Bel-Air Dead

by Stuart Woods

  “Stone, there’s nothing wrong with your asking me for somebody’s home number.”

  “Tell you what, Rick, can you give me the home numbers of Jim Long, Charlene Joiner, and Jack Schmeltzer? This has nothing to do with what we were talking about.”

  “Sure, Stone.” Rick read out the three numbers, and Stone dutifully wrote them down.

  “Do you want me to call anybody for you?” Rick asked.

  “No, please, don’t. I want to talk to the shareholder and to Harvey Stein. Then I’ll get back to you.”

  “I’m at the studio,” Rick said, “on stage four.”

  “What are you doing at the studio on a Sunday morning?”

  “I’m arranging a little reception for our shareholders,” Rick said. “You’ll see on Tuesday. I’ve got to run.” He hung up.

  Stone called Jack Schmeltzer’s home and got an answering machine. “Hello, Jack. It’s Stone Barrington. I’d be grateful if you’d give me a call at the first opportunity.” He left his cell number. Then he called Harvey Stein’s cell, got voice mail, and left the same message. He hung up. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Stone and Dino had a late lunch on the patio, and late in the afternoon the house phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Arrington. We’ll be landing at Santa Monica in an hour,” she said. “We’re parking at Atlantic Aviation.”

  “I’ll see you there,” Stone said. “Oh, by the way, Mike Freeman is going to join us for dinner.”

  “He called me. I’ve already added him to our table.”

  “Great, see you in an hour.” Stone hung up. He told Dino about the call from Rick Barron earlier in the day.

  “That sounds ominous,” Dino said.

  “Yes, it does. I’ve called both Schmeltzer and Harvey Stein, and neither of them has gotten back to me.”

  “It’s Sunday afternoon,” Dino said. “They’re probably on the golf course.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Stone said. “You’re probably right; they’ll call back this evening.”

  Stone got Vance Calder’s Bentley Arnage out of the garage, and they drove to Santa Monica Airport and got buzzed through the security gate and onto the ramp.

  “Here comes a G-III,” Dino said, pointing.

  Stone looked up to see the beautiful plane turning from the taxiway into the Atlantic Aviation ramp. “That is she,” he said. He waited until the airplane was chocked, then drove out and parked near the door. The airstair dropped into place, and Arrington walked down the steps, looking fresh as a teenager.

  Stone hugged and kissed her, and she gave Dino a kiss, too. “How was your flight?” Stone asked.

  “Heavenly,” she replied. “It’s like having your own railroad car, except it moves at five hundred knots. I actually had a shower, so I wouldn’t have to change at home.”

  Stone opened the boot of the car so that the crew could load her luggage, then he turned to see another G-III taxiing onto the ramp. “There’s the Strategic Services airplane,” he said. “I’d thought Mike would go into Burbank.”

  “We coordinated,” Arrington said. “I was actually able to telephone him from my airplane to his. Isn’t that extraordinary?”

  “It is,” Stone agreed. He watched a black SUV pull up to Mike’s airplane and saw Mike get out.

  “Why don’t we go straight to the restaurant?” Arrington said.

  “It’s Michael’s, in Santa Monica. Mike’s car can take his luggage to the Bel-Air.”

  “Good idea,” Stone said, and in little more than a moment they were all in the Arnage, and shortly after that they were settled in a garden table at Michael’s.

  Arrington was facing the door. “Well, that’s awkward, isn’t it?” she said, nodding toward the restaurant door.

  Stone turned and saw Terry Prince, Carolyn Blaine, and two other people enter the garden.

  “Yes, it is,” Stone said. “Ignore them.”

  45

  Drinks and menus arrived, but Stone was preoccupied with Prince and his dinner guests. “Dino,” he said, nodding toward their table, “isn’t that the woman we saw out in Malibu, the one with the Rolls-Royce?”

  “I thought we were ignoring them,” Dino said.

  “What was her name?”

  Dino produced his notebook. “The car was registered to an E. K. Grosvenor, of San Francisco. The name meant nothing to you.”

  “It still doesn’t,” Stone said, but he had an oddly unsettling feeling about the woman.

  “Oh, come on, Stone,” Arrington said, “order something. I’m hungry.”

  Everyone ordered. As they were waiting for their food, Terry Prince got up and walked over to their table. “Good evening, Mrs. Calder, Stone, everybody.”

  Replies were muttered.

  Prince turned to Arrington. “Have you had an opportunity to consider my offer yet?”

  “I’ve just arrived,” she said. “I haven’t seen it.”

  “You’ll get an answer Tuesday,” Stone said, “after the Centurion business is settled.”

  “Very well,” Prince said. “Enjoy your dinner.” He turned and ambled back to his table.

  Stone reflected that Prince was looking a lot more relaxed than the last time he had seen him. Carolyn, too, he recalled. What were they so relaxed about? Then his mind made one of those off-the-wall connections, put two and two together and got eight. The thought didn’t make him feel any better. Dinner arrived, and he turned his attention to his sweetbreads with a sauce of morel mushrooms.

