Stone Barrington 06-11

attracted a lot of press coverage.”
    “I think I remember this vaguely,” Stone said, “but not the outcome.”
    “Larry was convicted and sentenced to death. A tabloid paid me for my story, and all of a sudden, Hollywood was sniffing around. Next thing I knew I was out here, with a part in a movie. Then there was another part and another, and the rest is pulp fiction.”
    “Amazing. Was the boyfriend executed?”
    She shook her head. “I went to see the governor of Georgia and personally, ah, interceded on his behalf. His sentence was commuted to life without parole. We still correspond.”
    “Was he guilty?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “That’s the damnedest story I ever heard.”
    “There’s more.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Will Lee and I had a little one-time encounter that became a side issue in the presidential race.”
    “That was you?”
    “I’m afraid so. When I’m old and washed up, somebody’s going to make a really bad TV movie about all this, and then I’m going to write my memoirs.”
    “I’m sure it will be a hot seller.”
    “You better believe it, sugar.”

    After dinner, he drove her back to her car at Centurion, and they said good night.
    “One thing,” he said to her.
    “What’s that, baby?” she asked, putting her arms around his neck.
    “Dolce has taken this whole business hard. After tonight’s events, I think you should be careful.”
    “You mean, watch my back?”
    “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
    She kissed him. “Sugar,” she said, “Dolce doesn’t want to mess with me.”
    “I hope you’re right.”
    She kissed him again. “Should I go armed?”
    “Do you own a gun?”
    She nodded. “All legal-like, too.”
    “Try not to shoot at anybody; you might hit me.”
    “I shoot what I aim at, sugar.” She kissed him again, then got into her car. “By the way,” she said, as she put the top down. “There’s going to be a kind of memorial for Vanessa tomorrow at my house. Will you come?”
    Stone nodded. “Sure.”
    “Just a few people. Six o’clock.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    She gave a little wave and drove away.

Forty-nine

    T HE MEMORIAL FOR VANESSA PIKE AT CHARLENE’S house seemed more of a memorial cocktail party, Stone reflected as he walked into the well-populated living room. Everyone had a drink, even if, in the California style, it was designer fizzy water, and there was a buffet at one end of the room laden with raw vegetables, melon, and other low-fat delicacies.
    Charlene came and gave him a virtuous peck on the cheek. “I think you’ll know a few people,” she said. “Mingle while I greet.”
    Stone nodded, went to the bar, and waited while the barman ransacked the house for a bottle of bourbon. He would not bear his grief in sobriety, no matter what the West Coast convention. While he waited, he surveyed the room, picking out most of the women he had met on his first visit to the house, along with Dr. Lansing Drake and his wife and, somewhat to his relief, Marc Blumberg. At least he’d have somebody to talk to. He collected his drink and joined Marc.
    “What’ve you been up to?” Marc asked.
    “Not much,” Stone said.
    “I think it’s about time to go for a motion to dismiss,” Marc said.
    “I’m not so sure about that,” Stone replied.
    “Why not?”
    “Because I think it’s quite possible that Beverly Walters was there when Vance was shot, and she’s the prosecution’s prime witness.”
    “Are you sure she was there?”
    “As sure as I can be without putting her under oath and asking her.”
    Marc mulled that over for a moment. “I wonder if she hates Arrington that much, that she’d testify?”
    “She hates her enough to testify to a conversation in which Arrington, apparently in jest, says she’d kill Vance if she caught him with another woman.”
    “You have a point,” Marc admitted.
    “Have you heard anything new from the investigation into Vanessa’s death?” Stone asked.
    “They’ve cleared the husband,” Marc replied, nodding toward two men across the room.
    Stone followed his gaze and found the two cops he’d met after the fire at Vanessa’s. “What are they doing here?”
    “They must think the murderer is present,” Marc said. “Such a person might call attention to himself by his absence.”
    “Have you caught them staring at anybody?” Stone asked, glancing out the big windows toward the beach.
    “They’re staring at you right now,” Marc said.
    Stone looked back toward the two