L.A. Dead

Chapter 19

The phone rang and rang, and for a moment, Stone thought she'd be out. He was sighing with relief when Dolce, a little breathless, picked it up.

"Hello?"

Stone couldn't quite bring himself to speak.

"Stone, don't you hang up on me," she said.

"I'm here."

"I'm sorry I took so long to answer; I was in the shower."

"We need to talk," he said.

"Come on over; I'll order dinner for us."

"I won't be able to stay for dinner; I have another commitment." This was almost true.

"I'll be waiting."

"It'll take me at least half an hour, depending on traffic. See you then," he said hurriedly, before she asked where he'd be coming from. He hung up and went back out to the deck. "I'm going to go and see her now," he said.

Arrington stood up, put her arms around him and gave him a soulful kiss. For the first time-for the first time since she'd run off with Vance-he responded the way he wanted to. Arrington stepped back and patted him on the cheek. "Poor Stone," she said. "Don't worry, you can handle it." She turned him around, pointed him toward the door, and gave him a spank on the backside, like a coach sending in a quarterback with a new play. "I'll order in some food and fix us some dinner," she called, as he reached the door.

"Don't start cooking until I call," he said. "I don't know how long this is going to take."

The mob at the Colony gate had boiled down to one TV van and a photographer, and although they stared at him as he drove through, they didn't seem to connect him with Vance Calder's widow. A few miles down the Pacific Coast Highway, there was an accident that held up traffic for half an hour, giving Stone more time than he wanted to think.

Women, he reflected, usually broke it off with him, for lack of commitment. He had never been in the position of breaking off an engagement, and he dreaded the thought. By the time he got past the accident and made it to the hotel, he was an hour late.

Dolce opened the door and threw herself into his arms. "Oh, God, I've missed you," she whispered into his ear. It did not make Stone feel any better that she was naked. It seemed that women had been flaunting nakedness all day, and he had never been very good at resisting it. He pushed her into the suite and closed the door. "Please put something on; we have to talk."

Dolce grabbed a robe and led him into the living room. Stone chose an armchair so he wouldn't have to share the sofa with her. "I'm sorry you came here," he said. "It was the wrong thing to do, in the circumstances."

"What circumstances?" she asked.

"Arrington is in trouble, and until I can get her out of it, I can't think about anything else."

"She killed Vance, didn't she? I knew it."

"She did not," Stone said.

"I could smell it as soon as I arrived in this town. The newspapers and TV know she's guilty, don't they?"

"They don't know anything, except the hints the cops are dropping."

"The cops know she's guilty, don't they?"

"Dolce, she passed a lie detector test this afternoon, a tough one, by a real expert."

"You need to think she's innocent, don't you, Stone? I know you; you have to believe that."

"I do believe that," Stone said, although Dolce was still shaking her head. "The police are trying to railroad her, because they can't find the real perpetrator, and I can't let that happen."

"Are you still in love with her, Stone?"

"Maybe; I haven't had time to think about that." In truth, he'd hardly thought of anything else. "Dolce, we very nearly made a terrible mistake. Let's both be grateful that we were spared a marriage that would never have worked."

"Why would it never have worked?"

"Because we're so different, tempermentally. We could never live with each other."

"Funny, I thought we had been living with each other for the past few months."

"Not permanently; we were playing at living together."

"I wasn't playing," she said.

"You know what I mean. We were… acting our parts, that's all. It would never have worked. I wish you hadn't come."

"Stone, I'm here, because you're my husband, and you need me."

"Dolce, I am not your husband, and I'd appreciate it if you'd tell the hotel that."

"Have you forgotten that we were married last Saturday, in Venice, by the mayor of the city?"

"You know as well as I do, that ceremony is not valid without a religious ceremony to follow."

"We took vows."

"I said 'si' when prompted; I have no idea what the mayor said to me."

Dolce recited something in Italian. '"Til death us do part," she translated.

"Well, that's what happened with your previous husband, isn't it?" He shot back, then immediately regretted having said it.

"And it could happen again!" Dolce spat.

"Is that what we've come to? You're threatening me?"

Dolce stood up and came toward him. "Stone, let's not do this to each other; come to bed."

Stone stood up and backed away from her. The robe had come undone, and he fought the urge to couch her, "No, no. I have to leave, Dolce, and you should leave, too, and go back to New York or Sicily or wherever."

"Papa is going to be very disappointed," she said in a low voice.

That really did sound like a threat, Stone thought. "I'll call him tomorrow and explain things."

"Explain what? That you're abandoning me? Leaving me at the altar? He'll just love hearing that. You don't know Papa as well you think you do. He has a terrible temper, especially when someone he loves has been wronged."

Stone was backing toward the door. "I haven't wronged you, Dolce; I've just explained how I feel. I'm doing you a favor by withdrawingfrom this situation now, instead of later, when it would hurt us both a lot more." He was reaching for the doorknob behind him.

"You're my husband, Stone," Dolce was saying, "and you always will be, for as long as you live," she added threateningly.

"Good-bye, Dolce," Stone said. He got the door open and hurried out, closing it carefully behind him.

He had gone only a few steps when he heard a large object crash against the door and shatter. On the way through the lobby, he stopped at the front desk. "I'm Stone Barrington," he said to the young woman.

"Yes, Mr. Barrington," she said. "Are you checking in again?"

"No, and please be advised that the woman in suite 336 is Miss Dolce Bianchi, not Mrs. Stone Barrington. Will you let the telephone operator know that, please?"

"Of course," the young woman said, looking nonplussed. "Whatever you say, Mr. Barrington."

Stone got the station wagon from the attendant and headed back toward Malibu. Before he had even reached Sunset, the car phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Stone," Arrington said, "I'm on my way back to Bel-Air."

"Why and how?" Stone asked.

"I caught sight of a photographer on the beach with a great big lens, and I guess it just creeped me out. Manolo came and got me; he had to smuggle me past the gate in the trunk."

"All right, I'll meet you at the house. Tell Manolo to use the utility entrance." He said good-bye and hung up. How long, he wondered, had that photographer been on the beach?