by Stuart Woods
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
AUTHOR’S NOTE
BOOKS BY STUART WOODS
FICTION
Strategic Moves2
Santa Fe Edge4
Lucid Intervals2
Kisser2
Hothouse Orchid1
Loitering with Intent2
Mounting Fears3
Hot Mahogany2
Santa Fe Dead4
Beverly Hills Dead
Shoot Him If He Runs2
Fresh Disasters2
Short Straw4
Dark Harbor2
Iron Orchid1
Two Dollar Bill2
The Prince of Beverly Hills
Reckless Abandon2
Capital Crimes3
Dirty Work2
Blood Orchid1
The Short Forever2
Orchid Blues1
Cold Paradise2
L.A. Dead2
The Run3
Worst Fears Realized2
Orchid Beach1
Swimming to Catalina2
Dead in the Water2
Dirt2
Choke
Imperfect Strangers
Heat
Dead Eyes
L.A. Times
Santa Fe Rules4
New York Dead2
Palindrome
Grass Roots3
White Cargo
Deep Lie3
Under the Lake
Run Before the Wind3
Chiefs3
TRAVEL
A Romantic’s Guide to the Country
Inns of Britain and Ireland (1979)
MEMOIR
Blue Water, Green Skipper (1977)
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Copyright © 2011 by Stuart Woods
Photograph of Stuart Woods and Elaine Kaufman © Harry Benson
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Published simultaneously in Canada
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Woods, Stuart.
Bel-Air dead : a Stone Barrington novel / Stuart Woods.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-51391-0
1. Barrington, Stone (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—
Fiction. 3. Bel Air (Los Angeles, Calif.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3573.O642B
813’.54—dc22
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses,
companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and
Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author
assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication.
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In memory of Elaine Kaufman (1929–2010), who loved writers
1
Elaine’s, late.
Stone Barrington sat with his client, Mike Freeman, of Strategic Services, and his former partner from his NYPD days, Dino Bacchetti, over the ruins of dinner and a bottle of excellent Cabernet.
“That was good,” Mike said. “I never knew how good the food was here, until you started bringing me.”
“Comfort food,” Dino said.
Elaine sat herself down in the spare chair. “Comfort food?” she asked. “Is that some kind of crack?”
“It’s high praise,” Stone said quickly, not wanting to get her started. Elaine’s did not enjoy a high reputation with the food critics of the local media, because they didn’t come often enough to get the good tables, but the regulars knew how good the food was, and that was all she really cared about.
“I’ll take high praise,” Elaine said.
Stone’s cell phone hummed on his belt, and he dug it out of its holster. “Stone Barrington.”
“Stone, it’s Arrington,” she said. Stone and Arrington had once been a very big item, to the extent of his having fathered a son by her.
“Well, hello there,” he said. “I thought I’d never hear from you again.” They had spent one night together in his Maine house, on Islesboro, at Dark Harbor, and then she had taken her leave, saying it was over.
“I want to hire you,” she said.
“I’m for hire. How’s Peter?”
“He misses his father,” she said.
Stone wondered which father she meant, himself or her late husband, movie megastar Vance Calder, whose son the world believed Peter to be. Stone didn’t know what to say.
“I mean Vance,” she said. “He hardly knows you.”
“All right,” Stone said. “Why do you want to hire me?”
“I’m going to say this fast, because I’m sleepy, and I want to go to bed. I know you’re at Elaine’s at this hour, but I’m not.”
“So, say it fast.”
“You remember Centurion Studios? A large Hollywood film factory.”
“I believe so.”
“You remember that Vance owned a third of the shares when he died?”
“I didn’t know it was that much.”
“He’d been buying the stock for many years, every time somebody died and some shares became available.”
“Got it.”
“There’s a stockholders’ meeting coming up, and there will be a vote on whether to sell the studio. It has always been closely held, and Vance wanted to keep it that way.”
“Who’s buying?”
“I don’t know, some corporation or other. They’ll sell the property to developers, and the studio will just be a letterhead.”
“And what do you want me to
do?”
“Vote my shares against the sale, and do what you can to get the other stockholders to vote against it.”
“How many are there?”
