L.A. Dead

by Stuart Woods

  "You here for long?"

  "Until the Calder thing is done."

  "Good luck on that one," Goldman said. "I hear the wife is toast."

  "Don't believe everything you hear," Stone said.

  He and Rick turned and walked back to their cars.

  "Thanks for coming over here, Rick," Stone said. "They might not have been as nice, if you hadn't been here."

  "Glad to do it. Stone, do you know something you didn't tell those guys?"

  "No, that's everything."

  "Good," Rick said, shaking hands. He got into his car and drove away.

  Stone got back into his car. Well, almost everything, he thought. He had one other thought, but it was completely crazy, and he dismissed it.

  Chapter 42

  Back at THE STUDIO bungalow, Stone called the Centurion switchboard. "Good morning, this is Stone Barrington, at the Vance Calder bungalow."

  "Good morning, Mr. Barrington," a woman replied, "how can I help you?"

  "Can you tell me if Charlene Joiner is working on the lot today?"

  "Yes, she is; shall I connect you to her dressing room?"

  "Thank you, yes."

  The phone rang, and an answering machine picked up. Charlene's honeyed southern voice said, "Hey. I'm shooting, or something, at the moment, but I'll get back to you, if you're worth getting back to." A beep followed.

  "Charlene, this is Stone Barrington. I'd like to see you sometime today, if you have a moment. You can reach me at Vance's bungalow. By the way, you should expect a call from the police, too, about Vanessa Pike's death." He hung up.

  Louise Bremen came and knocked on the door. "Mrs. Barrington called," she said.

  "Louise, there is no Mrs. Barrington," Stone replied, keeping his tone light. "Just a woman who claims to be that. Her name is Dolce Bianchi; what's her number?"

  "She didn't leave a number," Louise said. "She just said you'd be hearing from her, and she kind of chuckled."

  "Call the Bel-Air Hotel, and see if there's anybody registered under either name. If so, buzz me, and I'll talk to her."

  "All right. Oh, and Mrs. Calder called, too."

  "I'll return the call after I've spoken to Miss Bianchi."

  A couple of minutes passed, and the phone buzzed. Stone picked it up. "Dolce?"

  "No, Mr. Barrington," Louise said. "The Bel-Air says she's not registered there."

  "Thanks, Louise. Try the Beverly Hills and the dozen best hotels after that, too. Ask about both names." He hung up the phone and thought for a minute. Actually, he admitted to himself, Dolce did have a right to call herself Mrs. Barrington, given the latest news from Italy, but it grated on him to hear her do it. Now he allowed himself to think about whether Dolce might have had anything to do with the torching of Vanessa's house and her death in the fire. Crazy, it certainly was, and he could not bring himself to believe that Dolce would have had anything to do with it, based simply on the fact of his visit there. He thought of mentioning it to the police, but dismissed the idea. He had no evidence whatsoever, and it might seem to the police like an attempt on his part to use them to rid himself of a troublesome woman. Still, he had to consider: If Dolce had been involved in Vanessa's death, might she try to harm Arrington? All the extra security he had arranged to guard the Calder estate was gone, since the press had lost some interest in her. Then he had a thought. He dialed Arrington's number.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, it's Stone."

  "Where are you? I've missed you."

  "Same here, but I've been busy. I'm at the bungalow at the moment. Tell me, you're awfully alone there; how would you like some houseguests? The judge didn't bar that."

  "I'd like you for a houseguest," she replied.

  "I was thinking of Dino and Mary Ann, if I can get them out here."

  "Oh, I'd love to see them! I've got cabin fever in a big way, and since you're being so standoffish, their company would be very welcome."

  "I don't feel standoffish," Stone said. "Circumstances are keeping us apart."

  "Would you visit me, if Dino and Mary Ann were here?"

  "I think that would be perfectly kosher."

  "Then, by all means, invite them!"

  "I'll call you back." He hung up and dialed Dino's office.

  "Lieutenant Bacchetti."

  "Dino, it's Stone."

  "How's sunny California?"

  "You said you had some time off coming; why don't you come out here and see for yourself? And bring Mary Ann?"

