Bel-Air Dead (Stone Barrington 20)

“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.

46

Stone had hardly hung up the phone when Arrington padded into his room, shucked off her robe, revealing all, and slithered into bed next to him.

“I was waiting for you to come to me,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I had to make a phone call.”

“That’s all right,” she said, “I’m here now.” She felt under the covers for him.

“Right where you should be,” Stone said.

“Do you have to get up early in the morning?” she asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Good, because I’m going to keep you busy.”

And she did.

Stone woke up early in spite of himself. He tried to sneak out of bed to the bathroom, but she snagged his wrist.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, pressing herself against him. “Do you remember when we started every morning this way?”

“I certainly do,” he said, kissing her. That had been back when she was practically living with him in New York, before she had met Vance Calder and he had stolen her away to Bel-Air.

She rolled over and sat on top of him, taking him inside her. “There,” she said, “I’ve got you pinned.”

“You surely have,” he said, “and I’m enjoying the experience.” They both enjoyed it for a few minutes until they shared an orgasm.

Stone and Arrington were having breakfast on the terrace.

“We need to talk about Prince’s offer for your property here,” he said, handing her the contract and the twenty-five-million-dollar check.

“Why, it’s a personal check!” she said, looking at it. “I didn’t know anybody wrote personal checks in that amount.”

“He wanted to impress you,” Stone said.

“Well, I’m impressed. What’s your advice on this sale?”

“First, let me ask you a couple of questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you really ready to sell the property? Would it make you sad to see it go?”