“A couple of dozen, maybe. I’ll send you a list, along with my signed proxy, to the Bel-Air house. You can have the guesthouse, as usual. Manolo and Carmen will take good care of you.”
Manolo and Carmen were the Filipino houseman and his wife who ran the place. Stone knew he would be taken care of very well indeed. “All right, I guess I can manage that.”
“Can you get there tomorrow?”
“Or the day after,” Stone said. He wanted to fly himself in his new airplane.
“I guess that will be all right,” she answered. “You remember Rick Barron?”
“Yes, I met him and his wife at Vance’s burial.”
“That’s right. Call him as soon as you get there, and take him and his wife, Glenna, to dinner. Rick is in his nineties now, but he’s sharp as a straight razor, and he’s leading the fight to keep the studio closely held.”
“I’ll be glad to do that.”
“In fact, invite them to the house, and let Manolo and Carmen do the dinner. They know all the Barrons’ favorite dishes.”
“All right.”
“Call me when you get there?”
“Will do.”
“Say hello to Elaine and Dino.”
“Will do.”
“Goodbye.” She hung up.
Stone put away his phone. “Arrington says hello to both of you,” he said to them.
“How is she?” Elaine asked.
“Sleepy,” Stone replied. “Dino, you want to spend a few days in L.A.?”
“On whose nickel?” Dino asked.
“Transportation is free, and we’ll be staying in Arrington’s guesthouse.”
“I’m in,” Dino said.
Mike spoke up. “Can you just walk away from the NYPD that way?”
“I get time off, just like everybody,” Dino said, “but I get to approve when, and I approve this one.”
“Okay,” Mike said.
“Mike,” Stone said, “Dino has the NYPD by the ear, didn’t you know? He’s a law unto himself over there. The new commissioner, who doesn’t know him very well, loves him.”
“He’d love me more, if he knew me better,” Dino said.
Elaine pinched Dino’s cheek. “To know him is to love him,” she said, planting a big kiss on his forehead. She got up and made her move to the next table of regulars.
Dino rubbed his cheek. “I hope she didn’t make a bruise.” “With that five o’clock shadow, who could tell?” Stone asked.
“You guys have the life,” Mike said. “And I’ll bet you’re going to fly the Mustang out there.”
“You betcha,” Stone replied.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Dino said. “I didn’t volunteer for suicide.”
“It’s time you had your first flight in the Citation Mustang,” Stone said.
“He’s right, Dino,” Mike echoed. “You’ll love it.”
Dino looked doubtful. “I just don’t know if God intended Stone to be put in charge of a jet airplane.”
“You liked my old airplane well enough,” Stone said.
“Yeah, but it had a propeller up front that made it go, and I took comfort in that.”
“The Mustang has two engines, Dino,” Mike said, “and they’re fan jets. Twice the safety.”
“No propellers, though.”
“Propellers would just slow it down,” Stone said.
“Mike, you think I should do this?”
“I’ve flown with him, Dino; he’ll get you there.”
“Well, okay, if you say so.”
“You get a choice of seats,” Stone said. “Up front with me, or you can lounge in the back and sleep all the way.”
“How could I sleep with you at the controls?” Dino asked. “I’ll take my chances up front, where I can do something, if I have to.”
“I’ll teach you to fly the airplane, Dino,” Stone said.
“Hey, that’s a good idea. That way when you turn blue and clutch your chest, I can save myself.”
“I wish I could be alive to see that,” Stone replied.
2
Stone rose the following morning, showered, shaved, packed and took his luggage down to the garage in the elevator. He put his bags in the trunk of his car and went to his office.
His secretary, Joan Robertson, put some papers on his desk. “Sign these,” she said.
Stone signed them.
She picked them up. “Thank you.”
“What were those?” Stone asked.
“Just a complete power of attorney and assignment of all your assets to me, personally, with immediate effect.”
“Oh, okay,” he said absently. “I’m going to L.A. for a few days,” he said.
“Another vacation?” she asked.
“You know I never take vacations, unless there’s work involved.”
“What’s the work?”
“Voting some shares at a stockholders’ meeting for Arrington Calder.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“No, I have to persuade others to vote with me.”
“If there are any women in the group, you’ll succeed,” she said.
Stone brightened. “That’s a thought,” he said.
