Bel-Air dead sb-20

by Stuart Woods

  “I’d like to bring him to New York to see you,” she said.

  “You’d both be very welcome; I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Now,” she said, taking another sip of her iced tea, “what are we going to do about this Centurion business?”

  “You want my recommendation?”

  “Yes, please, and I’ll tell you up front, I’ll follow it. I’m not equipped to deal with this.”

  “All right. First, I think that you should not sell your shares. In fact, I think you should buy more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Centurion is giving you a better return on your investment that just about anything could. It’s extremely well run and profitable. Right now, you own a third of the shares. I think you should, over the next few years, increase your share to fifty-one percent.”

  “My goodness!” Arrington said, sounding a little breathless. “I never thought of controlling the studio! Can I afford to buy that many more shares? Terrence Prince has run up the price, hasn’t he?”

  “If we can get one or two owners on our side, that will kill the sale, and the price will go down. There may even be some who would prefer to sell to you at a lower price than to get into bed with Prince.”

  “What do you think of him?” she asked.

  “I think he’s a shark; maybe even a killer.”

  “Then he’ll do just fine in the Virginia hunt country,” she said.

  “I’d heard that he’d once bought a house there, then flipped it.”

  “Now he’s bought another,” Arrington said. “I’ve sold him mine.”

  “Prince is your buyer?”

  “I think he bought the place as a way to get next to me and get my Centurion shares,” she said, laughing. “We closed yesterday.”

  Stone began to laugh. “That’s wonderful.”

  “You may have the pleasure of telling him I’m not budging, if you like.”

  “Not yet; we still have to be sure we have a voting majority of the shares on our side.”

  “I suppose so. Would you like to go to the Bel-Air party with me?”

  “I’m already going with Mike Freeman, the CEO of Strategic Services, a client of mine, so you must join us.”

  “I’d love to. Where’s Dino? Surely he’s here.”

  “Out running around town,” Stone said. “Mike’s coming for drinks at six; Dino will be back by then.”

  “Well, then,” she said, “I think I’ll go and have a nap. Care to join me?”

  “Maybe later,” Stone said. “I want to read your estate documents.”

  “Oh, all right.” She set down her iced tea, picked up her handbag, and walked toward the main house. Just before entering, she looked over her shoulder to be sure he was watching, then gave him a little smile.

  20

  Arrington excused herself to change for the Bel-Air Hotel party, and Stone changed clothes as well. Uncharacteristically, in L.A., he wore a suit and tie.

  Mike Freeman arrived on time, and Stone sat him down by the pool and ordered drinks. “There’s someone joining us, if that’s all right,” Stone said.

  “Of course,” Mike replied.

  “Her name is Arrington Calder, an old friend and now my client.”

  “Vance Calder’s widow?”

  “Yes, and this is her house.”

  “It’s extraordinary,” Mike said, looking around.

  “So is Arrington,” Stone said.

  She chose that moment to appear, wearing a white silk pajama suit, so Stone didn’t have to continue the description. He introduced the two.

  Dino trotted past them. “I’ll change and be with you shortly,” he said, disappearing into the guesthouse.

  “Mike,” Stone said, “Arrington is thinking of buying herself a jet, and I hope you can advise her, having had some experience yourself along those lines.”

  “Of course,” Mike said. “We often advise clients on jet purchases. What will be your typical mission, Arrington?”

  “Mission?”

  “What sort of travel will you be doing?”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m based near Charlottesville, Virginia, and I sometimes travel to L.A., Dallas, Miami, other cities.”

  “Would you like to fly internationally?”

  “Yes, to Europe.”

  “How about the Far East?”

  “I don’t go there very often.”

  “If you don’t need to fly regularly nonstop to Tokyo or Hong Kong, you’ll save a great deal of money on an airplane by giving up range.”

  “Then let’s save some money.”

