by Stuart Woods
“Morning, Al, Bruce,” Rick said. “Stone, these are detectives Alvino Rivera and Bruce Goldman. This is a former NYPD detective, Stone Barrington.”
Stone shook hands and he and Rick were introduced to the fireman, whose name was Hinson.
“Stone, tell Al and Rick about last night.”
Stone gave a brief account of his evening with Vanessa.
“Did she say anything about her husband?” Goldman asked, when Stone had finished.
“She told me about the divorce and her settlement. I gathered it wasn’t an amiable thing. Her lawyer, Marc Blumberg, who introduced me to her, said the man was very angry about what he had to give her.”
“She show any signs of stress or nervousness when talking about her husband?” Rivera asked.
“No, it seemed to be in the past, at least, to her.”
“Does the husband look good for this?” Rick asked.
“Maybe. We questioned him this morning at his house. We still have to check out his alibi, but it sounds tight. If he’s responsible, then he probably hired a pro.”
The fireman spoke up. “The fire was started with gasoline near the master bedroom windows,” he said. “We found a can, apparently from the victim’s own garage. The perp had wheeled over a gas grill next to the house, and when the fire got going, the propane tank exploded. It must have been full, or nearly so, because it did a lot of damage. The explosion probably killed the woman.”
“We haven’t heard from the M.E. yet,” Goldman said, “but that sounds right.”
“You’re a lawyer, right?” Rivera said to Stone.
“Right.”
“You’re in town about the Calder thing?”
“Right.”
“When you left last night, did you notice anybody hanging around the street?”
“When I backed out of the driveway, there were no moving cars visible on the street, just parked ones, but as I drove down the block toward Sunset, I saw some headlights in my rearview mirror. My guess is, somebody was waiting in the street, then started up and followed me to Sunset. I lost the car after I turned.”
“Any idea of what kind of car?”
“No, all I saw was headlights.”
“So the guy was hanging around, waiting for you to leave and for her to go to sleep.”
“Could be. I didn’t notice anybody following when we drove to the house, but I wasn’t watching my mirror especially.”
“What was your relationship to Mrs. Pike?” Goldman asked.
“I met her the day before yesterday in Palm Springs, at Marc Blumberg’s house. Late yesterday afternoon, I had a meeting with Blumberg in his office, right after he returned from the Springs, and she was there. He asked me to give her a lift home, and she invited me to stay for dinner. That was it.”
“Did you have sex with her?” Rivera asked.
“No.”
“Ever met the husband?”
“No; I don’t even know his name.”
“Daniel Pike; big-time producer/director.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“You know any of her friends?”
“Blumberg says she’s friendly with a group that hangs around with Charlene Joiner.”
“Joiner, the movie star?”
“One and the same.”
“We’ll talk to her.”
Rick spoke up. “Anything else you fellows require of Stone?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You can reach me through the switchboard at Centurion Studios,” Stone said. “I’ve got a temporary office there, and here’s my New York number.” He handed them his card.
“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.
Forty-two
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 guesthouse, and some acreage; Mary Ann 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 butler’s 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; apparently, 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.”
Forty-three
STONE FOUND THE RV AT THE BACK OF THE SOUND stage, and Charlene 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 for 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 bath
room. “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?”