6 Stone Barrington Novels (14 page)

“I didn't know the details,” he replied. “I didn't know you were all that rich.”

“Poor baby,” she said, patting his cheek.

Stone took a deep breath. “Now, there's something about me you have to know.”

“What's that?”

“You remember Dolce.”

“Eduardo Bianchi's daughter? How could I forget that dinner party in Connecticut last summer?”

“Dolce and I were to have been married last weekend, in Venice.”

Arrington sat up and looked at him, surprised. “Oh?”

He started to tell her about the preliminary, but thought better of it. What did it matter? “But before it could take place, I was on a plane to L.A.”

Arrington placed a hand on her breast. “Close call,” she said. “Whew!” Then she sat back. “Are you in love with her?”

“I'm . . . a little confused about that,” Stone said.

She took his hand again. “Let me help clear your mind.”

“I'll admit, I had misgivings, even before going to Venice, but she was pretty overwhelming.”

“I can imagine,” Arrington said tartly.

“Now, I think I must have been crazy. Dino has been telling me that since the moment I met her.”

“Dino is a very smart man,” Arrington said. “Listen to him. I know how overwhelming a moment can be; that's how I came to marry Vance. You're well out of that relationship.”

“I'm not exactly out of it, yet,” Stone replied. “I still have to speak to her; she's been . . . unavailable when I've called her. She's in Sicily.”

“That's just about far enough away,” Arrington said. “That should make it easier for you.”

“I'm going to have to tell Eduardo, too.”

“I can understand how facing him might be more daunting than telling Dolce.”

“He's been very kind to me; he made it plain that he was very happy about my becoming his son-in-law.”

“He's a nice man, but try not to make him angry. He would make a bad enemy, from what Vance has told me about him.”

“Yes, I know; or, at least, that's what Dino keeps telling me. God knows, I don't want him for an enemy.”

“Well, I wouldn't let too much time pass before squaring this with both Eduardo and Dolce,” Arrington said. “It won't get any easier.”

“I know,” Stone replied.

The phone on the table between them rang, and Arrington picked it up. “Yes? Oh, hello, Manolo; yes, I'm very well, thank you. I'll be spending a couple of days out here.” She listened for a moment. “Did the police make much of a mess? Well, I'm sure you and Isabel can handle it. Yes, he's right here.” She handed the phone to Stone. “Manolo wants to speak to you.”

Stone took the phone. “Hello, Manolo.”

“Good evening, Mr. Barrington. A lady has been telephoning you here; she's called several times. A Miss Bianchi?”

“Yes, I know her; I'll call her tomorrow.”

“She left a number.”

Stone realized he had left Dolce's number in Sicily at the Bel-Air house. He took out a pen and notebook. “Please give it to me.”

Manolo repeated the number; Stone thanked him and hung up.

“Dolce called?” Arrington asked.

“Yes.” He looked at his notebook. “She seems to be at the Bel-Air Hotel.”

“Why don't you call her from the study,” Arrington said. “I don't want to hear this conversation.”

“Good idea.” Stone went into the study and dialed the hotel number.

“Bel-Air Hotel,” the operator said.

“Miss Dolce Bianchi, please.”

“One moment. I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have anyone by that name registered.”

Stone was baffled for a moment; then he had a terrible thought. “Do you have a Mrs. Stone Barrington?”

“Yes, sir; I'll connect you.”

As the phone rang, Stone gritted his teeth.

 

 

 

T
HE PHONE RANG AND RANG, AND FOR A MOMENT, Stone thought she'd be out. He was sighing with relief when Dolce, a little breathless, picked it up.

“Hello?”

Stone couldn't quite bring himself to speak.

“Stone, don't you hang up on me,” she said.

“I'm here.”

“I'm sorry I took so long to answer; I was in the shower.”

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Come on over; I'll order dinner for us.”

“I won't be able to stay for dinner; I have another commitment.” This was almost true.

“I'll be waiting.”

“It'll take me at least half an hour, depending on traffic. See you then,” he said hurriedly, before she asked where he'd be coming from. He hung up and went back out to the deck. “I'm going to go and see her now,” he said.

Arrington stood up, put her arms around him and gave him a soulful kiss. For the first time—for the first time since she'd run off with Vance—he responded the way he wanted to. Arrington stepped back and patted him on the cheek. “Poor Stone,” she said. “Don't worry—you can handle it.” She turned him around, pointed him toward the door, and gave him a spank on the backside, like a coach sending in a quarterback with a new play. “I'll order in some food and fix us some dinner,” she called, as he reached the door.

“Don't start cooking until I call,” he said. “I don't know how long this is going to take.”

 

The mob at the Colony gate had boiled down to one TV van and a photographer, and although they stared at him as he drove through, they didn't seem to connect him with Vance Calder's widow. A few miles down the Pacific Coast Highway, there was an accident that held up traffic for half an hour, giving Stone more time than he wanted to think.

Women, he reflected, usually broke it off with him, for lack of commitment. He had never been in the position of breaking off an engagement, and he dreaded the thought. By the time he got past the accident and made it to the hotel, he was an hour late.

Dolce opened the door and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, God, I've missed you,” she whispered into his ear. It did not make Stone feel any better that she was naked. It seemed that women had been flaunting nakedness all day, and he had never been very good at resisting it. He pushed her into the suite and closed the door. “Please put something on; we have to talk.”

Dolce grabbed a robe and led him into the living room. Stone chose an armchair so he wouldn't have to share the sofa with her. “I'm sorry you came here,” he said. “It was the wrong thing to do under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” she asked.

