Stone had used the black convertible once before, when in L.A., and he recalled that it did not have vanity plates, so it would n
ot be immediately recognized by the media. In fact, he reckoned, a black Mercedes convertible would, in Beverly Hills and Bel-Air, be a practically anonymous car. He backed out of the garage, drove around the house and, using his remote, let himself out of the utility gate and onto the street beyond. He checked to be sure that he was not followed, then drove to Centurion Studios.
The guard was momentarily confused to see Vance Calder's car arrive with a different driver, but when Stone gave his name, he was immediately issued with a studio pass.
"The one on the windshield will get this car in," the guard said. "Use the other pass, if you drive a different car."
"Can you direct me to Mr. Calder's bungalow, please?" The guard gave him directions, and five minutes later, he had parked in Vance's reserved parking spot. The bungalow was just that; it looked like one of the older, smaller Beverly Hills houses below Wilshire. Stone walked through the front door into a living room.
A panel in the wall slid open, and Betty Southard stuck her head through the opening. "I knew you'd turn up," she said. She left her office, walked into the living room and gave him a big hug and a kiss. "I'm glad to see you again," she said.
"I'm glad to see you, too; I'm going to need a lot of your help."
"Lou Regenstein called and said you'd be using Vance's office. She waved him into a panelled study, much the same as the one at the house, but larger, with a conference table at one end. "Make yourself at home," she said. "The phones are straightforward; you can make your own calls, or I'll place them for you, depending on whether you want to impress somebody."
"Thank you, Betty," Stone said, placing his briefcase on the desk. "I have some personal news for you; have you seen Vance's will?"
"Not the new one; he made that recently, and he hadn't brought a copy to the office."
"You're a beneficiary," Stone said. "He left you a million dollars."
Betty's jaw dropped, and a hand went to her mouth. "I think I'd better sit down," she said, and she did, taking a chair by the desk. Stone sat down behind it. "You didn't know?"
"I hadn't a clue," she said. "I mean, I suppose I would have expected something after fifteen years with him-I joined him at twelve, you know," she said archly.
Stone laughed. "Now you're a rich woman; what are you going to do?"
Betty sighed. "I haven't the foggiest idea," she said. "Lou has told me I could have my pick of jobs at the studio, but I don't know, I might just retire. I've saved some money, and I've done well in the bull market, and there's a studio pension, too; Vance got me fully vested in that last year, as a Christmas present."
"Then you can be a woman of leisure."
"A lady who lunches? I'm not sure I could handle that. Certainly, I'll stay on long enough to help you settle Vance's affairs-and Arrington's, too," she said darkly. "I'm sure she'll have a lot to settle."
"And what does that mean?" Stone asked.
"Oh, I don't know. I guess you know that Arrington and I have never gotten along too well-yes, you can call it jealousy, if you like, but there were other reasons."
"Tell me about them."
"Stone, tell me straight: Did Arrington shoot Vance?"
"I haven't the slightest reason to think so," Stone replied. "And I don't know why it even occurred to you to ask the question."
"As I understand it, the police have not cleared her."
"They haven't even talked to her, but I expect them to clear her when they do. She's at the Judson Clinic."
"Is she ill?"
"Not exactly, but she's been better. When she saw Vance on the floor of their home with a bullet in his head she pretty much went to pieces."
"Yes, she would, wouldn't she?" Betty said with a hint of sarcasm.
Stone ignored that. "I hope she can get the police interview out of the way soon, maybe even today. It will depend on what her doctor says."
"Look, I certainly don't have any evidence, but-call it woman's intuition, if you like-I think Arrington is perfectly capable of having killed Vance, then pretending to break down, just to keep from having to talk to the police."
"Tell me why you think that."