"Is there some way you can give me a hint without breaking your word to your friend?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps if I tell you a little about it without revealing the friend's ident.i.ty?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Marc says that he's worried that the police might have more on Arrington than he knows about."

"I've been worried about that, too."

"Well, you're both right to be worried."

Stone sucked in a breath. "Can you tell me any more?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think I can." She sipped her brandy. "It's just that there may very well have been a witness to what happened that night."

"You mean the Mexican gardener?"

"No, someone else. That's all I can say."

"Have you told Marc about this?"

"No, he'd just browbeat it out of me, and I'd feel terrible. I don't think you would try to do that."

Funny, Stone thought, he had been thinking about doing just that. "Well," Stone said, "if you can ever see your way clear to tell me more, I'd like to hear it."

"I think that's unlikely," she replied.

Stone looked at his watch. "I'd better go; it's getting late."

She walked him to the door, and he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner," he said, "and for the good company. I needed it."

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," she said.

"You've at least confirmed our suspicions," Stone said, "and that's a help." He waved and started toward his car. She waited until he had backed out of the drive before closing the door.

The street was dark, and there were a few cars parked along the curb. As Stone put the car into gear and drove away, he noticed headlights appear in his rearview mirror. Funny, he thought, he hadn't seen a car coming when he'd backed out. He watched the lights in the mirror until he reached Sunset, then lost them in the traffic.

Forty-one.

STONE WAS WAKENED BY THE SOUND OF SOMEONE entering the bungalow. Since Betty was now in Hawaii, he wasn't expecting anybody, so he got into a robe and padded into the front room in his bare feet.

A young woman was seated at Betty's desk; she looked up, startled. "Oh," she said. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm here," Stone said. "But why are you?"

"I'm Louise Bremen, from the secretarial pool; Betty wanted a temp while she's on vacation."

"Oh, of course; I'd forgotten. I'm Stone Barrington." He walked over and shook her hand.

"Anything special you want done?" she asked.

"Just sort the Calder mail and separate the bills. Betty uses a computer program to pay them."

"Quicken? I know that."

"Good; you can write the checks, and I'll sign them. I'm a signatory on the Calder accounts."

"Sure; can I make you some coffee?"

"I'll do it, as soon as I've had a shower," Stone said. He went back to his bedroom, showered, shaved, and returned to the kitchenette. He was having breakfast when the phone rang, and Louise called out, "Marc Blumberg for you."

Stone picked up the phone. "Marc?"

"Yes, I . . ."

"I'm glad you called. I had dinner with Vanessa last night, and she pretty much confirmed our suspicion that the police have something on Arrington they haven't disclosed. Seems there was another witness to what happened when Vance was shot."

"And who was that?"

"She wouldn't say; she said she had been told in confidence."

"And why didn't she tell me me that? She certainly had plenty of opportunity." that? She certainly had plenty of opportunity."

"She said she was afraid you'd browbeat the name out of her. She seemed very serious about keeping the confidence. I think you ought to take her to lunch and press the point."

There was a long silence on the other end.

"Marc?"

"You haven't been watching television this morning, have you?"

"No; I guess I slept a little late. I'm having breakfast now."

"Vanessa is dead."

"What?"

"Her house burned to the ground last night. TV says the cops haven't ruled out arson."

"But I was with her; we had dinner."

"Must have been later than that. It's the husband. I know it is."

"She told me about the divorce; was he that angry?"

"As angry as I've seen a husband in thirty years of practice. I got her a terrific settlement, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd taken a shot at me. me."

Stone found a kitchen stool and sat down. "I can't believe it," he said.

"Was she all right when you left her?"

"She was fine; she cooked dinner, and . . ."

"How late were you there?"

"I guess I left a little before eleven."

"You'd better talk to the cops, I guess."

"I suppose so, though I can't really tell them much."

"Did Vanessa give any hint at all about who her friend, the witness, might be?"

"No; in fact, she went to the trouble of avoiding mention of even the gender."

"It's bound to be a woman; Vanessa doesn't . . . didn't have men friends, except for me."

"Do you know who her female friends were?"

"She ran around with a group that hung around with Charlene Joiner. I don't know who the others were. You think you could look into that?"

"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 m.u.f.fin, 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."