  Mike raised a finger. “You know, a client sent me a brochure on an airplane last week to ask my opinion. I think it’s in my briefcase. It’s a Gulfstream Three, known as a G-III. It might be just the thing.”

  “Why didn’t your client buy it?” she asked.

  “Because of the Far East travel; he decided he needed a longer-range airplane.”

  “Would this G-III get me to London, nonstop?”

  “Yes, and to anywhere else in Europe,” Mike said. “It’s three years old, but very low time-less than a thousand hours, as I recall. It was owned by an elderly couple, but he died recently, and his widow is not well enough to travel anymore. It has a very nice custom interior, and it’s based in Burbank. I can arrange for you to see it, if you like.”

  “I’d like that very much,” Arrington said. “Will you show it to me?”

  “Of course,” Mike said. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got out his cell phone and stepped away. He was back in a few minutes. “May I pick you up at ten tomorrow morning?” he asked Arrington.

  “Perfect.”

  “This is a very good time to buy an airplane,” he said, “and a bad time to sell. When those three automobile executives each flew alone to Washington in their private jets to beg for money from the government, that knocked the bottom out of the market for jet airplanes. Since then, the recession has slowed aircraft sales badly, and although things are picking up again, they’re not where they were a couple of years ago. Airplanes of the size and quality of the G-III are a particularly good buy.”

  “I’ll bring my checkbook,” Arrington said.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Mike replied, chuckling. “Buying an airplane is a bit like buying a house: a title search has to be done and financing arranged. Then the logbooks have to be gone over and a pre-purchase inspection completed, and insurance obtained. I can help with all that.”

  “I expect Arrington will make it a cash purchase,” Stone said, “so that should shorten the process.”

  “This particular G-III has been on a Gulfstream maintenance program since new,” Mike said, “so that will help, too.”

  Dino came out of the guesthouse in his best Armani suit. “Ready when you are,” he said.

  Manolo had brought around Vance Calder’s Bentley Arnage, and Stone drove them to the Bel-Air Hotel, two minutes away.

  As they walked across the bridge from the parking lot over the little creek that ran through the property, they saw that the lawns were full of people, drinking champagne and looking happy. From the top of the bridge, Stone spotted Terrence Prince, surrounded by a knot of people.

  “There’s the purchaser of your Virginia house,” Stone said to Arrington. “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Why not?” Arrington replied.

  Stone led his group toward Prince, snagging champagne glasses along the way. Stone and Prince shook hands, and he made the introductions. Carolyn Blaine was among Prince’s group.

  “I’m very happy to meet you,” Prince said to Arrington, shaking her hand. “I have a thousand questions to ask you about your house.”

  “It’s your house now,” Arrington replied, “but I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, including about the colony of raccoons in the attic and the bat infestation in the cellar.”

  Prince looked startled, then laughed. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said. “I understand you’re
about to take ownership of Virginia Champion Farms.”

  “That is so,” she replied, “and I’m going to build a house there.”

  “Tell me about it,” Prince said, cutting her out of the group like a sheepdog at work.

  Mike was talking to someone he knew, and Carolyn drew Stone aside. “So,” she said, “when can I tell Prince about the Calder property?”

  “Haven’t you already?” Stone asked. He looked over her shoulder and spotted an extremely tall man with a beautiful blonde. “Why, there’s my friend Ed Eagle, from Santa Fe,” Stone said. “Come, let’s go meet him.” He took Carolyn’s arm. “Do you know Ed? He’s a famous trial lawyer in these parts.”

  “No,” Carolyn replied, “I’ve never been to Santa Fe.” She pulled away. “Will you excuse me? I need to find the ladies’ room; I’ll join you in a few minutes.” She hurried away.

  Stone walked over and greeted Ed and Susannah Eagle. “Good to see you, Ed,” Stone said, shaking his hand. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long, Stone,” Eagle replied. “Have you met Susannah?”

  “No,” Stone replied. “That’s how long it’s been. How do you do, Susannah?”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Stone; Ed has told me a lot about you.”