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know—give me a week.”
“It’s not as though you’re needed here,” she said. “I can handle whatever comes along.”
Stone knew that was close to the truth. “Try not to practice any law,” he said. “You’ll get arrested.”
“Don’t worry, there won’t be any of my fingerprints on anything.” She flounced back to her office.
At Teterboro Airport, Stone did his walk-around preflight inspection of the airplane while Dino stowed their luggage in the forward compartment. When he finished, Dino was standing, staring at the airplane. It was the first time he’d seen it, Stone reflected.
“Well, I like the paint job,” Dino said.
“Is that it?”
“The airplane is kind of pretty; it looks like it could fly, if it had to.”
Stone pushed him aboard and settled him in the copilot’s seat, then pulled up the stairs and closed the door. He got into the pilot’s seat, ran through the checklist, and started the engines.
Then he called Teterboro Clearance and got his IFR clearance for his first leg.
“How many times do we have to stop?” Dino asked.
“Twice, if we’re lucky. There’ll be very little in the way of headwinds today, maybe even a little tailwind. That’s unusual.”
“I’ll take what I can get,” Dino said.
Stone radioed Ground Control and got permission to taxi. Shortly, they were ready for takeoff.
Stone looked at Dino and saw a film of sweat on his forehead. “I turned on the air-conditioning,” he said. “Are you still hot?”
“I’ll be okay,” Dino said, mopping his brow.
It occurred to Stone that Dino might really be nervous about flying in the jet. “I’ll give you something to look at,” he said, pointing to the copilot’s Primary Flight Display. He pressed a button on the throttle and a wide, magenta V popped up on the screen. “When we take off, all I have to do is to keep the yellow V, which represents the airplane, nestled up against the magenta V, which represents our climb angle and course. As long as the two are together, we’re fine.”
“Okay,” Dino said, tightening his seat belt.
The tower called and cleared them for takeoff. Stone taxied onto Runway One, stopped the airplane, centered the heading control, and, with the brakes on, shoved the throttles all the way forward. The engines ran up, and he released the brakes. The little jet shot down the runway, and, at ninety knots, Stone rotated, pulling the yellow V up into the magenta V. He raised the landing gear and flaps, then, at 700 feet, he pressed the autopilot button and turned the heading bu
g to 040. At 1,500 feet, following the departure procedure, he turned to 280 and climbed to 2,000 feet, then the controller gave him 10,000 feet, and they were on their way.
Dino was staring at the PFD.
“It’s okay to look out the window now,” Stone said. “The autopilot is flying the airplane, and it is a better pilot than I.”
Dino looked around. “This isn’t bad,” he said. “It’s quieter than your old airplane, and smoother, too.”
“That’s the idea,” Stone said. The controller handed them off to New York Center, and they climbed to their final altitude of Flight Level 340, or 34,000 feet. Stone reduced power to the cruise détente on the throttles. “That’s it,” he said. “Now the airplane flies us to Wichita.”
Dino looked at the chart on the big panel display. “That looks like a long way.”
“See these two rings?” Stone said, pointing. “The dotted one is the distance we can fly and still have a forty-five-minute fuel reserve, and it falls beyond Wichita. The solid ring is the distance we can fly before dry tanks.”
“Let’s not fly that far,” Dino said.
“And we even have a little tailwind,” Stone said, pointing at the indicator.
They refueled at Wichita and took off again.
Dino handed Stone a sandwich and a Diet Coke from the ice drawer. “Where’s our next stop?”
“Santa Fe.”
“Why that far south?”
“We could refuel in Denver, but look,” he said, pointing at the display. “The Nexrad shows some thunderstorms over the Rockies, so we’ll go south of them to Santa Fe, then on to Santa Monica. The weather along that route is clear all the way.”
“Got it.”
They picked up three hours with the time change, and as they made their final turn on approach to Santa Monica, the sun was setting before them like a big red ball into the Pacific.
Stone left a refueling order. Then their rental car was brought out to the airplane, and they drove to Vance Calder’s home in Bel-Air.
“This is possibly the ritziest neighborhood in Greater Los Angeles,” Stone said, “and Vance owned eight acres of it.” They drove through the open gates and pulled up in front of the house.
