Three Stone Barrington Adventures

by Stuart Woods

  “I’m sorry to be mysterious, but you will know more soon. Now I must go. Goodbye.” She hung up.

  Stone sat with the phone still in his hand, wondering what had just happened. He called Ed Eagle.

  “Hello, Stone.”

  “Ed, I’ve just had the most extraordinary phone call from your ex-wife.”

  “What?”

  “She called me just a moment ago.”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  “I have no idea; I hardly understood anything she said, except that she seemed to want to be reassuring.”

  “Reassuring about what?”

  “I’m not sure. I think she may be mixed up with Terry Prince in the Centurion deal.”

  “Believe me,” Eagle said, “if she is, then you should not take that as reassuring.”

  “But if she is in bed with Prince, why would she call and say that she has a good opinion of me?”

  “Stone, I would normally say that anyone of whom Barbara has a good opinion is not worth knowing or is, at the very least, someone to steer clear of.”

  “She must understand that if she’s in bed with Prince, I’m her opponent.”

  “Being Barbara’s opponent is a dangerous position to hold,” Eagle said. “I warn you to proceed with extreme caution, should you find yourself dealing with her.”

  “That seems like sound advice, coming from someone who should know.”

  “You are correct,” Eagle said. “If she should communicate with you again, I urge you to call me for advice, and whatever you do, don’t make her angry. She is thin-skinned, and there are people whose conduct she has taken amiss who are now no longer with us. I count myself very nearly among that lot.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.

  “I have to run, Stone. Watch yourself.” Eagle hung up.

  Stone sat there, more baffled than before.

  The shadows lengthened, and Stone still sat there alone. Arrington was, apparently, having a long afternoon nap, and Dino had not reappeared. Then Manolo came striding onto the patio, followed by Rick Barron.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Stone,” the butler said, “Mr. Barron for you.”

  Stone stood and shook Rick’s hand and took the opportunity to examine him closely. He looked very tense. “Please sit down, Rick,” he said, wondering if it were a good idea to offer a man of his age a drink at this time of day.

  “May I have a large scotch?” Rick asked.

  Problem solved, Stone nodded to Manolo, who went in search of whisky and returned shortly with a glass.

  Rick took a deep draught of the scotch. “I just had a call from the attorney for Jennifer Harris’s estate,” he said. “The trustees ordered him to accept the offer for her stock without waiting for further bids. We’ve lost it.”

  “Shit!” Stone said. “Manolo, please bring me a large Knob Creek on the rocks.”

  Rick sighed. “By my count, we now have forty-eight percent of the votes.”

  “That’s my count, too,” Stone said, taking a gulp of his bourbon.

  48

  Stone and Rick sat, each staring silently into the middle distance. The only sound was the occasional clink of ice cubes as they imbibed.

  “Hello, Rick!” Arrington said cheerfully, as she swept onto the patio in a silk pajama suit. Then she stopped in her tracks. “Did somebody die?”

  “Not yet,” Stone said. He explained what had occurred.

  “Only forty-eight percent?” she asked, taking a seat. “Manolo, bring me a large rum and tonic! No, make it a dark and stormy.”

  “What’s a dark and stormy?” Rick asked.

  “It’s Gosling’s Black Seal—a black Bermudan rum—and ginger beer.”

  “Oh,” Rick said. He turned to Manolo and swung a finger between himself and Stone. “Refills,” he said.

  “What are we going to do?” Arrington asked.

  “Good question,” Stone said, staring into his empty glass, which was immediately replaced by Manolo.

  “That means you have no answer, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “Pretty much,” Stone said, sipping his new bourbon.

  “That’s about the size of it,” Rick said, sipping his own new drink.

  “Well, it isn’t the end of the world,” Arrington pointed out.

  “It’s the end of my world,” Rick said.

  “Oh, Rick, I’m so very sorry,” she said. “That was unfeeling of me.”

  “Have we forgotten to talk to anyone with shares?” Stone asked.

  Rick shook his head. “I’ve spoken with every single shareholder personally,” he said, “some of them three or four times.”

  “There’s still Jack Schmeltzer,” Stone said. “Oh, you didn’t hear that, Rick.”

  “I didn’t,” Rick replied. “Have you heard anything from Jack?”

  “I’ve left messages at his home and office, but he hasn’t returned my calls,” Stone said. “His secretary said he would be in meetings all day and wouldn’t be able to get back to me before tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ve used that excuse myself,” Rick said, “more than a few times, when I didn’t want to talk to someone.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to talk to you?” Arrington asked Stone.

  “I think Terry Prince has gotten to him, and he’s embarrassed,” Stone replied. “Maybe I should call Charlene Joiner and ask her to fuck him again.”

  “What?” Arrington and Rick said simultaneously.

  “It was Charlene who talked him around to voting with us,” Stone said, “after an afternoon in bed.”

  “I didn’t know people did that sort of thing anymore,” Arrington said.

  “At least as much as ever,” Stone replied, “maybe more.”

  Stone’s cell rang, and he picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Stone, it’s Harvey Stein.” He didn’t sound happy.

  “Yes, Harvey?”

