Stone Barrington 06-11

coffee table and a couple of comfortable chairs, a desk, a dressing table, and a king-size bed. Charlene’s voice came from what Stone presumed to be the bathroom, the door of which was ajar. “Have a seat,” she called. “I’m just getting undressed.”
    “What?”
    “Sit down. You want a drink?”
    “I’m okay at the moment.”
    Charlene stuck her head out the door. “You don’t mind if I’m naked, do you?” It was a rhetorical question. Before Stone could reply, she stepped into the room, and, unlike the last time he had seen her, she was not even wearing her bikini bottom. “I hope you’re not too, too shy,” she said, “but I’m shooting a nude scene this afternoon, and I can’t have any marks on my body from clothes or underwear.”
    Stone sat down on the sofa. “I won’t complain,” he said, but he felt like complaining. Why were women always walking around naked in front of him just when he was trying to be good? He was struck anew at how beautiful she was—tall, slender, with breasts that were original equipment, not options, and she was a lovely, tawny color. “Did you greet the cops this way?”
    “For them, I put on a robe, but it left this little mark where I tied it around the waist, see?” She pointed at a slightly red spot.
    “Can’t have that, can we?” Stone said lamely.
    “The director would go nuts,” she said. “Once I turned up with pantie marks and he shut down production until the next day, and I got a call from Lou Regenstein about it. You sure you don’t want something to drink? Some iced tea, maybe?”
    “All right, that would be nice.”
    She went to a small fridge, opened the door, and bent over, presenting a backside for the ages.
    Stone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was not a hint of fat or cellulite anywhere. How did Hollywood do it?
    She came back with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, then poured them both one and sat down on the sofa.
    She pulled a leg under her, and Stone could not help but notice that she had recently experienced a clever bikini wax.
    “The fuzz were very nice,” she said.
    “I’ll bet.”
    She giggled. “I don’t think they’d ever seen a movie star up close before. I mean, not this close, but close. You’re by way of being an old acquaintance, so I don’t mind.”
    “Neither do I,” Stone said truthfully.
    “Vanessa’s death really shook me up,” she said, but she didn’t look shaken. “People my age are not supposed to die.”
    “You think the ex-husband did it?”
    “I can’t think of anybody else with a motive,” she replied, shaking her head. “Vanessa was a sweet girl. You said you were with her last night?”
    “Yes, I gave her a lift home from Marc Blumberg’s office, and she asked me to stay for dinner.”
    “Oh, speaking of food, it should be here in a minute.” As if on cue, there was a rap on the door, and Charlene got up and went into the bathroom. “You let them in, sugar; I don’t want to give the waiter a coronary.”
    “You don’t seem to mind giving me one,” Stone said, walking to the door. He heard a giggle from the bathroom.
    Two waiters came in and, in a flash, had arranged two lobster salads and a bottle of chardonnay on the coffee table. They were gone just as quickly, and Charlene returned, just as naked.
    “I’m starved!” she said, sitting down and attacking the lobster.
    Stone poured them both a glass of wine. “Charlene, who were Vanessa’s best friends?”
    “You met most of them at my house,” Charlene replied. “The ladies who lunch? The whole group was there, except for Vanessa and Beverly.”
    “Beverly Walters?”
    “Yep. You know her?”
    “I met her briefly in a restaurant once.”
    “Beverly’s all right, I guess, but she wouldn’t be in the group, if it hadn’t been for Vanessa.”
    “What’s Beverly’s story?”
    Charlene shrugged. “She’s a Beverly Hills housewife, I guess. She came out here to be an actress and ended up giving blow jobs for walk-ons. Her husband saved her from that; now all she does is have lunch and shop.”
    Stone tried the lobster; it was perfect, tender, and sweet. “Where’d the food come from?” he asked.
    “From the studio commissary; have you been there, yet?”
    “No.”
    “You’ll have to come with me, sometime, sugar; that would do wonders for your reputation around here.”
    “You’re not exactly shy, are you, Charlene?”
    “You ever noticed anything shy about me,