Stone Barrington 06-11

hadn’t expected.”
    “Have you told Eduardo?”
    “I have a call in to him now.”
    “That should be an interesting conversation.”
    “Any advice as to how I should handle it?”
    “Oh, I don’t know; how do you feel about South America?”
    “Come on, Dino; how should I break it to him?”
    “Right between the eyes, dead straight; he might respect that.”
    “I hope so.”
    “Then again, he might not. He dotes on that girl; if he thinks you’ve done her wrong, well …”
    “Well, what?”
    “You might not be well for very long.”
    “Dino, this isn’t Sicily.”
    “To Eduardo, everywhere is Sicily.”
    “I see your point,” Stone said.
    “I think everything is going to depend on what Dolce says to Eduardo,” Dino said. “How pissed off was she when you broke it to her?”
    “Pretty pissed off.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Maybe she’ll cool off before she talks to the old man.”
    “Maybe.”
    “For your sake, I hope so.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You want me to take some time off, come out there?”
    “I don’t know what you could do, Dino, except keep me company. That, I wouldn’t mind.”
    “You let me know if something comes up and you need me, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “I got a meeting; talk to you later.”
    Stone hung up. Why did everybody think Arrington was guilty, except him? Was he completely nuts? Blinded by how he felt about her? He made himself a sandwich in the bungalow’s kitchen, then went into Betty’s office. “How’s the mail coming?”
    Betty consulted a steno pad. “Nearly done,” she said, “and opinion is running about two to one against Arrington.”
    “Swell,” Stone said. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to run; I’m meeting Marc Blumberg at the house.”

    Stone took the rear entrance, then watched through a front window as Marc Blumberg drove very slowly through the mob of press, through the gates, and up to the house. The lawyer certainly knew how to make an entrance.
    Arrington appeared from the bedroom just as Blumberg entered the house. She gave Stone a peck on the cheek, then shook hands with Blumberg.
    “How are you, Marc? It’s been a long time.”
    “I’m terrific, Arrington, and I hope you are, too.”
    “I’m all right, I guess. How is Arlene?”
    “Very well.”
    “Tell her I miss my yoga class with her.”
    “I know she misses you, too.”
    Manolo stepped up. “May I get you anything, Mr. Blumberg?”
    “No, thanks,” Blumberg replied. “Let’s get down to work. Arrington, I want to talk with you alone at some length; where can we do that?”
    “Vance’s study would be a good place,” she replied. “Can Stone be there?”
    “Sorry, this is just you and me.” He took a folder from his briefcase and handed it to Stone. “You might take a look at this while we’re talking. We’ll be a while.”
    Stone accepted the folder and watched as Arrington led Marc Blumberg into Vance’s study and closed the door. He asked Manolo for some iced tea, then went out onto the rear terrace, took a seat, and opened the folder. Inside was the medical examiner’s report on Vance Calder’s autopsy.
    Manolo brought the tea and left him alone. He began to read. Death as the result of a single gunshot to the right occipital region of the head. No news there. Subject: a well-developed male of fifty-two years, seven months, six feet two, a hundred and ninety pounds. Stone’s own height and weight. Drugs present in bloodstream: Zyrtec, an antihistamine; alcohol content: .03, a drink or two.
    He was surprised at the number of scars found on Vance’s body: two-inch scar over left collarbone—sutured; one-and-one-half-inch scar, inside of left wrist, unsutured, secondary tissue present; two-and-one-half-inch surgical scar, right shoulder; one-inch abdominal surgical scar; three-inch surgical scar, left knee; two-inch scar, sutured, right thigh; several small scars on both hands. X rays revealed some old broken bones—right femur, left tibia, and a broken nose. That, he reflected, had given Vance’s face additional character, kept him from looking pretty. All in all, though, it sounded as though Vance had led a rougher life than that of a pampered movie star. He noted the absence of any cosmetic surgical scars. Vance Calder had been the real thing.

    More than an hour passed before Arrington and Marc Blumberg emerged from the study. Arrington looked decidedly pale and shaken, while Blumberg was his usual, cool, well-pressed