Twenty.

STONE GOT TO THE HOUSE FIRST. HE PARKED THE CAR, went into the house and out to the guesthouse, where he started packing his clothes. He had his bags in Vance's Mercedes by the time Arrington arrived.

She came in through the front door, took a few steps, and froze, staring down the central hallway. "That's where he was, isn't it?" she asked Stone, nodding toward the spot.

"You remember?" Stone asked.

She nodded again.

He turned to the butler. "Manolo, will you fix us some dinner, please? Anything will do."

"Of course, Mr. Barrington," the butler said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Stone took Arrington's hand and walked her to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and sat down beside her. "What else do you remember?" he asked. "This is important."

Arrington wrinkled her brow. "Just Vance lying there, bleeding."

"Do you remember anything immediately before that?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you remember hearing the shot?"

She shook her head. "No. Just Vance lying there."

"Do you remember the police and the paramedics arriving?"

"No. Nothing until I woke up in the clinic." She laid her head on his shoulder. "When is this going to be over, Stone?"

"Not for a while," Stone replied. "We've still got the funeral on Friday, and on Sat.u.r.day, we have to take you to the district attorney's office."

"Will they put me in jail?"

"I hope not; Marc Blumberg's working on that."

"I'm so glad you're here," she said. She put her hand on his cheek and drew him closer, kissing him.

Stone pulled back. "Listen to me carefully," he said. "You and I cannot be seen by anybody anybody being . . . affectionate with each other." being . . . affectionate with each other."

"Only Manolo and Maria are here."

"And they'd both be shocked, if they walked in here and found us kissing. If they were called to testify in court, they'd have to tell the truth. Your husband has been dead for less than a week; you have to be seen to be the grieving widow for some time to come; I cannot tell you how important that is to your future."

She nodded. "I understand." She took his hand. "But it's important for you to know that I still love you. I never stopped."

Stone squeezed her hand but could not bring himself to respond. "Go freshen up for dinner," he said.

They dined in the smaller of the two dining rooms, on pasta and a bottle of California Chardonnay. They chatted about old times in New York, but as dinner wore on, Arrington seemed increasingly tired.

"I think you're going to have to put me to bed," she said finally.

Stone rang for Manolo. "We'll get Isabel; she'll put you to bed."

Arrington nodded sleepily. "I wish you were coming to bed with me."

"Shhh," Stone said. He turned her over to Isabel, got the keys and the alarm code for the Colony house from Manolo, then drove back to Malibu. He chose the guest room nearest the kitchen, unpacked, soaked in a tub for a while, and fell asleep.

He was awakened by the telephone. Nine-thirty, he saw by the bedside clock. He had slept like a stone.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Stone?"

"Yes."

"It's Marc Blumberg."

"Good morning, Marc."

"No, it's not."

"What's the problem?"

"The problem is, there is a very nice color photograph of you and Arrington in each other's arms, on the cover of the National Inquisitor. National Inquisitor. She's wearing a very tiny bikini." She's wearing a very tiny bikini."

"Oh, G.o.d," Stone groaned.

"Did the two of you spend the night together?"

"No, we didn't. I had to go into L.A., and while I was gone, Arrington spotted the photographer on the beach. Her butler came and drove her to the Bel-Air house. I met them there, we had dinner, then I moved out of the guesthouse and out here."

"Did the media outside the gates figure out that Arrington left?"

"No, I don't think so; she left in the trunk of the car."

"Did any media see you return to the house last night?"

"There was a TV truck there, but they paid little attention to me."

"So they think she's still there, and that you spent the night together."

"I suppose they could draw that conclusion."

"All right, I'm going to have to hold a press conference and try to contain this."

"I suppose that's the right thing to do."

"The upside is, you were fully clothed and were seen to leave after kissing her, while she remained on the deck. The photograph is a little ambiguous, too; I can claim that you were simply consoling her. The Inquisitor Inquisitor hasn't figured out who you are, yet; I'll describe you as a family friend who drove her home from the clinic." hasn't figured out who you are, yet; I'll describe you as a family friend who drove her home from the clinic."

"All right."

"They're going to put all this together sooner or later, probably sooner, so be prepared for some attention. Tell me, does Vance's bungalow at Centurion have a bedroom?"

"Yes, it does."

"I want you to move out of the Malibu house and into the bungalow this morning."

"All right. I'm very sorry about this, Marc. It was all very innocent."

"Don't worry about it; damage control is part of what I do. I'd just like there to be as little damage as possible to have to control."

"I understand."

"Now, listen: I don't want you to leave by the Colony gate."

"I'm afraid that's the only way out, Marc."

"Here's what you do. Pack your bags into the car and leave it in front of the house, with the key in the ignition. Then walk south along the beach about a mile, and you'll come to a restaurant. Walk through the building and be in the parking lot at, say, eleven o'clock. One of my people will pick up the car at the house and drive it to the restaurant."

"All right."

"Now, for G.o.d's sake, don't wear a business suit for your walk down the beach. Blend in."

"Will do."

"What kind of car is it?"

"A black Mercedes SL600 convertible."

"Be there at eleven. I'll call you around noon at the studio." Blumberg hung up.

Stone made himself some breakfast, then packed his bags, put them into the car, then showered and dressed in a guest bathing suit. He grabbed a towel and left the house by the front door. He walked down a couple of houses and cut through a yard and onto the beach.

It was a beautiful California morning, and Stone enjoyed the walk. He was pa.s.sed by other people in bathing suits, joggers, and people walking their dogs. He got to the restaurant a little early, had a cup of coffee, then walked out into the parking lot. An attractive young woman was standing beside the Mercedes, waiting.

"Good morning, I'm Stone Barrington," he said, offering his hand.

"Hi, I'm Liz Raymond, one of Marc's a.s.sociates," she replied.

"Can I drop you anywhere?"

"I'll be picked up here," the woman said. "Nice swimsuit."

"Thanks, it's borrowed."

"See you later," she said, as a car pulled up. She got into it and was driven away.

Stone drove to Centurion, gave the guard at the gate a wave, and drove to the bungalow. He walked inside with his bags to be greeted by an astonished Betty Southard.

"Well, now," she said, "you've just topped Vance. He never walked in here in a bathing suit."

"It's a long story," Stone said.

"I'll bet, and I've got all day," she replied.

Twenty-one.

STONE EXPLAINED HIS APPEARANCE. THEN HE POINTED at three large canvas bags on the floor near Betty's office door. "What are those?" he asked.

"Arrington's mail," she said.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"After Vance's death, his fans kept writing. I've got two girls in the back room sorting it now. Those are the bags we haven't gotten to yet."

"I don't believe it."

"Well, believe this: Right now, opinion is running about sixty-forty in favor of Arrington being a murderess."

" 'Murderess.' That has a quaint Victorian ring to it."

"I guess I'm just a quaint, Victorian girl," she replied.

Stone picked up his bags. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked. "Marc Blumberg wants me to move in here."

"Somewhere the Inquisitor Inquisitor can't find you?" can't find you?"