Stone Barrington 06-11

demanded.
    “How should I know?” Dino replied. “I didn’t know Dolce was coming until she got here, ten minutes before you did. Mary Ann must have invited her, but she didn’t say a goddamned thing to me about it.” He opened the door to the guesthouse and led the way in.
    “And she told Arrington we were married in Venice?”
    “You bet she did, pal, and she laid it on thick. Arrington was smiling a lot, but she would have killed her, if there had been anything sharp lying around.” Dino went to his suitcase and handed Stone his little Walther automatic, in its chamois shoulder holster.
    “What am I going to do with this now?” Stone asked.
    “I’d wear it if I were you,” Dino replied. “You might need it before the evening is over.”
    Stone shucked off his jacket and slipped into the shoulder holster.
    “My thirty-two automatic wasn’t on your bedside table, where you said it would be, and it wasn’t in your safe, either.”
    “That’s weird,” Stone said. “Helene wouldn’t have touched it when she was cleaning; she hates guns, and Joan wouldn’t have had any reason to be upstairs.”
    “I asked Joan about it, and she said she hadn’t seen it.”
    Stone checked the Walther; it was loaded. He put the safety on and returned it to the holster.
    “You’re going to need a local permit for that, aren’t you?” Dino asked.
    “Rick Grant got me one last year when I was out here; it’s in my pocket. Can you think of some way to get Dolce out of here? I’ve got to explain to Arrington what’s going on.”
    “I thought you would have explained it to her a long time ago,” Dino said. “That girl is really pissed off.”
    “I realize I should have,” Stone said, “but I just didn’t want to bring up Dolce while Arrington is in all this trouble.”
    “Well, you’re the one who’s in trouble, now, and we’d better get back in there, so you can face the music.”
    They went back into the house, and found Mary Ann struggling to keep some sort of conversation going.
    Manolo came into the room. “Dinner is served, Mrs. Calder,” he said.
    Everyone rose and marched into the dining room.
    “Now let’s see,” Arrington said, surveying the beautifully laid table. “We’ll have Mr. and Mrs. Bacchetti to my left, and Mr. and Mrs. Barrington, here, to my right.”
    Stone winced as if lashed. Everybody sat down, and a cold soup was served.
    “This is a beautiful house,” Dino said.
    “Thank you, Dino; Vance let me redo the place after we were married, so I can take full credit. Stone, where are you and Dolce going to make your home?”
    Stone dropped his spoon into his soup bowl, splashing gazpacho over his jacket.
    Dolce took up the slack. “Papa offered to give us his Manhattan place, but Stone has insisted that we live in his house,” she said. “I’m so looking forward to redecorating the place. It’s a little … seedy right now.”
    Stone could not suppress a groan. Dolce knew that Arrington had had a big hand in decorating his house. The soup was taken away, before Arrington could throw it at Dolce.
    “And how is your father?” Arrington asked solicitously. “And all those business associates of his? The ones with the broken noses?”
    Stone stood up. “Excuse me.” He left the table.
    Arrington caught up with him at the front door. “Running away, are you? You complete shit! You married that bitch?”
    “I have a lot to explain to you,” Stone said. “Can we have lunch tomorrow?”
    “Lunch? I don’t ever want to see you again! Not as long as I live!”
    “Arrington, you’re going to have to listen to me about this.”
    “The hell I do!” she hissed, then pushed him out the front door and slammed it behind him.
    Stone was already in his car when he saw Dolce in his rearview mirror, coming out of the house. The gates opened for him, and he floored the accelerator.
    He made a couple of quick turns, headed nowhere, just trying to be sure that Dolce wasn’t following him. He made the freeway, then got off at Santa Monica Boulevard, so he could keep an eye on several blocks behind him. Sweat was pouring off him, and he was breathing rapidly. When he had to stop for a traffic light he took the opportunity to put the car’s top down, and the breeze began to cool him. His breathing slowed, and he began to feel nearly normal, except that he was numb between the ears. He did his best to drive both Dolce and Arrington out of his head, tried to think of nothing.