6 Stone Barrington Novels (21 page)

Dolce got onto the airplane, and the flight attendant closed the door behind her.

 

 

 

S
TONE WAS SITTING IN THE FIRST-ROW WINDOW SEAT OF the first-class section, and he watched like a trapped rabbit, as Dolce, cobralike, glided past, ignoring him, and took a seat somewhere behind him.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Barrington?” the attendant asked.

“A Wild Turkey on the rocks,” he replied without hesitation, “and make it a double.” When the drink arrived, he drank it more quickly than he usually would have, and by the time the flight reached its cruising altitude, he had fallen asleep.

 

Sometime in the night he awoke, needing the bathroom. On the way back to his seat, he looked toward the rear of the compartment and saw Dolce, sitting on the aisle three rows behind his seat, gazing unblinkingly at him. It was unnerving, he thought. He slept only fitfully for the rest of the flight.

When the door opened at the gate, Stone was the first off the airplane, nearly running up the ramp into the terminal. His bags were among the first to be seen in baggage claim, and a driver stood by with his name written on a shirt cardboard. He pointed at the bags and followed the driver to the waiting car.

He felt hungover from having the bourbon so close to bedtime, and the weather did not improve his mood. It was still raining heavily, the result of a close brush from a tropical storm off the coast, and even though the driver handled his bags, he got very wet between the car and his front door.

He tipped the driver generously, opened the door, and stepped inside his house, shoving his bags ahead of him. He tapped the security code into the keypad and looked around. The stairs had been stripped of their runner, which was piled on the living room floor, on top of a fine old oriental carpet that had come with the house, both of them sodden. A smell of dampness permeated the place.

He put his bags on the elevator and pressed the button, then he walked up the stairs slowly, surveying the damage, which, if not catastrophic, was still awful. Thank God for insurance, he thought. He walked into his upstairs sitting room, where there was more wet carpet, and watermarks on the wall next to the stairs, where the water from the breached roof had run down. At least it had stopped, he thought, though it was still raining hard outside. Billy Foote must have gotten the plastic cover over the roof. His beautiful house, nearly ruined. He thought about how hard he had worked to restore it. Now a few days' rain . . .

The security system beeped, signaling that Joan was arriving for work. He picked up a phone and buzzed her.

“Hi. Was your flight okay?”

“As okay as could be expected. Thanks for getting Billy over here.”

“He did a good job. The insurance adjustor got here in a hurry, and he's sending a roofer to bid for the job as soon as it stops raining, if it ever does, and the carpet cleaners are coming this morning to take away all the wet rugs.”

Stone looked around his bedroom. “Tell them to throw away the carpet up here,” he said. “It's time to replace it, I think, and the stairway runner, too. I do want to save the oriental in the living room, though.”

“Okay.”

“Any calls?”

“None that can't wait until this afternoon,” she said. “You probably need some sleep.”

“That's true. I'll check with you later.” He hung up, got undressed, went into a guest room, where the carpets were still dry, and got into bed.

 

He woke up around noon, showered, shaved, dressed, and went downstairs, where his housekeeper, Helene, had left a sandwich for him. He had just finished it when the front doorbell rang. That would be the carpet people, he thought, and instead of using the intercom, he went to the front door and opened it. Eduardo Bianchi stood on his doorstep, glumly holding an umbrella. The Mercedes Maybach idled at the curb.

“Eduardo!” Stone said, surprised. He had almost never seen the man anywhere except on his own turf. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Stone. I'm sorry to barge in, but I heard you were back from California, and I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Stone said, taking the umbrella, and helping the older man off with his coat. “Come on back to my study. Would you like some coffee?”

“Thank you, yes,” Eduardo replied, rubbing his hands together briskly. “It's terrible out there.”

Stone settled him in a chair in his study, then made some espresso and brought in a pot and two cups on a tray.

“So, you're back in New York for a while, I hope?” Eduardo asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Stone said. He explained the problem with the roof. “I have some clients to see, too, then I have to get back to L.A. I'm afraid Arrington still needs me there.”

“Ah, Arrington,” Eduardo said slowly. “A most unfortunate situation for her. Do you think she will be acquitted?”

“I think she's innocent, and I'll do everything I can to see that she is. Marc Blumberg, an L.A. lawyer, is her lead counsel; I'm just advising.”

Eduardo nodded. “I know Marc; he's a good man, right for this.”

Stone was not surprised, since Eduardo seemed to know everybody on both coasts. He waited for his near-father-in-law to come to the point of his visit.

“Dolce is back, too,” he said.

“I know,” Stone replied. “I caught a glimpse of her on the airplane, but we didn't talk.”

Eduardo shook his head. “This is all very sad,” he said. “I do not like seeing her so upset.”

“I'm very sorry for upsetting her,” Stone said, “but I could not do otherwise under the circumstances.”

“What are your intentions toward Arrington?” Eduardo asked, as if he had the right to.

“Quite frankly, I don't know,” Stone said. “She has some serious difficulties to overcome, and, if Blumberg and I are successful in defending her, I don't know what her plans are after that. I'm not sure she knows, either.”

“And your plans?”

“I haven't made any. Every time I do, it all seems to come back to Arrington, one way or another.”

