6 Stone Barrington Novels (28 page)

“Sure, I'll be glad to.”

“I've got to go; what with Vanessa's affairs to handle, I've got a lot on my desk this morning.”

“Thanks, Marc; I'll get back to you if I find out anything.” Stone hung up and wolfed down the rest of his muffin, while dialing Rick Grant.

“Captain Grant.”

“Rick, it's Stone Barrington.”

“Morning, Stone; what's up?”

“I've just heard from Marc Blumberg that a woman I was with last evening died in a fire last night.”

“That thing in the Hollywood Hills?”

“Yes; Vanessa Pike was her name.”

“Looks like a murder, from what I hear.”

“I thought I should talk to the investigating officers.”

“Yes, you should. Hang on a minute.”

Stone waited on hold while he finished his coffee.

Rick came back on the line. “You know where the house is?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me there in, say, forty-five minutes.”

“All right.”

They hung up, and Stone went to his desk and signed the checks Louise had printed out, then he got into his car and drove to Vanessa's house.

 

He smelled it before he saw it, the odor of burning wood, not at all unpleasant. He saw Rick Grant getting out of a car ahead of him and parked behind him.

The two men shook hands, and Rick led Stone through the police tape. The house was nothing more than a smoking ruin. Rick went to two men in suits who were standing on the front lawn, talking to a fire department captain in uniform.

“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.

 

 

 

B
ACK 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.”