“Arrington is in trouble, and until I can get her out of it, I can't think about anything else.”

“She killed Vance, didn't she? I
knew
it.”

“She did not,” Stone said.

“I could smell it as soon as I arrived in this town. The newspapers and TV know she's guilty, don't they?”

“They don't know anything, except the hints the cops are dropping.”

“The cops know she's guilty, don't they?”

“Dolce, she passed a lie detector test this afternoon, a tough one, by a real expert.”

“You need to think she's innocent, don't you, Stone? I know you; you have to believe that.”

“I
do
believe that,” Stone said, although Dolce was still shaking her head. “The police are trying to railroad her, because they can't find the real perpetrator, and I can't let that happen.”

“Are you still in love with her, Stone?”

“Maybe; I haven't had time to think about that.” In truth, he'd hardly thought of anything else. “Dolce, we very nearly made a terrible mistake. Let's both be grateful that we were spared a marriage that would never have worked.”

“Why would it never have worked?”

“Because we're so different, temperamentally. We could never live with each other.”

“Funny, I thought we had been living with each other for the past few months.”

“Not permanently; we were playing at living together.”

“
I
wasn't playing,” she said.

“You know what I mean. We were . . . acting our parts, that's all. It would never have worked. I wish you hadn't come.”

“Stone, I'm here because you're my husband, and you need me.”

“Dolce, I am
not
your husband, and I'd appreciate it if you'd tell the hotel that.”

“Have you forgotten that we were married last Saturday, in Venice, by the mayor of the city?”

“You know as well as I do, that ceremony is not valid without a religious ceremony to follow.”

“We took vows.”

“I said ‘
sì
' when prompted; I have no idea what the mayor said to me.”

Dolce recited something in Italian. “ 'Til death us do part,” she translated.

“Well, that's what happened with your previous husband, isn't it?” he shot back, then immediately regretted having said it.

“And it could happen again!” Dolce spat.

“Is that what we've come to? You're threatening me?”

Dolce stood up and came toward him. “Stone, let's not do this to each other; come to bed.”

Stone stood up and backed away from her. The robe had come undone, and he fought the urge to touch her. “No, no. I have to leave, Dolce, and you should leave, too, and go back to New York or Sicily or wherever.”

“Papa is going to be
very
disappointed,” she said in a low voice.

That really did sound like a threat, Stone thought. “I'll call him tomorrow and explain things.”

“Explain what? That you're abandoning me? Leaving me at the altar? He'll just
love
hearing that. You don't know Papa as well as you think you do. He has a terrible temper, especially when someone he loves has been wronged.”

Stone was backing toward the door. “I haven't
wronged
you, Dolce; I've just explained how I feel. I'm doing you a favor by withdrawing from this situation now, instead of later, when it would hurt us both a lot more.” He was reaching for the doorknob behind him.

“You're my husband, Stone,” Dolce was saying, “and you always will be, for as long as you live,” she added threateningly.

“Good-bye, Dolce,” Stone said. He got the door open and hurried out, closing it carefully behind him.

He had gone only a few steps when he heard a large object crash against the door and shatter. On the way through the lobby, he stopped at the front desk. “I'm Stone Barrington,” he said to the young woman.

“Yes, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “Are you checking in again?”

“No, and please be advised that the woman in suite 336 is Miss Dolce Bianchi, not Mrs. Stone Barrington. Will you let the telephone operator know that, please?”

“Of course,” the young woman said, looking nonplussed. “Whatever you say, Mr. Barrington.”

Stone got the station wagon from the attendant and headed back toward Malibu. Before he had even reached Sunset, the car phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Stone,” Arrington said, “I'm on my way back to Bel-Air.”

“Why and how?” Stone asked.

“I caught sight of a photographer on the beach with a great big lens, and I guess it just creeped me out. Manolo came and got me; he had to smuggle me past the gate in the trunk.”

“All right, I'll meet you at the house. Tell Manolo to use the utility entrance.” He said good-bye and hung up. How long, he wondered, had that photographer been on the beach?

 

 

 

S
TONE GOT TO THE HOUSE FIRST. HE PARKED THE CAR, went into the house and out to the guesthouse, where he started packing his clothes. He had his bags in Vance's Mercedes by the time Arrington arrived.

She came in through the front door, took a few steps, and froze, staring down the central hallway. “That's where he was, isn't it?” she asked Stone, nodding toward the spot.

“You remember?” Stone asked.

She nodded again.

He turned to the butler. “Manolo, will you fix us some dinner, please? Anything will do.”

“Of course, Mr. Barrington,” the butler said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Stone took Arrington's hand and walked her to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and sat down beside her. “What else do you remember?” he asked. “This is important.”

Arrington wrinkled her brow. “Just Vance lying there, bleeding.”

“Do you remember anything immediately before that?”

“I don't think so.”

“Do you remember hearing the shot?”

She shook her head. “No. Just Vance lying there.”

“Do you remember the police and the paramedics arriving?”

“No. Nothing until I woke up in the clinic.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “When is this going to be over, Stone?”

“Not for a while,” Stone replied. “We've still got the funeral on Friday, and on Saturday, we have to take you to the district attorney's office.”

“Will they put me in jail?”

“I hope not; Marc Blumberg's working on that.”

“I'm so glad you're here,” she said. She put her hand on his cheek and drew him closer, kissing him.

Stone pulled back. “Listen to me carefully,” he said. “You and I cannot be seen by
anybody
being . . . affectionate with each other.”