Stone Barrington 06-11

Arrington had voluntarily appeared and answered questions.”
    “I think she did it,” the youngest woman, who could only have been in her early twenties, said.
    “Certainly not,” Stone replied.
    “The loyal attorney,” Berends said.
    “So far, the district attorney seems to have no evidence against her.”
    “Except Beverly Walters’s statement,” Charlene said.
    Stone was astonished. “How did you know about that?” he asked.
    Everybody laughed.
    “Because Beverly has told everyone she knows about it,” Charlene replied. “She would never be involved in anything like this without telling all of Beverly Hills.”
    “Well, I can tell you that her version of the conversation is different from Arrington’s. It was an entirely innocent remark.”
    “Innocent, that she said she was going to kill her husband?” Berends asked.
    “Haven’t you ever said you were going to kill somebody?”
    “No, not seriously.”
    “Neither has Arrington—seriously.”
    “You’re sweet, standing up for her like that. You really think she’s innocent?”
    “I really do,” Stone said. “Or I wouldn’t say so.”
    “So, what’s your strategy going to be at trial?” somebody asked.
    “That will be for Marc Blumberg to decide; he’s the lead attorney in the case. I’m just helping out when I can and handling Arrington’s personal affairs.”
    “Oh, so Arrington had affairs, too?” someone asked.
    “Her business affairs,” Stone said, wagging a finger at her. “There’s an estate to settle and a lot of other things to be taken care of.”
    “Didn’t Vance have a lawyer?”
    “Yes, but Arrington is entitled to her own representation.”
    “So, what have you handled for her?”
    “Ladies, you’ll have to forgive me; I’ve said about all I can.”
    “Oh, shoot,” Berends said. “And there was so much I wanted to know.”
    “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Stone said.
    The absence of further information seemed to cast a pall over the luncheon, and soon the women began leaving. Finally, Stone was left alone with Charlene Joiner.
    “Thank you, Ramon,” she said to the houseman, who was clearing the dishes. “Just put those things in the dishwasher, and you and Reba can go. Thank you for coming in today.” She watched the man go into the kitchen, then turned to Stone. “Alone at last,” she said, standing up and slipping out of the sarong. “I hope you don’t mind if I get some sun.”
    “Not at all,” Stone said. To his surprise, she didn’t stop with the sarong; she unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts, and shucked off the bikini bottom. He noted that there were no sun lines on her body.
    She stretched like a cat. She was tall and slender, and she obviously took very good care of herself. Her legs were long, her hips were narrow, and her breasts were impressive.
    “They’re original equipment,” she said, catching Stone’s glance.
    Stone laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. You said you had some information for me.” He tried to keep his tone light and his breathing regular.
    She settled on the chaise beside his, turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “Yes, I do. It may not be important, but I thought you ought to know about it.”
    “I’m all ears.”
    “Vance and I use the same gardening service, which takes care of the grounds of both his Malibu and Bel-Air houses. The man, whose name is Felipe, was due here on Monday morning to cut the grass and do some gardening work, and he didn’t show up. I called the service, and they sent somebody else that afternoon.”
    Stone waited for this to become relevant. “Go on.”
    “The man who came in the afternoon didn’t do a very good job, so I called his boss and asked when Felipe would be back. He said he had called Felipe’s house—he apparently lived with a sister—and was told that he had returned to Mexico over the weekend, and he didn’t know when he’d be back.”
    “Did Felipe also work at the Calders’ house?”
    “Yes; he worked there last Friday and on Saturday, the day Vance was killed.”
    “And he suddenly went back to Mexico on the Sunday?”
    “On the Saturday night, according to his boss.”
    “So he couldn’t have been questioned by the police,” Stone said. “That is interesting.”
    “I thought you might think so. The man did good work, but once I caught him in my house. He said he was looking for a drink of water, but he wasn’t in the kitchen; he was in the living room.”
    “Did