Bel-Air dead

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 amp; 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.