  "You in some kind of trouble, pal?"

  "Maybe, I'm not sure.".

  "Dolce?"

  "Possibly. A woman I had dinner with, somebody I'd met twice, died in a fire last night, not long after I left her house. It was arson, and they suspect her ex-husband, but…"

  "And how can Mary Ann and I help?"

  "You can come and stay at Arrington's."

  "As extra security?"

  "As houseguests. She says she'd love to see you both. She's been stuck alone in the house for too long, and cabin fever is setting in. There's a wonderful guest house, and some acreage; Mary Ana would love it."

  "Hang on," Dino said, and put Stone on hold.

  Stone tapped his fingers, waiting. He was beginning to feel a little cabin feverish, himself, even if he wasn't confined to quarters, and he missed his dinners with Dino at Elaine's.

  "I'm back," Dino said. "Mary Ann's on board; we'll be out there tomorrow afternoon."

  "That's great," Stone said. "I'll arrange for Arrington's butler to meet you at the airport, and we'll all have dinner together. The butlers name is Manolo; call Arrington's and leave your flight time with either him or her."

  "Will do."

  "Tell Mary Ann not to bring a lot of clothes; she can buy everything she needs on Rodeo Drive."

  "Yeah, sure. If you mention that, I'll shoot you."

  "Speaking of shooting, bring something, and will you stop by my house and bring me the Walther from my safe? Joan will open it for you; give her a call. And that little piece you loaned me is on my bedside table."

  "Okay, see you tomorrow." Dino hung up.

  Stone called Arrington and told her the news.

  "I'll have Isabel plan something special for dinner," she said.

  "Sounds great. Dino will let you know their flight time."

  "Why don't you and I have dinner tonight?"

  "Behave yourself."

  "Oh, all right; just be here at seven tomorrow evening."

  "I wouldn't miss it." Stone said good-bye and hung up. Almost immediately, the phone buzzed.

  "Yes?"

  "Charlene Joiner on line one."

  He punched the button. "Hello, Charlene, how are you?"

  "Terrible," she replied. "I'm very upset about Vanessa."

  "It was a very bad thing."

  "Did you know her, Stone?"

  "I met her at Marc Blumberg's Palm Springs place a couple of days ago."

  "You were right about the police; they're on their way over here now. Maybe you and I should talk before I meet them."

  "No, you don't need a lawyer; just answer their questions truthfully. If we met first, it might make them think I'm involving myself in their case even more than I'm already involved."

  "How are you already involved?"

  "I had dinner at Vanessa's house last night; apparendy, I was the last person to see her alive."

  "Lucky Vanessa! At least she went with a smile on her face."

  "It wasn't like that, Charlene," Stone said. "When can we get together?"

  "Why don't you come over here for lunch? I'll be done with the police by then, say one o'clock, and I don't have to be back on the set until three."

  "All right, where are you?"

  "In the biggest fucking RV you ever saw," she said, "parked at the rear of sound stage six. It's got 'Georgia Peach' painted on the side."

  "I'll find it. See you at one."

  "I'll look forward."

  Chapter 43

&nb
sp; Stone found the RV at the back of the sound stage, and Char-lene had not overstated its size. It looked as long as a Greyhound bus, and it, indeed, had "Georgia Peach" painted on the side. Stone was about to get out of his car when he saw the two policemen, Rivera and Goldman, leaving the big vehicle. He waited until they had driven away before getting out of his car.

  He knocked on the RV door and, a moment later, it was opened by a plump middle-aged woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses, with a pencil stuck in her hair.

  "You Barrington?" she asked. "That's me.

  "I'm Sheila, come on in." She sat down at a desk behind the driver's seat and pointed at a door a few feet away. "Charlene's expecting you."

  Stone rapped on the door.

  "Come on in, Stone," came the voice through the door.

  Stone opened the door and stepped into a surprisingly well-furnished room. It contained a sofa, coffee table and a couple of comfortable chairs, a desk, a dressing table, and a king-size bed. Charlene's voice came from what Stone presumed to be the bathroom, the door of which was ajar. "Have a seat," she called. "I'm just getting undressed."