  Mike spoke up. “Arrington, how are you enjoying your new airplane?”

  “It’s just wonderful, Mike, and I thank you again for helping me choose it.”

  “I thought you would like it.”

  “Mike,” she asked, “what, exactly does your company do?”

  “Strategic Services supplies security and investigative services to governments, corporations, and individuals worldwide,” Mike replied. “We also have several manufacturing divisions, including those for armored vehicles, body armor, and electronics associated with our work.”

  “Is it fun?” she asked.

  Mike laughed. “Sometimes.”

  “Mike,” Stone said, “Woodman & Weld would like to buy me a car. Is the one you loaned me for sale?”

  Mike took a card from his pocket, wrote something on the back of it, and handed it to Stone.

  It was a number: 100K. “That seems low,” Stone said. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s about what it would bring on the wholesale market or at auction.”

  “Consider the deal done,” Stone said. He was thrilled but tried not to show it.

  “Is it one of your armored models?” Arrington asked Mike.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Stone needs it.”

  Everybody laughed.

  It was still early when they got home, and Stone called Ed Eagle at the Bel-Air.

  “Hello?”

  “Ed, it’s Stone. I’m glad to catch you in.”

  “Hey, Stone, I’m glad you called. I remembered the name of the woman, the embezzler: her name was Dolly Parks. As I said before, that may not mean anything, since she would certainly have changed it when she left town.”

  “Thanks, Ed. It was another name I called you about. You said your ex-wife, Barbara, was living in San Francisco and had remarried. Do you know her new name?”

  “Well, she changed it from Barbara to Eleanor when she married Walter Keeler.”

  “Walter Keeler, the avionics guy?”

  “One and the same. He was the one killed in the auto accident.”

  “And she has a new husband now?”

  “Yes, a car salesman, an Englishman. When she married him, she bought the dealership and gave it to him.”

  “What kind of dealership?”

  “Rolls, Bentley, Aston Martin, that sort of thing.”

  “And his name?”

  “Grosvenor; he changed the dealership name to his. I don’
t know his first name.”

  “So E. K. Grosvenor could mean Eleanor Keeler Grosvenor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Fairly tall, slim, always fashionably dressed; quite beautiful.”

  “And she knew this Dolly Parks?”

  “Yes. I had a pair of P.I.s following her, and they made that connection.”

  “Ed, she’s in L.A.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Dino and I saw her with Carolyn Blaine out in Malibu yesterday, and she was being driven in a Rolls. Dino ran her tag, and E. K. Grosvenor of San Francisco came up.”

  “I hope she’s not staying at the Bel-Air,” Eagle said. “It would be awkward to run into her, not to mention dangerous. Do you have any idea what she’s doing here?”

  “Well, she had dinner with Terry Prince this evening; we were at the same restaurant.”

  “You think she’s mixed up in the Centurion deal?”

  “How much did you say she was worth?”

  “When she got Walter Keeler’s will set aside, she came into his entire fortune. Word on the legal grapevine was that it came to one point six billion.”

  “Billion?”

  “Right, and, apart from some real estate and an airplane, it was all in liquid assets.”

  “And since she was a surviving spouse, tax-free?”

  “I assume so.”

  Stone silently thought about that.

  “Stone, are you still there?”

  “Sorry, Ed, I was just thinking.”

  “You think she’s in the Centurion deal?”

  “It makes sense,” Stone said. “Terry Prince is seeming a lot more confident the past few days.”

  “That’s interesting, because Jim Long, the producer, is Barbara’s closest friend, maybe her only one. In fact, she could be staying at his house.”

  “And if she is, she would know about the attack on him in jail.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then why would she be doing business with the man who arranged the attack?”

  “Good question. He probably doesn’t know how dangerous she is. Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want me to let the authorities in Santa Fe know that this Carolyn Blaine could be Dolly Parks?”

  “No,” Stone said, “not yet, anyway. I have to think this thing through. Thanks for your help, Ed.” The two men said good night and hung up.

  Stone tried to make sense of the association of Barbara Eleanor Keeler Grosvenor and Terry Prince, but he got nowhere.

  46

  Stone had hardly hung up the phone when Arrington padded into his room, shucked off her robe, revealing all, and slithered into bed next to him.

  “I was waiting for you to come to me,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, I had to make a phone call.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, “I’m here now.” She felt under the covers for him.

  “Right where you should be,” Stone said.

  “Do you have to get up early in the morning?” she asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Good, because I’m going to keep you busy.”

  And she did.

  Stone woke up early in spite of himself. He tried to sneak out of bed to the bathroom, but she snagged his wrist.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, pressing herself against him. “Do you remember when we started every morning this way?”

  “I certainly do,” he said, kissing her. That had been back when she was practically living with him in New York, before she had met Vance Calder and he had stolen her away to Bel-Air.

  She rolled over and sat on top of him, taking him inside her. “There,” she said, “I’ve got you pinned.”

  “You surely have,” he said, “and I’m enjoying the experience.” They both enjoyed it for a few minutes until they shared an orgasm.

  Stone and Arrington were having breakfast on the terrace.

