Bel-Air dead

11

Stone found Carolyn Blaine’s house easily enough, on Camden Drive, off Sunset. From its generous size he reckoned that either she had family money or she had had a good divorce. No ordinary executive assistant could pay the property taxes out of her salary, he thought.

Carolyn didn’t ask him in; she came to the door with her purse and a shawl in her hand. “Let’s have our first drink at the restaurant,” she said.

Stone installed her in the Mercedes. “Where to?”

“Is Spago Beverly Hills all right?”

“One of my favorites,” Stone said.

“I managed to get a table in the garden,” she said.

Ten minutes later they were being seated among L.A.’s filmland glitterati, including a pair of movie stars and several faces familiar from television. Carolyn ordered a martini and Stone stuck with his usual Knob Creek.

“What’s Knob Creek?” Carolyn asked.

“My favorite bourbon.”

“The brown stuff?”

“American corn whiskey, this one aged for nine years. It’s the patriotic thing to drink, instead of all that foreign swill. Abraham Lincoln lived in a log cabin on Knob Creek, in Kentucky.”

Their drinks arrived, and she tasted his bourbon. “Not bad,” she said. “I like it better than scotch.”

“Smart woman,” Stone said. They clinked glasses and drank.

“So, was our having dinner Terrence Prince’s idea?” he asked.

“It was entirely mine,” she replied. “He doesn’t know about it.” She looked around. “Of course, he knows a lot of the people here, so it won’t be a secret for long.”

“I don’t care if he knows,” Stone said. “It won’t affect the business we have to do.”

“Why not?”

“Aha, that’s what Mr. Prince would ask.”

“I’m curious about this transaction, but purely on a personal basis,” she said.

“Prince wants to buy most of the land owned by Centurion Studios, so that he can build a hotel and some office buildings and condos.”

“Funny,” she said, “I haven’t seen the plans for that.”

“How about a model?”

She shook her head. “Terry only uses models when he has to educate investors. How much is he offering?”

“That’s not final, yet; somewhere between two and three billion dollars.”

“He can do that with a combination of personal and hedge fund money. He’ll finance a big chunk, too. He has excellent banking connections.”

“Good for him.”

“Is your client going to sell?”

“That is undetermined,” Stone replied.

“And if you knew, you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he replied. “Client confidentiality. Of course, Prince has already pierced that veil.”

“You let him do that?”

“Nothing to do with me; he’s bought my client’s local attorney, in Virginia.” Stone didn’t mind if Prince knew he knew.

“Did you tell me that because you think I’ll tell Terry you know?”

“I don’t mind if you do.”

“All right, I’ll tell him, but I wouldn’t have, if you’d wanted the confidence kept.”

“That’s nice to know,” Stone said, not believing her.

“What is your background?” she asked.

“Born and bred in Greenwich Village, attended the public schools and NYU-both for college and law school. Spent fourteen years on the NYPD; then I ran into an old law school buddy who runs Woodman amp; Weld, and he offered me a deal.”

“Where do you live in New York?”

“In a town house in Turtle Bay; you know it?”

“Yes, I’m a New Yorker, too.”

“Your turn,” he said.

“Born and bred on Fifth Avenue, Miss Porter’s School, Mount Holyoke, an MBA from Wharton. Married once, for ten years, divorced last year.”

“You got the house?”

“This is California; ever hear of community property? He had done well, with my help, so I got more than the house.”

“How did Prince find you?”

“Friends introduced us at a restaurant, I had a brief fling with him, and when it was over he offered me the job.”

“And, with your background, you don’t mind serving iced tea?”

“That’s not all I do,” she said. “He values my business sense, and I contribute something to almost every deal.”

“Sounds like you didn’t know about the Centurion thing.”

She shot him a glance. “That’s right, I didn’t, until I heard a snatch of conversation at your meeting this afternoon.”

“Why do you suppose he didn’t tell you about it?”

“That’s a very good question and one I’m going to make it my business to learn the answer to.”

“I somehow have the impression that you don’t like your boss.”

“I like him well enough.”

“But you don’t trust him.”

“Not implicitly. I don’t think he’s ever lied to me, but sometimes he doesn’t tell me things, and I have to figure them out for myself.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you about the Centurion offer?”

“Because when I participate in a deal, I get a cut-a small one, but in a deal like that it would be considerable-and I suppose he doesn’t want to pay me, not when he thinks he doesn’t need me.”

“He does seem very confident, doesn’t he?” Stone asked.

“If he’s confident, it’s for a reason.”

“Like inside knowledge from the Virginia lawyer?”

“That’s just the sort of thing he would do. He bought a house in Virginia a couple of years ago, then flipped it for a nice profit. My guess is, the lawyer probably had something to do with that transaction, and that’s how they met.”

That was good information, Stone thought. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen Prince do in business?” he asked.

“If you were my attorney, you’d tell me not to answer that,” she said.

“Then it must be something pretty bad.”

“A lot of people in business have done bad things,” she said. “Happens all the time.”

The waiter arrived with menus and told them the specials. When he had gone, Stone said, “If you find yourself in a compromised position because of something Prince is doing, feel free to call me,” he said, giving her his card. “Knowing too much can sometimes be felonious.”

She tucked the card into her bra. “Good point,” she said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

After a good dinner he took her home and gave her a fairly chaste goodnight kiss. She didn’t invite him in, and he didn’t press the issue.