  “I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but there’s a problem with the transfer of Jim Long’s shares in Centurion.”

  Stone felt sick. “What kind of a problem, Harvey?”

  “It appears that the stock may not have been entirely Jim’s to sell.”

  Stone put the phone on speaker and set it on the table. “Rick Barron and Arrington Calder are here. Tell us.”

  “It appears that a friend of Jim’s holds a lien on his shares. A Mrs. Charles Grosvenor lent him some money a while back, and he signed a note using the shares as collateral. She neglected to ask for the stock certificate.”

  “Who the hell is Mrs. Charles Grosvenor?” Rick asked.

  “I’ll explain that later,” Stone said. “Harvey, do you know if Mrs. Grosvenor may have bought some shares from the estate of Jennifer Harris?”

  “I’m not sure,” Stein replied.

  “Have you spoken with Mrs. Grosvenor?”

  “Briefly. I’m afraid I’ll have to refund Mrs. Calder’s money and ask for the share certificate back,” Stein said. “Mrs. Grosvenor wants it before tomorrow’s shareholders’ meeting.”

  “Harvey,” Stone said, “have you read the actual note Jim signed?”

  “Yes, and I consider it airtight. Jim is very apologetic; he thought he would have Mrs. Grosvenor’s support in selling the shares. I don’t know why he didn’t tell me about the note.”

  “I’m sure you understand, Harvey, that I’m going to need to see the note before I can surrender the stock certificate.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t think this is your fault, Harvey,” Stone said.

  “I have already taken the liberty of wiring the funds back to Woodman & Weld,” Stein said. “May I send someone to pick up the share certificate now? I’ll send along a copy of the note.”

  “Yes,” Stone said. He punched the phone off.

  “Who is Mrs. Charles Grosvenor?” Arrington asked again.

  “From all reliable accounts,” Stone said, “a crazy person.”

  “How crazy?”

&nbs
p; “A homicidal maniac,” Stone said. He began to explain the woman’s history.

  When he had finished Rick said, “I’ve lived a long life and met all sorts of people, but that is the wildest story I have ever heard.”

  “Rick,” Arrington said, “is Glenna at home?”

  “No, she’s in Santa Barbara; she’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  “Then you’re having dinner here with us,” she said.

  “Thank you, Arrington, that’s very kind.”

  Stone’s cell phone rang; the caller ID said Woodman & Weld.

  “Hello?”

  “Stone, it’s Bill Eggers.”

  “Hey, Bill.”

  “Our bank just called; we’ve received a wire transfer of the funds we sent Harvey Stein a few days ago. What’s going on?”

  “Turns out Jim Long didn’t have the right to sell his shares; they were entailed.”

  “Oh. How is that going to affect your gaining control of Centurion?”

  “I don’t know; nobody knows anything at the moment. The shareholders’ meeting is tomorrow; any suggestions?”

  “Yeah, use these funds to buy more shares.”

  “None are for sale.”

  “Then, unless you’ve got more than fifty percent without Long’s shares, to put it in legal terms, you’re fucked.”

  “Well said, Bill.”

  “Good luck to you.”

  “Thanks so much.” Stone hung up. “Woodman & Weld got the funds paid for Long’s shares back, so if the note is in order, we’ll have to surrender the share certificate.”

  “Swell,” Rick said.

  49

  Dino returned in time for dinner, and they all sat down. “How did your day go, Dino?” Stone asked.

  “Nothing I can talk about,” Dino replied. He didn’t look any happier than anyone else.

  Manolo came to the table to say that a messenger had arrived from Harvey Stein. Stone got up, retrieved Jim Long’s stock certificate from his briefcase, and went into the house to find Carolyn Blaine, clutching an envelope, waiting for him.

  “Since when are you Harvey Stein’s messenger?” Stone asked her.

  She handed him the envelope. “I can’t talk about that,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “The note is inside. Did you receive the funds Harvey wired back?”

  “Yes,” Stone replied, opening the envelope and removing the photocopy of the note. He read it and found it in perfect order. “I suppose I could insist on seeing the original note before giving you the certificate,” he said.

  “It wouldn’t matter,” Carolyn replied. “Jim’s attorney would just object to your voting his shares at the meeting, and you’d be back to square one.”

  Stone knew that was true. He handed her the stock certificate and wondered if now would be a good time to tell “Carolyn Blaine” that he knew she was Dolly Parks—a large-scale thief and embezzler and possible murderer. He decided not, that a better time might come, though he couldn’t imagine when that would be, unless it was as the cuffs were being clapped on her beautiful wrists. “Good night,” he said, then turned and went back to the dinner table.

  “I hope you found some flaw in the note Jim signed,” Rick said.

  “I’m afraid not,” Stone replied. “I couldn’t have written it better myself.”

  As the dinner dishes were being taken away Stone’s phone buzzed. “Hello?”

  “Stone, it’s Ed Eagle; would you like to come over to the Bel-Air and have a drink with me?”

  Stone looked at his watch; only a little past nine. “Sure, Ed, be there in five minutes.” He hung up. “Arrington, Rick, will you excuse me? A friend has asked me to come over to the Bel-Air for a drink, and I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Of course,” Arrington said.

