Bel-Air Dead (Stone Barrington 20)

“Chocolates?”

“Again, not exactly.”

“Well, I just can’t wait! I’m on pins and needles!”

“Oh, shut up. I have to go to work, now; they get up early at Boeing.” He hung up.

Stone turned to Dino. “I have to be at Prince’s bank, on Wilshire, when it opens.”

“You do that,” Dino said.

Arrington came out to the patio in pajamas and a dressing gown, glowing, in spite of no makeup. “Good morning, all,” she said. “I think this is going to be a wonderful day!”

“Talk to Dino,” Stone said, handing her Prince’s check. “In the meantime I need you to endorse this check.”

“Of course,” she said, signing it with a flourish.

Manolo appeared to take their breakfast order, and he was holding a FedEx box. “This just came for you, Mr. Stone,” he said, handing it to him.

Stone looked at the waybill. “It’s a gift from Bill Eggers,” he said. He ripped open the box and shook another, more elegant box from it. He opened the box and removed some tissue paper. Underneath was a stack of Woodman amp; Weld stationery and envelopes and a smaller box. Stone shook that open, and it was filled with cards. He held one up and read it: it proclaimed him a partner of Woodman amp; Weld. He handed one each to Arrington and Dino. “My card,” he said, then he looked at the letterhead and found his name among those of the partners listed there. “Congratulations!” Arrington and Dino said simultaneously. Stone glowed.

51

Stone left the house at eight-thirty and drove down to Wilshire. He was right, the Wells Fargo branch was near Prince’s building: it was in his building. He parked in the underground garage and took the escalator to the ground floor. He was ten minutes early, so he strolled over to the building’s directory and looked at the list of occupants. There were two: Wells Fargo Bank and Prince Properties. Management occupied the two top floors, and all the others seemed to be Prince subsidiaries, since they all had his name in their titles.

A man came to the bank door from the inside and unlocked two deadbolts in the glass doors. Open for business. Stone walked inside and approached the first desk, where a middle-aged woman in a business suit sat. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, how may I help you?”

Stone handed her one of his new cards. “I’d like to speak to the manager, please. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

“One moment, Mr. Barrington,” she said, reading his name from the card. She got up, walked a few yards to a mahogany door, rapped on it, and then went inside.

Stone looked around. Seemed to be a normal banking day. People made deposits; people cashed checks; people filled out loan applications.

The woman returned. “Mr. Woolich will see you,” she said. “Right through that door.” She pointed.

Stone followed her finger to the mahogany door, knocked twice, and entered. A plump, balding man in his fifties sat behind a mahogany desk. He rose and offered his hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington. Please be seated.”

Stone sat himself in a leather armchair.

“How may I be of service?” Woolich asked.

“I’d like to cash a check,” Stone replied. He handed it to Woolich.

Woolich took a look at it, apparently thought he’d read it incorrectly, then took another look at it. He gulped. “You wish to cash this check?”

Stone handed him a copy of the sales agreement. “Pursuant to this agreement with Mr. Prince.”

Woolich read the document carefully. “Well, this certainly seems to be in order, Mr. Barrington, but we don’t have that much cash in the branch’s vault, and I’m not sure we have that much in the city of Los Angeles.”

“Forgive me,” Stone said. “I didn’t make myself clear. I wish to wire the funds to the trust account of the law firm of Woodman amp; Weld, in New York.” He handed Woolich another of his cards upon which he had written the account number.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Woolich said. “I had visions of having to hire an armored car.”

Stone chuckled appreciatively.