“We wrapped today,” Calder said, “and I think we’ve got a winner. Certainly your work helped.”
“Thank you. Well, please give Arrington my best when she’s home. Ask her to give me a call when she has a moment.”
“Of course, yes. Goodbye, Stone.”
Stone closed the phone. “It’s all very weird,” he said to Grant.
“How is it weird?”
“Vance’s wife has disappeared; I don’t think he has any idea where she is, but he pretends she’s staying with a friend in the Valley, and that he’s talking to her.”
“Why is that weird? Sounds reasonable to me.”
“She was seen in Marina Del Rey this afternoon, so I know she’s not out in the Valley.”
“Maybe that’s just what she told Calder.”
Stone blinked. “She’s with another man, you mean?”
“That’s what I mean. If you look at this as purely a domestic matter, it all fits. They have a fight, and she takes off for a few days; not the first timethat has happened. Calder panics and calls you. You arrive, and Calder is feeling a little stupid for having done so, so he entertains you for a while, then ships you back to New York. In the meantime, the Calders haven’t settled their differences, one of which might be another man, so she hasn’t come home yet. Maybe she’s cranking up for a divorce.”
“But why would they stick me in Vance’s movie, pay me a lot of money, then replace me with another actor?”
“To keep you out of Calder’s face about his wife. He certainly has enough power to ask the producer to do that; maybe he even reimbursed Centurion for their costs. He’s rich enough.”
“Yes, he is, I suppose. But if the explanation is as simple as that, why were Ippolito’s men following me last night?”
“Maybe Ippolito is doing Calder a favor. Look, I think your presence here has been an embarrassment for Calder-it shows him up as something of a schmuck-and movie stars don’t like being seen to be schmucks, not to mention cuckolds.”
“Why would the two guys who were following me break into Betty’s house and search it?”
“To find out if you’re still in town?”
“Maybe. I think I shook them by changing cars.” He thought for a moment. “Why would Arrington call me from Grimaldi’s?”
“Because she wanted to talk to you?”
“What would she be doing there?”
“Maybe she’s seeing somebody who frequents the place.”
“So you’re saying that every move that everybody has made this week can be explained by a domestic quarrel and a boyfriend on the side?”
“Stone, try and look at this business like a cop. Doesn’t that scenario answer all the questions? If you had been assigned to investigate possible foul play, would you continue to investigate at this point?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Stone admitted.
“So, maybe your personal stake in all this is what’s driving you. I mean, I admit that a lot of screwy stuff has happened in a very short time, but I’ve seen screwier stuff happen without a crime being committed, haven’t you?”
“Sure.”
“I’m not underrating the value of a good hunch; if you’ve got a hunch, then that’s a good enough reason to pursue this.”
“I guess a hunch is all I’ve got,” Stone said. “What would you do, in my place?”
Grant thought about that for a minute. “I guess I’d pursue it until I was convinced one way or the other.” He laughed.
Stone laughed with him. “I guess that’s what I’m going to do,” he said. “I’m going to find out what’s going on, one way or the other.”
23
Stone was wakened by a ringing telephone at his bedside. He tried to ignore it, but it rang on and on. Finally, he picked up the instrument. “Hello?” he said grumpily.
“Rise and shine,” Betty said. “Today, you’re mine.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly eight o’clock.”
“I haven’t slept like that in months,” he said. “I could have kept going another four hours.”
“Today we play, pal. Now here’s what you do; you pack an overnight bag, and don’t bring a necktie. A swimsuit and tennis clothes would be nice, but if you didn’t bring them we can pick them up later. Got that?”
“Where are we going?”
“To a favorite place of mine, and that’s all you need to know. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
“No, don’t come here. Take a cab to the Beverly Hills Hotel, make sure nobody’s following you, and I’ll pick you up at the front door in an hour.”
“Whatever you say, Sir,” she replied, then hung up.
Stone sat up in bed and thought about how he felt. A hell of a lot better than last night, was the verdict. He’d gotten some sound sleep, and he didn’t feel the heavy weight of depression that had burdened him the previous evening. He struggled out of bed and into a shower.
Betty was standing at the entrance of the hotel, a suitcase beside her, when he drove up, having made sure that no one was behind him.
“Hullo, sailor,” she said, tossing her bag into the back seat and getting in.
“Where to?” he asked, kissing her.
“Just follow my directions.”
“You had breakfast?”
“Only a cup of coffee.”
“There’s some stuff in a box in the back seat, from my kitchenette.”
She got them both a croissant and a container of orange juice, and started giving Stone directions. Soon they were on the Santa Monica Freeway, heading east.
“So where are we headed?” he asked.
“I told you, no questions,” she replied tartly, “and I don’t want to talk about anything else, either. I just want to drive and relax. We’ll be there in time for lunch.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied obediently. The road became the San Bernardino Freeway, and he thought they must be headed for Palm Springs, but they zipped right through the town.
“Take a left on Sixty-two,” she said. It was the first time she’d spoken in an hour.
Stone started seeing signs for Joshua Tree and Twentynine Palms, but they blew through Joshua Tree, and beyond Twentynine Palms was a zillion square miles of desert, if he remembered his geography. The terrain was arid, and mountains rose to their left.
“Take the next right,” Betty said.
Stone slowed. “It’s a narrow dirt road, and it seems to go up that mountain,” he said.
“Take it, and shut up.”
Stone turned right onto the dirt road. There were no signs of any kind and no road number. Soon they left the plain and started to climb, and he was beginning to feel nervous. He had been trained to suspect everybody, and Betty was not exempt. She had been with him when they had been followed from the restaurant, and now he was with her on a dirt road to nowhere, and he wasn’t feeling great about it. He checked the fuel gauge; he still had half a tank of gas. His options were narrow; he could continue to follow orders and get himself into God knew what, or he could turn around and head back to L.A.
“Take that little road to the left,” she said.
This road was even less promising than the one they were on, and Stone stopped the car. “I have to know where we’re going,” he said.
She turned and looked at him. “Don’t you trust me?”
He made his decision, though he wasn’t happy about it; he turned left. This little track was very steep and deeply rutted, and he drove slowly of necessity. They were near the mountaintop when she issued further instructions.
“Turn right,” she said.
He turned, went around a sharp bend, and found himself in a small parking lot, along with a dozen other cars, all expensive.
“You get the bags,” Betty said and got out. She went to a post that held a box, opened it, and took out a telephone handset. “This is Betty Southard,” she said. “We’re in the parking lot.”
Stone trudged over to her with the bags. “Now what?” he asked.
“They’re coming for us.”
He set down the bags and noticed, behind Betty, a set of narrow railway tracks. A moment later a small tram came down the mountainside and stopped. It was something like a rollercoaster car with a canvas top to keep off sun or rain.