Shakeup

18

Stone and Lara were sitting down to dinner at Spago, Beverly Hills, Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant. Lara had returned to the hotel with a contract with Arlene Summers’s firm. Stone had read it and had her sign it.

Wolfgang Puck came over and greeted them, and Stone introduced Lara as Arlene Summers’s new client and Centurion’s new leading lady. Then, over Wolfgang’s shoulder, Stone saw a thickset man in flashy clothes coming toward them. He looked at Lara questioningly.

“That’s Baxter,” she said.

Wolfgang had moved on to the next table. Stone stood up. “I’m Guy Baxter,” the man said confidently, flashing a lot of dental work.

Stone wrapped his dinner napkin around his right hand, a move that Baxter did not miss. “Go away,” Stone said.

Baxter glanced at Wolfgang Puck, who had seen him coming. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said, turning on his heel. Wolfgang followed him into the bar, had a few words with him, then returned.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said to Stone and Lara. “I’ve banned Guy Baxter from the restaurant, so he won’t bother you again here.”

“Thank you, Wolfgang,” Stone said, and the chef went back to his rounds.

“I can’t believe that you solved the Baxter problem and found me a new agent, all in the same day,” Lara said, squeezing his hand.

“My law partner, Bill Eggers, got the legal work done, and Peter recommended you to the agent. I’m glad it went well.”

From the direction of the front of the restaurant there came the noise of a loud crash. “Why do I think that has something to do with Baxter?” Stone asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lara replied.

“Excuse me a moment,” Stone said rising. He walked across the garden, through the bar and outside. Baxter was standing in the street, shouting at another driver, whose car had struck his elderly Mercedes. Stone turned and went back inside.

“It was Baxter’s car,” he said to Lara. They could see the reflection of flashing lights through the front windows. “I expect the police will be handling it shortly,” Stone said. “Mr. Baxter is having a very bad day.”

“It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Lara remarked.

Back at the Arrington, they were getting ready for bed when Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”

“Stone, it’s Art Jacoby. I can’t thank you enough for your help today.”

“Art,” Stone said, “if you jump bail, I’ll hire a bounty hunter.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m getting a loan on my house, and you’ll have your money back tomorrow.”

“That would be a relief. What happened, Art?”

“Little Debby has suddenly decided that I’m the chief suspect.”

“Does she suspect your girlfriend, too?”

“Not yet.”

“I think you should both move temporarily.”

“I’ll think about that.”

“Keep me posted on the progress.” Stone hung up and turned his attention to Lara.

Dino woke him up the following morning. Stone picked up the phone. “Why is it that no one in New York can figure out what time it is in L.A.?”

“I never give it a thought,” Dino said. “What time is it out there?”

“Four o’clock tomorrow morning,” Stone replied.

“Oh, shut up. You want the news, or what?”

“Or what, I guess.”

“The charges against Art Jacoby have been dropped, so you’ll get your bail money back.”

“Dino, that was worth being woken up in the middle of the night. Thank you.”

“They probably haven’t even cashed your check yet.”

“That’s a nice thought. I’ll tell Joan to go get it. What caused Little Debby to back down?”

“The word is, somebody in D.C. had a word with her: bad press, and all that. I don’t get the D.C. papers, but I’ll bet the story is all over them.”

“Good. She deserves it.”

“In my book, she deserves worse. Having somebody arrested out of spite is a big leap over the line.”

“It is.” Stone’s phone rang. “I’ve got a call coming in. Anything else?”

“You’re half a million bucks richer again. Ain’t that enough?”

“Bye, Dino.” He pressed the incoming call button. “Yes?”

“Stone, it’s Art Jacoby.”

“I heard, Art. Congratulations!”

“Thanks, but the news isn’t all good. As I was being released this morning, a cop I know called and told me that my girlfriend had been found dead in my house.”

“Oh, Jesus, Art. I’m so sorry.”

“When I got there, they wouldn’t even let me go inside, but the detective on the case told me that she was shot.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither do I,” Art said. “I’m going to find a hotel I can afford and get some sleep. Jail is a very noisy place.”

“Let me know what develops,” Stone said. “I suppose I don’t have to tell you to watch your ass?”

“No.” He hung up.

Stone had barely hung up when Herbie Fisher called. “You’re off the hook,” Herbie said.

“I heard.”

“I’ve got your cashier’s check. When I get back to the office I’ll messenger it over to Joan, and she can have it canceled.”

“Thanks, Herb. I just spoke to Art Jacoby, and he told me his girlfriend was murdered while he was in jail.”

Herbie was silent. “I was about to say, ‘at least he has an ironclad alibi,’ but I stopped myself.”

“You automatically think like a lawyer,” Stone said.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything else I can do for Art,” Herbie said, “but tell him to call me, if he thinks of something.”

“I’ll do that. Bye.” Stone hung up.

Lara sat up in bed. “There sure is a lot of talking going on,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“It’s best if you go back to sleep,” Stone said, and she did.