The following morning they played tennis, and Betty turned out to be very good indeed.
“I’ll bet you beat most of the men you play with,” Stone said when they had finished.
“I beat all the men I play with,” Betty replied, tossing him a towel.
They had lunch, and Betty said it was time to leave. “They like everybody out by midafternoon, so they can get ready for the new week and give the staff some time off.”
“I’ll get the bill,” Stone said.
“It’s on me,” she replied.
“It’s too expensive; let’s at least share it.”
“I’ll take it out in sex,” she said, laughing.
“IOU.”
“You bet your ass you do.”
When Stone had driven down the mountain and they were back on the road to L.A., he started to ask questions. “I’m sorry, but I have to,” he said. “What did Vance say to you on Friday?”
“Not much, which is unusual,” she replied. “He came in at mid-morning and shut himself up in his office, told me to hold all calls.”
“Who called?”
“Lou Regenstein, but not the other two,” she said. “I know that’s what you wanted to know.”
“Was Vance there all day?”
“He didn’t leave until late afternoon; had lunch at his desk. It was very unlike him. Normally, he’d have lunch with a friend, often Lou, and he’s usually in great spirits after finishing shooting, but not on Friday.”
“Have you ever seen him like that before?”
“No. He was worried, I think, and I’ve never seen him worried before. Vance is not, by nature, a worrier.”
“Did he give any indication of what he was worried about?”
“None; he hardly spoke to me all day.”
“But it must have been Arrington.”
“Maybe.”
“My cop friend, Rick Grant, thinks she might be having an affair. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Sure, I guess. It surprises me when married people don’t have affairs.”
As they entered Interstate 10 for the quick drive back to Los Angeles, Stone thought for a moment that he caught sight of a silver Lincoln Town Car a quarter of a mile behind them, but then he wasn’t sure. They drove the rest of the way in silence, and Stone dropped Betty at her house, after having driven around the block a couple of times to be sure no one was watching. Then he headed back to his hotel.
When he walked into his suite, he had the immediate impression that someone had been there, someone besides the maid. He walked through the place cautiously, ready for anything, then he went through his belongings to see if anything had been disturbed. The place was neat, as only a hotel maid could leave it, but there was one anomaly. A glass sat on the bar, one he had not left there. Stone picked it up, holding it by two fingers at the very base, and held it up against the light. Somebody’s fingerprints were there, and they couldn’t be his.
25
S tone slept late the next morning, and when he was finally up and dressed he went to his kitchenette, found a plastic garbage bag under a counter, slipped the bar glass into it, and left the building. From his car he called Rick Grant.
“Rick, it’s Stone. Can we meet somewhere for half a minute? I’ve got something for you.”
“Where are you?”