  "What?"

  "Sit down. You want a drink?"

  "I'm okay at the moment."

  Charlene stuck her head out the door. "You don't mind if I'm naked, do you?" It was a rhetorical question. Before Stone could reply, she stepped into the room, and, unlike the last time he had seen her, she was not even wearing her bikini bottom. "I hope you're not too, too shy," she said, "but I'm shooting a nude scene this afternoon, and I can't have any marks on my body from clothes or underwear."

  Stone sat down on the sofa. "I won't complain," he said, but he felt like complaining. Why were women always walking around naked in front of him just when he was trying to be good? He was struck anew at how beautiful she was-tall, slender, with breasts that were original equipment, not options, and she was a lovely, tawny color. "Did you greet the cops this way?"

  "For them, I put on a robe, but it left this little mark where I tied it around the waist, see?" She pointed at a slightly red spot.

  "Can't have that, can we?" Stone said, lamely.

  "The director would go nuts," she said. "Once I turned up with pantie marks and he shut down production until the next day, and I got a call from Lou Regenstein about it. You sure you don't want something to drink? Some iced tea, maybe?"

  "All right, that would be nice."

  She went to a small fridge, opened the door, and bent over, presenting a backside for the ages.

  Stone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was not a hint of fat or cellulite anywhere. How did Hollywood do it?

  She came back with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, then poured them both one and sat down on the sofa.

  She pulled a leg under her, and Stone could not help but notice that she had recently experienced a clever bikini wax.

  "The fuzz were very nice," she said.

  "I'll bet."

  She giggled. "I don't think they'd ever seen a movie star up close before. I mean, not this close, but close. You're by way of being an old acquaintance, so I don't mind."

  "Neither do I," Stone said truthfully.

  "Vanessa's death really shook me up," she said, but she didn't look shaken. "People my age are not supposed to die."

  "You think the ex-husband did it?"

  "I can't think of anybody else with a motive," she replied, shaking her head. "Vanessa was a sweet girl. You said you were with her last night?"

  "Yes, I gave her a lift home from Marc Blumberg's office, and she asked me to stay to dinner."

  "Oh, speaking of food, it should be here in a minute." As if on cue, there was a rap on the door, and Charlene got up and went into the bathroom. "You let them in, Sugar; I don't want to give the waiter a coronary."

  "You don't seem to mind giving me one," Stone said, walking to the door. He heard a giggle from the bathroom.

  Two waiters came in and, in a flash, had arranged two lobster salads and a bottle of chardonnay on the coffee table. They were gone just as quickly, and Charlene returned, just as naked.

  "I'm starved!" she said, sitting down and attacking the lobster.

  Stone poured them both a glass of wine. "Charlene, who were Vanessa's best friends?"

  "You met most of them at my house," Charlene replied. "The ladies who lunch? The whole group was there, except for Vanessa and Beverly."

  "Beverly Walters?"

  "Yep. You know her?"

  "I met her briefly in a restaurant once."

  "Beverly's all right, I guess, but she wouldn't be in the group, if it hadn't been for Vanessa."

  "What's Beverly's story?"

  Charlene shrugged. "She's a Beverly Hills housewife, I guess. She came out here to be an actress and ended up giving blow jobs for walk-ons. Her husband saved her from that; now all she does is have lunch and shop."

  Stone tried the lobster; it was perfect, tender, and sweet. "Where'd the food come from?" he asked.

  "From the studio commissary; have you been there, yet?"

  "No."

  "You'll have to come with me, sometime, Sugar; that would do wonders for your reputation around here."

  "You're not exactly shy, are you, Charlene?"

  "You ever noticed anything shy about me, Sugar?"

  "No, I haven't. Tell me, was this group of ladies with you on the day Vance was shot?"

  "Was it a Saturday? Yes, it was, I remember, now. Sure, they were all there that day; we have a regular Saturday thing at my house."

  "How late?"

  "Later than usual, as I recall. Everybody's mostly gone by five or six, but a couple of people stayed right through dinner. I think it's cleansing to have dinner without a man occasionally."

