Dear Stone,
Just a quick note to let you know I’m not dead. My research is going well. I’ve been spending all my time with Vance, who has been a dear. I’ve been staying at his house, which is very beautiful, and I’ve met many friends of his. The life out here is really wonderful.
Oh, Chip McGrath at the New York Times Book Review has asked me to review a big
new book on the history of Hollywood and the studios—front page of the review, if you can believe it. It’s a nice showcase for me.
I might stay out here for a week or two when I finish the piece. This California living gets under your skin.
Got to run. We’re off to dinner.
Love,
Arrington
Stone was hurt. After all he’d said to her in his letter, she hadn’t even referred to it. Then it hit him: his letter had gone down with Chester’s airplane, in Libby Manning’s purse. She had never received it. He swore at himself for not remembering that before now. I’ll write her tomorrow, he thought. First thing.
Chapter
37
Stone returned to Expansive with some trepidation. He was not looking forward to talking with Allison about this, partly because she did not need additional problems while facing a trial for murder, and partly because he did not relish a scene with her, and he had come to know that she was adept at scenes.
To his surprise, he found her packing.
“Oh, hi,” she said, stuffing things into a duffel. There were two others, already full, on the aft cabin bed.
“Going somewhere?” he asked. He really wanted to know.
“Sure,” she said, “next week. I didn’t have anything to do, so I thought I would get some things together, and then when the trial is over I can get out of here pronto!”
“I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of here,” he said. “What will you do about the boat?”
“Oh, I don’t know; probably take your advice and sell it in Fort Lauderdale. I don’t want to think about the boat; I’m sick of it, and once I’m out of here I never want to see it again.”
He could understand that, too. “We have to talk for a minute,” he said.
“What about?” She kept packing.
“Could you stop that for a minute? I need your full attention.”
She stopped packing and sat down on the bed. “Okay, shoot.”
He sat down beside her. “I had a call from a lawyer in Palm Beach who represents Libby’s mother.”
Her eyes widened. “How the hell did he know to call you?”
“Libby told him where she was going, and why; also, he watches television, I guess.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He was looking for Libby; her mother hadn’t heard from her. He didn’t know about the crash.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Of course. Sir Winston hadn’t been able to find a next of kin. It was the proper thing to do.”
“What’s this about a mother?”