“I’ll talk to you later; you two have a good time.”
“We’ll try.”
Stone moved back into the Bel-Air Hotel, into a small suite at the north end of the property, with a car park nearby. He ordered some lunch from room service, then called his secretary in New York.
“Hi,” she said. “Vance Calder called.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Just wanted you to call him back, said he’d be at home all day. Say, I never got that cashier’s check you said you were mailing.”
“I’ve still got it, but it’s a little worse for the wear. I’d better hang onto it; I’m getting low on money.”
“Whatever. I’ve paid all the bills, and everything seems to be in pretty good shape here.”
“Glad to hear it; I’m not ready to leave L.A. yet. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He hung up and dialed Vance’s home number.
“Hello?”
“Vance, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Oh, Stone, thank you for calling.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I hardly know how to answer that, Stone; I wish I could talk to you face to face and try and explain what’s been going on.”
“We can arrange that, if you like.”
“You mean you’ll come back out here?”
“I never left.”
“What? You’re still in L.A.?”
“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone that-not a soul, do you understand?”
“Of course, whatever you say.”
“I mean it, Vance; if you tellanyone I’m in L.A., it could be very dangerous for me.”
“I promise, I’ll say nothing to anyone.”
“Not even Betty.”
“If you say so.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, it’s the servants’ day off; I’m at home, reading scripts.”
“All right, I’ll be there in ten minutes; open the front gate.”
“Thank you, Stone; I appreciate this.”
“Don’t appreciate it until we’ve talked. You have a lot to tell me, and this time I’m going to have to have the truth.”
“I understand.”
“See you in an hour.”
Stone had lunch on his tiny garden terrace, changed clothes, and started out for Vance’s house.
40
Stone was sitting at a stop sign, waiting to turn into Vance Calder’s street, when a Rolls-Royce convertible drove past. The driver was David Sturmack. Stone turned right, then turned right again, into Vance’s drive. The gates were closed. Stone rang the buzzer.
“Yes?” Vance’s voice said over the intercom.
“It’s Stone, Vance.”
“Oh, Stone; something’s come up; can I call you later?”
“No, I want to see you now.”
“Stone, I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“Vance, open the gate and talk to me, or I’ll go straight to the tabloids and the police with what I have.”
After a moment’s silence the gates swung open. By the time he had parked and walked to the front door, Vance was waiting, and he looked grim.
“Stone, I’m sorry you came; I just can’t tell you anything,” he said, standing in the doorway.
Stone brushed past him. “Let’s go into your study, shall we?”
Vance followed him through the living room. “I really can’t talk; I just wish you’d take my word for it.”
Stone went into the study and settled into a comfortable chair, pointing at one for Vance.
Vance sat down on the edge of the chair and looked at the floor.
“You’ve got to let me help you, Vance.”
The actor shook his head. “I can’t; I’m sorry.”
“Are they threatening to harm Arrington?”
Vance looked up. “I’m talking to her every day; she’s fine.”
“And what does she say, Vance? ‘Get me out of here? Take me home? Protect me?’”
Vance winced. “It’s just awful,” he said. “I’ve agreed to what they want, but it’s going to take a few days to set it up, before Arrington can come home.”
“What do they want?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“David Sturmack was just here; he must be deeply involved.”
“I didn’t say that, you did,” Vance said, looking alarmed.
“And Lou Regenstein.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He wanted to ask who the red-haired man was who had been in his study the night before. “And Ippolito.”
“Stone, please stop it; I can’t tell you any more. You just can’t imagine what’s at stake.”
“I think I can; Arrington’s life and that of her baby are at stake.”
“Is that what this is about? The baby?”
“Certainly, that’s part of it; that’s what you used as bait to get me out here.”
“Stone, I’m terribly sorry I asked you to come. When…the situation changed, I tried to make it profitable for you to have made the trip.”
“I cannot describe the trip as profitable,” Stone said.
“What is it you want, personally?”
“I want Arrington to be free to…come home or do whatever she wants to do.”
“Like go back to you?”
“Do you think that’s what she wants?”
“I don’t know what she wants; we can’t talk about that in our phone conversations.”
“Vance, I am not going to walk away from this, and you’d better get used to the idea.” There had been no mention of Arrington’s car; perhaps Vance hadn’t been in the garage yet.
“Stone, if they find out that you’re not back in New York, they’ll…there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“They know I’m not in New York.”
“What?” Vance asked, alarmed.
“They think I’m dead.”
“Dead?” he asked weakly.
“Did you go to a dinner party on Ippolito’s yacht at Catalina a few nights ago?”
“I was invited but I didn’t go.”
“I was invited and didn’t go, either. On the way to the party, I got dumped into the Pacific with my hands and feet bound and an anchor shackled to me.”
Vance’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “They wouldn’t do something like that to…”
“They’ve been threatening to do it to Arrington, haven’t they? Why wouldn’t they do it to me?”
