"Marc's idea? Why would he ask you to do that?"
"Oh, I was already fairly naked; he just asked me not to get dressed. Marc is concerned about you."
"Concerned how?"
"He thinks you need… companionship." She began rummaging in the refrigerator.
"Oh."
"Marc is a very kind man; I owe him a lot."
"Why?"
"I was in the middle of an awful divorce, and my lawyer was intimidated by my ex's lawyer. I ran into Marc at a cocktail party and complained about it, and he said he'd fix it. He did. He renegotiated my setdement, got me the Bel-Air house and a lot of money. I sold that house, bought this place, and invested the difference. If not for Marc, I'd probably be working as a secretary somewhere. As it is, I'm well fixed."
"Good for him," Stone said.
"He thinks that if you're fucking Arrington, it could hurt his case.
"He has made that point," Stone said.
"You two were an item before she married Vance, weren't you?"
"Yes, we were."
"Will you be again, assuming she doesn't go to prison?"
"Hard to say," Stone replied.
"Is that what you want?"
"Sometimes I do; other times, I don't know," he admitted.
Vanessa smiled. "I think it's what you want." She switched on the gas grill of the restaurant-style stove and put the steaks on, then started to make a salad.
Stone watched her move expertly around the kitchen. She was beautiful, smart, and, he did not doubt, affectionate. But Arrington was on his mind, and he could not get that out of the way.
They had finished dinner and were sipping a brandy before the living room fireplace.
"I'm having a tough time making a decision," Vanessa said.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"I'm in something of an ethical quandary. I've promised a friend to keep something in confidence, but to do that might harm someone else."
"That's a tough one," Stone said.
"The person who might be harmed is not a particular friend, though I have nothing against this person."
"Then why are you having so much trouble keeping your promise to your friend?"
"Because it might help Marc-and you-if I told you about it."
"Is there some way you can give me a hint without breaking your word to your friend?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps if I tell you a little about it without revealing the friend's identity?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Marc says that he's worried that the police might have more on Arrington than he knows about."
"I've been worried about that, too."
"Well, you're both right to be worried."
Stone sucked in a breath. "Can you tell me any more?"
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think I can." She sipped her brandy. "It's just that there may very well have been a witness to what happened that night."
"You mean the Mexican gardener?"
"No, someone else. That's all I can say."
"Have you told Marc about this?"
"No, he'd just browbeat it out of me, and I'd feel terrible. I don't think you would try to do that."
Funny, Stone thought, he had been thinking about doing just that.
"Well," Stone said, "if you can ever see your way clear to tell me more, I'd like to hear it."
"I think that's unlikely," she replied.
Stone looked at his watch. "I'd better go; it's getting late."
She walked him to the door, and he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner," he said, "and for the good company. I needed it."
"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," she said.
"You've at least confirmed our suspicions," Stone said, "and that's a help." He waved and started toward his car. She waited until he had backed out of the drive before closing the door.
The street was dark, and there were a few cars parked along the curb. As Stone put the car into gear and drove away, he noticed headlights appear in his rearview mirror. Funny, he thought, he hadn't seen a car coming when he'd backed out. He watched the lights in the mirror until he reached Sunset, then lost them in the traffic.
Chapter 41
Stone was wakened by the sound of someone entering the bungalow. Since Betty was now in Hawaii, he wasn't expecting anybody, so he got into a robe and padded into the front room in his bare feet.
A young woman was seated at Betty's desk; she looked up, startled. "Oh," she said. "I didn't know you were here."
"I'm here," Stone said. "But why are you?"
"I'm Louise Bremen, from the secretarial pool; Betty wanted a temp while she's on vacation."
"Oh, of course; I'd forgotten. I'm Stone Barrington." He walked over and shook her hand.
"Anything special you want done?" she asked.
"Just sort the Calder mail and separate the bills. Betty uses a computer program to pay them."
"Quicken? I know that."
"Good; you can write the checks, and I'll sign them. I'm a signatory on the Calder accounts."
"Sure; can I make you some coffee?"
"I'll do it, as soon as I've had a shower," Stone said. He went back to his bedroom, showered, shaved, and returned to the kitchenette. He was having breakfast when the phone rang, and Louise called out, "Marc Blumberg for you."
Stone picked up the phone. "Marc?"
"Yes, I…"
"I'm glad you called. I had dinner with Vanessa last night, and she pretty much confirmed our suspicion that the police have something on Arrington they haven't disclosed. Seems there was another witness to what happened when Vance was shot."
"And who was that?"
"She wouldn't say; she said she had been told in confidence."
"And why didn't she tell me that? She certainly had plenty of opportunity."
"She said she was afraid you'd browbeat the name out of her. She seemed very serious about keeping the confidence. I think you ought to take her to lunch and press the point."
There was a long silence on the other end.
"Marc?"
"You haven't been watching television this morning, have you?"
"No; I guess I slept a little late. I'm having breakfast now."
"Vanessa is dead."
"What?"
"Her house burned to the ground last night. TV says the cops haven't ruled out arson."
"But I was with her; we had dinner."
"Must have been later than that. It's the husband, I know it is."
"She told me about the divorce; was he that angry?"
"As angry as I've seen a husband in thirty years of practice. I got her a terrific settlement, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd taken a shot at me."
Stone found a kitchen stool and sat down. "I can't believe it," he said.
"Was she all right when you left her?"
"She was fine; she cooked dinner, and…"
"How late were you there?"
"I guess I left a little before eleven."
"You'd better talk to the cops, I guess."
"I suppose so, though I can't really tell them much."
"Did Vanessa give any hint at all about who her friend, the witness, might be?"
"No; in fact, she went to the trouble of avoiding mention of even the gender."
"It's bound to be a woman; Vanessa doesn't… didn't have men friends, except for me."
"Do you know who her female friends were?"
"She ran around with a group that hung around with Charlene Joiner. I don't know who the others were. You think you could look into that?"
"Sure, I'll be glad to."
"I've got to go; what with Vanessa's affairs to handle, I've got a lot on my desk this morning."
"Thanks, Marc; I'll get back to you if I find out anything." Stone hung up and wolfed down the rest of his muffin, while dialing Rick Grant.
"Captain Grant."
"Rick, it's Stone Barrington."
"Morning, Stone; what's up?"
"I've just heard from Marc Blumberg that a woman I was with last evening died in a fire last night."
"That thing in the Hollywood Hills?"