  “Not too much, I hope,” Stone said.

  “Stone,” Eagle said, “who was the blonde you were with until a moment ago? There’s something familiar about her.”

  “Her name is Carolyn Blaine,” Stone said. “She’s executive assistant to Terry Prince, but you haven’t met her. She said she’d never been to Santa Fe.”

  “Maybe it was out here, then,” Eagle said.

  “Oh, Ed,” his wife interjected, “every pretty girl looks familiar to you.”

  “She’ll be back in a minute,” Stone said. “She’s just gone to the ladies’. Then we can resolve where you’ve met.”

  Stone and the Eagles talked for a few minutes, but Carolyn never returned. He reckoned she’d found someone more interesting to talk to.

  21

  Stone and the Eagles moved toward the garden restaurant, where a buffet dinner had been set up. He saw Prince and Arrington a few steps ahead of them. Then someone behind him tapped Stone on the shoulder. He turned to find Rick and Glenna Barron. He greeted them warmly.

  “Just the man I wanted to see,” Stone said.

  “What can I do for you, Stone?”

  “I’m wondering what, if anything, you’ve found out about the disposition of Jennifer Harris’s shares in Centurion.”

  “I know her attorney, and I spoke to him, so I know that her will leaves the shares to her estate, instead of a particular beneficiary.”

  “Does her attorney have the authority to sell them on behalf of the estate?” Stone asked.

  “Yes, and I think he would be amenable to the sale, as long as it brought market value. Unfortunately, he knows about the offer from Mr. Prince, so he will want at least what Prince has offered.”

  “Are you going to buy them?” Stone asked.

  “I’m afraid that’s a bit of a stretch for me, financially,” Rick replied. “I might be able to swing it, but I’d have to sell some other investments, and that would take time we don’t have.”

  Stone looked around, then lowered his voice. “I think it might be possible for Arrington to buy them,” he said.

  “That would be perfect,” Rick replied. “What with Charlene Joiner’s shares, that would give us a majority.”

  “Surely Prince would be bidding for them, too,” Stone said.

  “And if he got them, he’d have a majority,” Rick pointed out.

  “I think what we have to do,” Stone said, “is canvas all the other share owners and see if we can buy another bloc or two that would give us fifty-one percent.”

  “Let me talk to some of them and see if they would rather sell to us than Prince.”

  “It would be in their interests, wouldn’t it, to keep the studio operating as it is now?”

  “Certainly, for some of them who want to continue to make pictures. I’ll start on that tomorrow morning and get back to you.” Rick looked around. “In fact, I’ve seen a couple of them here tonight; perhaps I’ll get an opportunity to speak to them.”

  “Good idea,” Stone said. “Face-to-face might work best.”

  They worked their way through the line for dinner, and Stone found a large table. Arrington left Prince and rejoined him.

  “What did you think of Mr. Prince?” Stone asked her.

  “Oh, he’s charming,” she said. “I knew he would be. I wouldn’t trust him any farther than I could throw him, though.”

  “What good instincts you have,” Stone said, laughing. “I was in line with Rick and Glenna Barron, and he’s going to talk with some of the other shareholders about our buying their shares. I think we’ve got a shot at this, starting with those owned by Jennifer Harris’s estate.”

  “If you say so,” Arrington said. “As long as I don’t have to sell other securities.”

  “Something I think you should do,” Stone said, “is to take up the option on the four acres adjoining your property here. I think that addition would make your acreage much more valuable.”

  “Vance got those options just before he died,” Arrington said. “There are two parcels of one point eight and two point two acres, both with very nice houses on them. The owners are elderly and would probably like to move into some sort of assisted facilities. The prices are very good, too, given the appreciation of real estate in this neighborhood. I’d have to pay, let’s see, about eighteen million for the two.”

  “When do the options expire?” Stone asked.