“You are in love with her, then?”

Stone sighed. He had been avoiding the question. “I think I have to finally face the fact that I have been for a long time.”

“Why did you not marry her when you had the opportunity?” Eduardo asked.

“I intended to,” Stone replied. “We were going on a sailing holiday together in the islands. I had planned to pop the question down there. She was delayed in joining me, because she had been asked to write a magazine piece about Vance. The next thing I knew, they were married.”

Eduardo nodded. “Vance could do that,” he said. “He was a very powerful personality, difficult for a young woman to resist.” Eduardo set down his coffee cup and crossed his legs. “Now we come to Dolce,” he said. “My daughter is very unhappy. What are your intentions toward her?”

Stone took a deep breath. “Dolce and I have talked about this,” he said. “I've told her that I think it would be a terrible mistake for both of us, should we marry.”

“Why?” Eduardo asked, and his eyes had narrowed.

“This business with Arrington has taught me that I'm not free of her,” Stone replied, “as I thought I was. Vance's sudden death was a great shock, and not just because I liked him.”

“Arrington is once again available, then?”

“Well, she's no longer married.”

“Has she expressed an interest in rekindling your relationship with her?”

“Yes,” Stone said, surprising himself with his willingness to discuss this with Eduardo.

“And there is the child,” Eduardo said.

“Yes; there was a time when we both thought he might be mine, but the blood tests . . .”

“And who conducted these tests?” Eduardo asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Indulge me, please.”

Stone went to his desk and rummaged in a bottom drawer. The report was still there. He handed it to Eduardo.

Eduardo read the document carefully. “This would seem conclusive,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Who employed these ‘Hemolab' people?” he asked, reading the name of the laboratory from the letterhead.

“Arrington, I suppose.”

Eduardo nodded and handed back the document and stood up. “I am sorry to have taken your time, Stone,” he said, “but I had to explore this with you in order to know what to do.”

Stone wasn't sure what he meant by that. “You are always welcome here, Eduardo.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

Stone followed him to the door, helped him on with his coat, and handed him his umbrella.

“Dolce is ill, you know,” Eduardo said suddenly.

“What? What's wrong with her?”

“Her heart is ill; it has always been so, I think. I had hoped you could make her well, but I see, now, that it will not happen.”

“What can I do to help, Eduardo?”

“Nothing, I think, short of marrying her, and after what you have told me today, I think that would destroy both of you.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Eduardo turned and looked at Stone, and his eyes were ineffably sad. “You can only keep away from her,” he said. “I think she may be . . . dangerous.” Then, without another word, he turned and walked down the steps and back to his car.

Stone watched as the limousine moved off down the street, and the shiver that ran through him was not caused by the dampness.

 

 

 

S
TONE MET WITH HIS ANXIOUS CLIENTS AND SOOTHED their nerves. He spoke to the insurance agent and got approval to begin repairs, then, because he could not bear to look at his damaged house, he went downtown to ABC Carpets and picked out new ones, arranging for their people to measure and install them. As he got in and out of taxicabs, he caught himself looking around to see if he had unwanted company, but he did not see Dolce.

At half past eight he was at Elaine's, giving her a kiss on arrival and being shown to his usual table.

Elaine sat down for a minute. “So,” she said, “you're up to your ass in this Vance Calder thing.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“I always liked Arrington,” she said. “I wouldn't have thought she could kill anybody.”

“I don't think she did.”

“Can you prove it?”

“I guess the only way I can prove that is by proving somebody else did it. Otherwise, even if she's tried and acquitted, too many people will believe she's guilty, and a smart lawyer got her off.”

“I hear she's got a smart lawyer—besides you, I mean.”

“That's right; he's doing a good job, so far.”

“Stone.” She looked at him sadly.

“Yes?”

“Sometimes people do things you wouldn't think they could do. People get stressed, you know, and the cork pops.”

Stone nodded.

“If you want to get through this okay, you'd better get used to the idea that you may be wrong about her.”

“I don't think I am.”

“Protect yourself; don't tear out your guts hoping.”

It was the first advice he'd ever gotten from her. “I'll try,” he said. He looked up to see Dino and Mary Ann coming through the door. He especially wanted to see Mary Ann.

Everybody hugged, kissed, sat down, and ordered drinks.

“You got a little sun,” Dino said, inspecting him.

“Out there, you get it just walking around.”

Elaine got up to greet some customers, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she left.

“What was that?” Dino asked.

“Encouragement,” Stone replied. “I think she thinks Arrington did it.”

“Doesn't everybody?” Dino asked.

“Do you?”

“Let's put it this way: I think I'm probably more objective about it than you are.”

“Oh.”

“Let me ask you something, Stone: If you all of a sudden found out for sure that she did it, would you try to get her off, anyway?”

“That's my job.”

“You're not her lawyer; Blumberg is.”

Stone looked into his drink. “It's still my job.”

“Oh,” Dino said, “it's like that.”

“Well!” Mary Ann interjected. “Isn't it nice to all be together again, and right here at home!”

“Don't try to cheer him up,” Dino said to his wife. “It won't work.”

Michael, the headwaiter, brought menus, and they studied them silently for a minute, then ordered. Stone ordered another drink, too.