Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

to her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
    Arrington grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blew her nose. “I just had a call from an old friend of Vance’s, Prunella Wheaton?”
    “The gossip queen? What did she want?”
    “She said she got wind of somebody looking into you and me.”
    “Come on, tell me the whole thing.”
    “Someone got ahold of a copy of our marriage license.”
    “That’s a public record. What else?”
    “Well, they’ve figured out that we were married at Eduardo’s house and about the mayor, too, but they’re afraid of printing anything about that for fear of angering some of Eduardo’s friends.”
    “So far, so good. Is there more?”
    “They’ve figured out that I’m Vance’s widow and that I have a son.”
    “None of this is really a secret,” Stone said. “Nobody could make very much of that.”
    “They might, if they can count,” she said.
    Stone thought about that. “I think we might have that covered with the change of birth certificate.” He thought some more. “Is Prunella Wheaton a friend of yours, too?”
    Arrington shook her head. “No. I met her once, when I was lunching with a group of women in L.A. She and Vance had an affair when they were very young, long before I knew him.”
    “And Wheaton didn’t say where she heard all this?”
    “No, she said it was just a rumor.”
    “Did you get the impression that it was somebody at the Post ? Because that’s where Wheaton’s column runs in New York.”
    “She didn’t say.”
    “Apart from sharing this rumor, did Wheaton ask you any questions?”
    “Just girl stuff. She congratulated me on the marriage and asked how Peter is.”
    “What did you tell her about Peter?”
    “She asked where he was in school, but I dodged that one.”
    “What else?”
    “She asked where I’m living, and I said in New York, then I made an excuse and got off the phone.”
    “I think that was a good idea,” Stone said. “I think this rumor may be a fiction and that Wheaton is the one who’s interested. Why would a gossip columnist warn you that another gossip columnist is interested in you? This doesn’t pass the smell test.”
    “What should we do?” Arrington asked.
    “Let me make a couple of calls,” Stone said, “then we’ll make a plan.”
    “What sort of plan?”
    “I don’t know yet, but we don’t want to be caught off guard if she calls again, or if someone else does.”
    “I see.”
    “Did you confirm where and when the wedding took place and that the mayor performed the ceremony?”
    “No, but I didn’t deny it, either.”
    “For somebody like Wheaton, the lack of a denial is as good as a confirmation. You go upstairs and lie down, and don’t answer the phone for a while. Let Joan deal with it.”
    Arrington stood up, and they hugged. “Thank you for being so calm,” she said. She got into the elevator and went upstairs.
    Stone called Bill Eggers. “Do you know Prunella Wheaton?”
    “In a manner of speaking,” Eggers said. “I’ve been at a couple of dinner parties where she happened to be, but I’ve always tried to bore her rigid when she tried to talk to me. Sometimes being boring is the best defense with somebody like that.”
    “Wheaton has caught wind of our wedding and its circumstances. Apparently, she’s afraid to mention Eduardo, but we might see the mayor’s presiding in print.”
    “He won’t like that,” Eggers said. “Rupert Murdoch will get an earful.”
    “Wheaton knew Vance Calder, and she met Arrington once. She was digging for information about us and Peter. I figure we’re covered on the birth certificate, but I’d like for you or someone to call Peter’s old school and warn them about giving out any information about him, especially his age.”
    “I see where you’re going,” Eggers said. “I’ll take care of it, and I’ll talk to the attorney in Virginia who’s handling the name change.”
    “Good, Bill, I appreciate that.”
    “Do you want me to have someone call Wheaton?”
    “No, don’t do that; it will just pique her interest.”
    “Right.”
    Stone hung up and called Joan in. “Arrington got a call from Prunella Wheaton today,” he said.
    “That old bat? What did she want?”
    “She said she’d heard a rumor that someone is prying into our lives, but I think that she’s the one doing the prying.”
    “If she calls back, I’ll squash her like a bug,” Joan said.
    “No, don’t do that. Put on your sweet