  "What time did Vanessa leave?"

  "She didn't stay for dinner. I remember, they left, because Beverly had a dinner party to go to that night, and she had to get home and change. I don't know what Vanessa was doing."

  "They left together?"

  "Yes, they came and left in Vanessa's car."

  "That's promising," Stone said, half to himself.

  "Promising? How do you mean?"

  "Sorry, I was thinking aloud."

  Charlene, having eaten a third of her lunch, grabbed her wine glass and half reclined on the sofa, resting her feet in Stone's lap.

  The view was transfixing, Stone thought, trying to concentrate on his lobster instead. "Are you and Beverly close at all?" he asked.

  "Not very. Like I said, she's not my favorite person."

  "I understand that Beverly is… talkative."

  "Well, that's an understatement! We had to listen to every detail of every affair she had."

  "Did she ever sleep with Vance?"

  "Sugar, if Vance had ever had a social disease, half of Beverly Hills would have come down with it."

  "I mean, did she ever talk about having an affair with him?"

  "She tried, but she was late to the party; the rest of us had already had Vance."

  "Vanessa, too?"

  "Sure, and before she was divorced. Vance didn't discriminate against married women."

  "Who is Beverly married to?"

  "A producer on the lot, here: Gordon Walters. That's her entree around town; if she were ever divorced, she'd never get asked to dinner. Gordy's a sweetheart, but Beverly isn't all that popular. Everybody knows you can't tell her anything. It would be like putting it on a loudspeaker at Spago."

  "Charlene, I wonder if you'd do a favor for me."

  "Sugar," she said, poking him in the crotch with a toe. "I've been trying."

  "Another kind of favor."

  "Sure, if I can."

  "Have lunch with Beverly Walters; see if you can find out what happened after she and Vanessa left your house that Saturday."

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "You can't share this with the ladies," Stone said.

  She made a little cross with a long fingernail on her left breast.

  "Beve
rly is a witness against Arrington, in this shooting thing. She's testified that Arrington told her she wanted to kill Vance. Arrington was joking, of course."

  "Of course," Charlene said dryly.

  "It's possible that Beverly might have been at Vance's house that evening, and that she might have seen something. I can't let Arrington go into court without knowing what Beverly saw. Do you think you could worm that out of her?"

  "Shoot, Stone, I could worm Beverly's genetic code out of her, if she knew it."

  "Vanessa said something about this to me, and I wouldn't like for Beverly to know that. Vanessa felt she was breaking a confidence, just by mentioning the possibility."

  "That sounds like Vanessa," Charlene said, looking misty for a moment. "Shed be true blue, even to Beverly."

  "When do you think you could see her?"

  "She'll be over at the house on Saturday, with the others, I'm sure; we'll have some commiserating to do over Vanessa."

  "I'd appreciate any help you could give me."

  Charlene smiled a small smile. "How much would you appreciate it?"

  "A lot," Stone said.

  "I don't believe you," Charlene replied. "It's Arrington, isn't it? She's why I can't get you in the sack."

  "We're old and good friends," Stone said.

  Charlene laughed. "Well, at least you didn't say you were just good friends. I don't blame you, Stone; she's perfectly gorgeous. I'd hop into bed with her in a minute."

  Stone laughed, put down his fork, and stood up. "I'll tell her you said so, if the occasion should ever arise. I've got to get going. Thanks for the lunch, and, especially, for your help."

  Charlene put down her wine glass, arose, and came toward Stone. She snaked one arm around his neck, hooked one leg around his and kissed him, long and deep.

  Stone enjoyed the moment.

  "Just you remember," she said, "you owe me one."

  Stone released himself and made his way out of the RV On the short drive back to the bungalow, Stone made a concerted effort to forget how Charlene Joiner had looked naked and failed.

  Chapter 44

  Stone spent the evening alone in Vance's bungalow, heating a frozen dinner and watching one of Vance's movies from a selection of videotapes in the study. It turned out to be one in which Charlene Joiner had costarred, and that didn't help him think pure thoughts. Her ability as an actress actually lived up to her beauty, which surprised him, though it was not the first of her movies he had seen.