening to the people who helped put him there – and to the people close to them.” She let that sink in.

Everybody stopped eating.

“Stone’s secretary was murdered, and there has been an attack on my sister, who is now holed up at my father’s house with her child.”

“Alma is dead?” Arrington asked, aghast.

“I’m afraid so,” Stone replied.

“Plus, one of Stone’s neighbors is dead, and the doorman in his friend’s building, and a policeman who was there.”

“Dolce,” Stone said, “this is an unpleasant subject.”

“What are you and Dino doing to catch this man?” Arrington asked.

“Everything we can; he’s been elusive, but his photograph will be in tomorrow’s Times, and we hope that will produce some leads.”

“This man killed a lawyer in New York yesterday,” Dolce said.

“How do you know about that connection?” Stone asked, astonished. “I only heard about it late yesterday afternoon, and the connection with the other murders is not public.”

“I have my sources,” Dolce said.

“Mary Ann again,” Stone said.

Dolce shrugged.

Lola spoke for the first time, in a surprisingly small voice. “Does this mean that we’re all in danger?”

“Certainly not,” Stone said. “If I thought that for a moment, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Vance said.

“Very few people know that I bought a house here,” Stone said, glancing at Dolce. “Although some of them are very talkative.”

Dolce gave him a wry smile.

Dinner resumed, but the conversation was more subdued.

“You certainly lead an interesting existence, Stone,” Lou said. “I’m beginning to think that your mixing in our little contretemps of last year was only a minor episode in your life.”

“Lou,” Arrington said, “you might keep in mind that the mess we drew Stone into was our doing, and not his, and that we all owe him a great deal.”

“Of course, of course,” Lou said, backpedaling rapidly. “And I, for one, am very grateful to him.”