  “We need to talk about Prince’s offer for your property here,” he said, handing her the contract and the twenty-five-million-dollar check.

  “Why, it’s a personal check!” she said, looking at it. “I didn’t know anybody wrote personal checks in that amount.”

  “He wanted to impress you,” Stone said.

  “Well, I’m impressed. What’s your advice on this sale?”

  “First, let me ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you really ready to sell the property? Would it make you sad to see it go?”

  “Yes, to your first question; no, to your second. My life isn’t here anymore. I would still enjoy visiting, but having a house in his new hotel would make me feel at home when I’m back here.”

  “All right, let me make a suggestion.”

  “Again, shoot.”

  “Sign the contract, and let me decide tomorrow afternoon whether to tear it up or go through with the sale, depending on circumstances.”

  “I trust you that much,” she said. “After all, if the sale doesn’t go through, I can still build my own hotel on the property.”

  “Woodman & Weld could partner you with the right hotel group on that. You’d need professional management, anyway. You don’t actually want to run a hotel, do you?”

  “Oh, God, no! I just want to be able to complain about the service and get instant results.”

  “I think we can guarantee that,” Stone said, laughing.

  “What if I end up in business with Prince?” she asked. “Am I going to like that?”

  “You’ll never have to see or speak to him,” Stone said. “I’ll take care of that. Also, I’ve been on his hotel company’s website, looking at his properties, and they’re all top-notch. I’ve stayed at two or three of them, and they were all beautifully run.”

  “Okay. You decide tomorrow.”

  Stone handed her the document and a pen, and she signed it. “He’s put in an early closing date of this Friday, noon, and if he misses that, his twenty-five million are yours.”

  Dino came out of the guesthouse and joined them. “Witness this, will you?” Stone said, passing him the document and the pen.

  Dino signed the document with a flourish. “There you are.” “What does your day hold?” Stone asked him, slipping the document and the check into his briefcase.

  “Rivera and I are working on something,” Dino said.

  “What are you working on?”

  “It’s a secret for the time being,” Dino said smugly. “You’ll know when you need to know.”

  “You’re very mysterious, Dino,” Arrington said.

  “Yes, I am,” Dino replied, smiling.

  Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Stone, it’s Harvey Stein. I’m sorry, but I was down at Palm Springs for the weekend, and I didn’t get your message until this morning.”

  “Thanks for calling back, Harvey. I’ve heard some rumblings about Jim Long’s trying to back out of our stock sale.”

  “Well, it’s too late for him to do that, isn’t it? Mrs. Calder owns the stock now. What’s done is done.”

  “Harvey, you know Barbara Eagle, don’t you?”

  “I’ve met her a couple of times; she and Jim are close.”

  “She’s back in town, and last night she had dinner with Terry Prince. You know anything about that?”

  “Not a thing,” Stein replied.

  “Did you speak with Jim over the weekend?”

  “Yes, I called him yesterday from Palm Springs, just to see how he was doing, and he sounded much like his old self.”

  “Did he mention Barbara?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “I’d heard that she might be staying with him while she’s in town.”

  “That would be news to me,” Stein said.

  “Are you coming to the shareholders’ meeting tomorrow?”

  “Since I no longer represent a shareholder, no.”

  “Well, if I don’t speak t
o you again, Harvey, thanks for all your help in getting this sale closed.”

  “My pleasure,” Stein replied. They both hung up.

  Stone called Rick Barron. “Rick, I just spoke to Harvey Stein, and he says there’s no problem, that Jim Long’s shares now belong to Arrington.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Rick said. “We’re perilously close to the fifty-one percent level, and his stock just puts us over the top.”

  “Then we’re okay.” Stone heard noises in the background. “Are you still in the editing suite?”

  “Yes, it will be tonight before we finish scoring and tomorrow morning before we have a print.”

  “I can’t wait to see it, whatever it is,” Stone said.

  “I think you’ll find it entertaining,” Rick said. “Gotta run.”

  They hung up. “Everybody’s mysterious today,” he said to Arrington. “First Dino, now Rick Barron. He’s working on some sort of presentation for the meeting tomorrow.”

  “I think I know what it is,” Arrington replied, “but I’m not going to tell you.”

  47

  It occurred to Stone that he had not heard from Jack Schmeltzer, and he wondered why. He called the producer’s office at Centurion, reached his secretary, and gave his name.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington,” the woman said, “but Jack is in a meeting and will be for the entire day. I would expect the earliest he might be able to get back to you would be, perhaps, tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you,” Stone said, and hung up. What had been a feeling of mere uneasiness now grew into a solid knot of anxiety in his stomach. Was Schmeltzer going to renege? They were little more than twenty-four hours from the shareholders’ meeting, and Stone had by now expected to be fully confident of success. Unwillingly he allowed himself to think of the consequences if Rick Barron did not prevail at the meeting. Stone had been operating on a steady wave of mostly good news for the past week, especially his elevation to partner at Woodman & Weld, but now what had seemed within grasp—the rescue of a fine, old name in filmmaking—seemed to be slipping away. The fabric of their plan was unraveling.