  “Quite soon, I think; I’m not certain of the date.”

  “We’ll get Woodman amp; Weld on that tomorrow,” Stone said. “We don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

  Dino came and sat down at their table. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier,” he said, “but I talked to Sergeant Rivera this afternoon, and he’s going to arrest Prince’s driver tomorrow.”

  “What for?” Arrington asked.

  “For the murder of Jennifer Harris,” Dino replied.

  “We think Prince had her killed to get hold of her shares,” Stone said.

  “Prince plays that rough?” Arrington asked.

  “We believe so.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “No, harming you wouldn’t help him. Your shares would go into the trust for Peter, and I’ll be his trustee. The Woodman amp; Weld trust department is already working on the documents.”

  Arrington took a deep breath and let it out. “That’s a relief,” she said.

  “Also, having his driver in jail and maybe talking is going to make Prince more circumspect in his actions,” Stone said. “He won’t be able to pull that again. In fact, if the driver talks, that could solve all our problems. Prince wouldn’t be starting a big new development, if he were looking at a trial and possible conviction.”

  “If that happens, can we go to the trial?” Arrington asked.

  Stone laughed. “I’ll see if I can get tickets.”

  22

  Stone and Dino had breakfast with Arrington beside the pool the following morning. Then Mike Freeman collected Arrington and took her off to Burbank Airport to look at the available G-III.

  Dino’s phone rang. “Bacchetti,” he said, then listened. “Have you got a line on him? Well, shit. Thanks for calling; keep me posted, if you will.” Dino hung up. “Prince’s driver ran; he’s nowhere to be found.”

  “How would he have known he was going to be arrested?” Stone asked.

  “Rivera thinks somebody in his office, maybe even his boss, tipped off Prince.”

  “I heard you ask if he had a line on the driver.”

  “Nothing. He apparently didn’t sleep at his apartment last night, and his car was still there.”

  “This gets weirder and weirder,” Stone said.

  Stone’s cell phone buzzed. “He
llo?”

  “Good morning, Stone. It’s Rick Barron.”

  “Good morning, Rick.”

  “I’ve got some news on the share-buying front.”

  “Shoot.”

  “One of the share owners, an elderly producer named Walt Baird, is willing to sell to us, because he needs money now and doesn’t want to wait until Prince does his deal. He’ll sell for twenty-five hundred a share. The bad news is, he only owns five thousand shares.”

  “That’s a start. Tell him we’ll pay him this week.”

  “All right, and there’s better news, too. Baird tells me a producer named Jim Long is willing to sell his shares, because he needs cash for a lawyer; he’s being held in jail without bail in L.A. on an attempted murder charge. He’s a close friend of Ed Eagle’s ex-wife, Barbara, and he’s accused of helping her try to kill Ed. You may recall that he was attacked by a man with a knife outside his home a while back. Long apparently introduced Barbara to the man, who was a dogsbody and sometime pilot for Long.”

  “I heard about that,” Stone said.

  “Are you willing to go and see Long in jail and talk to him about buying his shares? He’s got fifteen thousand so he could put us over the top. His attorney’s name is Harvey Stein.” Rick gave him the number.

  “Sure, I’ll go see him. Arrington is out looking at an airplane at Burbank. When she comes back, I’ll brief her about this.”

  “Good. Let me know how it goes with Long, will you? You can tell him I sent you; we had a cordial relationship when he was on the lot.”

  “I’ll do that.” Stone hung up. “Can you get me into the L.A. City Jail?” he asked Dino.

  “Sure, just throw a brick through a window, and I’ll get Rivera to throw you in there.”

  Stone called Harvey Stein’s number and, after working his way past a couple of secretaries, got him on the line.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Barrington?”

  “I’m an attorney with Woodman amp; Weld in New York,” Stone said.

  “Yeah, I know the firm; I’ve heard your name, too.”

  “I have a client who is interested in buying James Long’s shares in Centurion Studios.”