Bel-Air Dead (Stone Barrington 20)

Driving back to the Calder house, Dino said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so sad.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad,” Stone said.

50

Stone slept fitfully, when he slept at all. He had a recurring dream of Terry Prince on a bulldozer, razing the soundstages at Centurion. He finally got out of bed, shaved, showered, dressed, and walked out to the patio.

It was too early for Manolo to be about, but Dino had made a pot of coffee in the guesthouse kitchenette, and he held up a cup for Stone. “Feeling any better?” he asked as Stone took a seat.

“No,” Stone said, “not at all.”

“I wish there were something I could do to help,” Dino said, then he brightened. “Actually, there is something I can do.”

“What?”

“You’ve got Arrington’s signature on the agreement to sell this property to Prince, haven’t you? And his check for twenty-five million dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s my advice: cash the check, get it cleared as quickly as possible, and give Prince the agreement as soon as you see him.”

“Why are you giving me that advice?” Stone asked.

Dino shrugged. “Suffice it to say that it’s my best advice, and I don’t think you would regret taking it.” Stone started to respond, but Dino held up a hand. “That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

“All right, I won’t press you. I’ll call Eggers when New York opens for business and get it done.”

Dino smiled happily. “This is going to be a good day,” he said. “I can feel it coming.”

“I wish I could share your optimism,” Stone said.

“What’s the song say? ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’ ”

“That’s mindless optimism,” Stone said.

“No, it’s not. I told you, I have a feeling.”

“You get these feelings all the time, do you?”

“No, just once in a while, but they’re always right.”

“How about the Centurion business? You have a feeling about that?”

“Nope, just about the day in general. I think we should have a celebratory dinner.”

“Even if you don’t know what we’ll be celebrating?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know anything,” Dino said. “I just don’t know how the Centurion thing is going to play out.”

“You’re making me crazy,” Stone said. “I’ve never seen you like this. Did you take some weird kind of sleeping pill that hasn’t worn off yet?”

“Nope, I never need sleeping pills. I sleep like a Labrador retriever.”

“Why do you say that? You don’t have a Labrador retriever.”

“No, but I met one, once, and I was impressed with the way he slept.”

Stone’s cell buzzed, and he picked it up. “Hello?”