  “I’ve got to be getting home anyway,” Rick replied. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Dino, you want to join us for a drink?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  Stone and Dino walked out to the car, accompanied by Rick. Stone opened the car door for him, relieved that a driver waited. “Good night, Rick.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at two, stage four,” Rick said, then was driven away.

  Stone and Dino drove the mile to the Bel-Air, abandoned the car to the valet, and walked up to the bar. Ed Eagle sat at a table with Mike Freeman.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Stone said. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “We met only once, a while back, on business,” Ed replied, “but I found him at the bar tonight, so we had dinner together.”

  Stone and Dino ordered brandy. “Well, Ed, it seems certain now that your ex-wife has inserted herself into the Centurion deal.” He explained what had happened with the Jennifer Harris and Jim Long shares.

  “How the hell did that happen?” Ed asked.

  “I can only guess: you told me that she and the woman who now calls herself Carolyn Blaine had known each other in Santa Fe. I think Carolyn must have introduced her to Terry Prince. Maybe his Latin friends are getting cold feet, and he needed a new source of money.”

  “I guess that makes a kind of weird sense,” Ed replied.

  “Tell me,” Stone said, “in Barbara’s tangled felonious history, is there something she could still be nailed for?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Ed said. “She got off for trying to kill me; she got pardoned in Mexico; and she didn’t get charged with trying to kill me the second time, because somebody got to the hit man before the cops could. Besides his murder, there are two others that I’m sure she arranged, but again, nobody is alive to testify against her, so she is, for all practical purposes, beyond the reach of the law. I wish my clients were as lucky.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless,” Stone said. “I had it all together, and now it’s gone. Centurion is going to become a shell of a studio and will probably get snapped up by some conglomerate that knows nothing about making movies.”

  “At least Arrington will come out unscathed in the deal,” Ed said.

  “Yes, but the studio that produced all the films that made Vance Calder rich, then Arrington, will be gone.”

  “Companies come and go,” Mike said. “It’s the American way. Used to be a successful business could endure for a century or more; now they last about as long as restaurants.”

  “I’m glad Vance Calder isn’t alive to see this,” Stone said. “He did as much as anyone alive to ensure the success of Centurion. Did you know that he made more than seventy films there, not one of them for another studio?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Ed said. “It’s a remarkable record.”

  “He also made nearly every one of them for a minimal fee and a percentage of the gross. Every time one of his movies is shown anywhere, Vance—or rather, Arrington—gets a nice check.”

  “I guess that in a few years, young Peter will be a very rich fellow,” Mike said.

  “Yes, and I’m now his trustee, so it will be up to me to help him hold it together—what’s left of it.”

  “Good luck dealing with all that,” Ed said. “It’s more than enough to destroy any young man with too much, too soon.”

  “I’m going to try to write the trust documents—with Woodman & Weld’s help—in such a way that he’ll be eased into it gradually.”

  “I hope, for your sake, Stone,” Ed said, “that nothing happens to Arrington for a long time. You could end up running what’s left of Centurion for Peter.”

  “Perish the thought,” Stone said.

  “I wish I had something to offer that would help you tomorrow,” Ed said.

  “So do I,” Mike echoed.

  “At this point,” Stone said, “Nobody can do anything. We’ll just have to let avarice take its course.”

  Driving back to the Calder house, Dino said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so sad.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad,” Stone said.

  50

  Stone slept fitfu
lly, when he slept at all. He had a recurring dream of Terry Prince on a bulldozer, razing the soundstages at Centurion. He finally got out of bed, shaved, showered, dressed, and walked out to the patio.

  It was too early for Manolo to be about, but Dino had made a pot of coffee in the guesthouse kitchenette, and he held up a cup for Stone. “Feeling any better?” he asked as Stone took a seat.

  “No,” Stone said, “not at all.”

  “I wish there were something I could do to help,” Dino said, then he brightened. “Actually, there is something I can do.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got Arrington’s signature on the agreement to sell this property to Prince, haven’t you? And his check for twenty-five million dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s my advice: cash the check, get it cleared as quickly as possible, and give Prince the agreement as soon as you see him.”

  “Why are you giving me that advice?” Stone asked.

  Dino shrugged. “Suffice it to say that it’s my best advice, and I don’t think you would regret taking it.” Stone started to respond, but Dino held up a hand. “That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

  “All right, I won’t press you. I’ll call Eggers when New York opens for business and get it done.”

  Dino smiled happily. “This is going to be a good day,” he said. “I can feel it coming.”

  “I wish I could share your optimism,” Stone said.

  “What’s the song say? ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’ ”

  “That’s mindless optimism,” Stone said.

  “No, it’s not. I told you, I have a feeling.”

  “You get these feelings all the time, do you?”

  “No, just once in a while, but they’re always right.”

  “How about the Centurion business? You have a feeling about that?”

  “Nope, just about the day in general. I think we should have a celebratory dinner.”

  “Even if you don’t know what we’ll be celebrating?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know anything,” Dino said. “I just don’t know how the Centurion thing is going to play out.”