Stuart Woods - L.A. Dead

"Good night, then; Barbara sends her best."

"My best to her, too." Stone hung up and felt a hunger pang. He walked back out to the guest house, where he found Manolo setting a small table and the maid hanging his clothes in the closet, having pressed them.

He sat down to his steak and half a bottle of good Cabernet and tried to forget both Arrington and Dolce as he watched a movie on television. He was unable to forget either of them.

It was a perfect southern California morning, cool and sunny. Stone swam a few laps in the pool, then put on a guest's terry robe and breakfasted by the pool, looking over the Los Angeles Times and The New York Times , which had arrived with his breakfast. The Vance Calder story had been relegated to the inside pages of the New York newspaper, and was struggling to cling to the front page of the LA journal, but it wasn't going to go away, he knew. The moment a fragment of new information surfaced, there would be headlines again.

He showered, shaved, and dressed and walked into the house, carrying his briefcase. He retrieved the documents from the secret compartment of Vance's desk and put them into his briefcase, then he rang for Manolo. "I'd like to use one of the Calders' cars," he told the butler.

"Of course, Mr. Barrington, right this way." He led Stone to a door that opened into the garage, which had enough room for six cars, but held only four: a Bentley Arnage; two Mercedes SL600s, one black and one white; and a Mercedes station wagon. "The nanny and I use the station wagon for household errands, unless you'd like it," Manolo said.

The Bentley was too much, Stone thought. "No, I'll take one of the other Mercedes-the black one, I suppose. That was Mr. Calder's wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir. The white one is Mrs. Calder's. You'll find the keys in the car."

Stone had used the black convertible once before, when in L.A., and he recalled that it did not have vanity plates, so it would not be immediately recognized by the media. In fact, he reckoned, a black Mercedes convertible would, in Beverly Hills and Bel-Air, be a practically anonymous car. He backed out of the garage, drove around the house and, using his remote, let himself out of the utility gate and onto the street beyond. He checked to be sure that he was not followed, then drove to Centurion Studios.

The guard was momentarily confused to see Vance Calder's car arrive with a different driver, but when Stone gave his name, he was immediately issued with a studio pass.

"The one on the windshield will get this car in," the guard said. "Use the other pass, if you drive a different car."

"Can you direct me to Mr. Calder's bungalow, please?" The guard gave him directions, and five minutes later, he had parked in Vance's reserved parking spot. The bungalow was just that; it looked like one of the older, smaller Beverly Hills houses below Wilshire. Stone walked through the front door into a living room.

A panel in the wall slid open, and Betty Southard stuck her head through the opening. "I knew you'd turn up," she said. She left her office, walked into the living room and gave him a big hug and a kiss. "I'm glad to see you again," she said.

"I'm glad to see you, too; I'm going to need a lot of your help."

"Lou Regenstein called and said you'd be using Vance's office. She waved him into a panelled study, much the same as the one at the house, but larger, with a conference table at one end. "Make yourself at home," she said. "The phones are straightforward; you can make your own calls, or I'll place them for you, depending on whether you want to impress somebody."

"Thank you, Betty," Stone said, placing his briefcase on the desk. "I have some personal news for you; have you seen Vance's will?"

"Not the new one; he made that recently, and he hadn't brought a copy to the office."

"You're a beneficiary," Stone said. "He left you a million dollars."

Betty's jaw dropped, and a hand went to her mouth. "I think I'd better sit down," she said, and she did, taking a chair by the desk. Stone sat down behind it. "You didn't know?"

"I hadn't a clue," she said. "I mean, I suppose I would have expected something after fifteen years with him-I joined him at twelve, you know," she said archly.

Stone laughed. "Now you're a rich woman; what are you going to do?"

Betty sighed. "I haven't the foggiest idea," she said. "Lou has told me I could have my pick of jobs at the studio, but I don't know, I might just retire. I've saved some money, and I've done well in the bull market, and there's a studio pension, too; Vance got me fully vested in that last year, as a Christmas present."

"Then you can be a woman of leisure."

"A lady who lunches? I'm not sure I could handle that. Certainly, I'll stay on long enough to help you settle Vance's affairs-and Arrington's, too," she said darkly. "I'm sure she'll have a lot to settle."

"And what does that mean?" Stone asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess you know that Arrington and I have never gotten along too well-yes, you can call it jealousy, if you like, but there were other reasons."

"Tell me about them."

"Stone, tell me straight: Did Arrington shoot Vance?"

"I haven't the slightest reason to think so," Stone replied. "And I don't know why it even occurred to you to ask the question."

"As I understand it, the police have not cleared her."

"They haven't even talked to her, but I expect them to clear her when they do. She's at the Judson Clinic."

"Is she ill?"

"Not exactly, but she's been better. When she saw Vance on the floor of their home with a bullet in his head she pretty much went to pieces."

"Yes, she would, wouldn't she?" Betty said with a hint of sarcasm.

Stone ignored that. "I hope she can get the police interview out of the way soon, maybe even today. It will depend on what her doctor says."

"Look, I certainly don't have any evidence, but-call it woman's intuition, if you like-I think Arrington is perfectly capable of having killed Vance, then pretending to break down, just to keep from having to talk to the police."

"Tell me why you think that."

"Just for starters, I think Vance was miserable in the marriage. Oh, he never said so, in so many words, but I knew him as well as anybody, and I think that, in spite of his constant good humor, he was unhappy."

"Give me some example of his unhappiness."

"I can't. It was just the odd comment, the raised eyebrow when Arrington was mentioned. He did love Peter, though; I've never seen a man love a child so much."

"Anything more specific?"

"No, certainly nothing I could testify to under oath."

Stone relaxed a little inside; he hadn't realized he had become so tense. "Well, I hope you'll keep your feelings to yourself. If you think of anything specific you can tell me, I want to hear about it, though."

"Of course."

Stone glanced at his watch. "Let's get started. Will you get me Dr. James Judson at the Judson Clinic?"

Betty placed the call from the conference table phone, then left the room and closed the door.

"Good morning, Jim, it's Stone Barrington."

"Good morning, Stone."

"How's your patient this morning?"

"She's very well, I think. I believe she's about ready to go home."

"Not just yet," Stone said. "She's going to have to talk to the police, and I'd like her to do it from a hospital bed."

"I understand. When do you want them to see her?"

"Today, if you think it's all right."

"I think it should be. She's mentioned that she expects them to come, so we may as well get it over with. I'd like to be with her when they question her, though."

"Of course, and I will be, too. How about early afternoon?"

"All right; I'll prepare her."