"Is Arrington in that much trouble?"
"It's just a precaution," Stone replied. "I think it's best to be ready for anything."
"I suppose so," she said. "How about some dinner tonight?"
"I'd like that," Stone said. He hadn't been looking forward to being sequestered at the Calder house, and Dolce's behavior had removed any guilt he might have felt about seeing another woman. "Book us at your favorite restaurant."
"Pick me up at seven-thirty?"
"Sure."
"You remember the address?"
"How could I forget?"
The phone rang, and Betty picked up the one on the desk "Mr. Calder's bungalow?" She handed the phone to Stone. "Marc Blumberg."
"Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Blumberg," Stone said. "Lou Regenstein has suggested we meet to discuss something very important."
"Of course," Blumberg said. "Tomorrow morning okay?"
Stone could hear diary pages turning. "Id rather not come to your office, for reasons I'll explain later. "Would it be possible for you to meet me at Centurion Studios after office hours?"
"I'll be finished here by five-thirty," Blumberg replied. "I could be there by six, but I'll only have about forty-five minutes; I have to get home and change for dinner."
"Six will be fine," Stone said. "I'll leave instructions for you at the gate." He hung up. "Betty," he said, "will you have a pass and directions to the bungalow at the main gate? Blumberg is coming here at six."
"Consider it done," she replied.
"Do you mind if I don't change for dinner?" he asked. "I won't have time to go back to Vance's."
"No problem. When is Arrington getting out of the hospital?"
"Tomorrow, I hope."
"Do you think you should be living at the house then?"
"You have a dirty mind."
"You bet I do; I have two suggestions."
"What?"
"The first is, move in with me. I managed to make you comfortable the last time you were here."
"I think it's best that I just move back to the Bel-Air," Stone said. "What's your second suggestion?"
"Vance has… had a place at Malibu; I think that might be enough distance between you and Arrington, and I've got the keys."
"That's a thought," Stone said. "I'll let you know."
* * *
Marc Blumberg bustled into the bungalow promptly at six, a small, fit-looking, deeply tanned man of fifty in a perfecdy cut suit and gleaming shoes.
Stone shook his hand. "Can I get you a drink?"
"I'm okay," Blumberg said, taking a seat on a leather sofa. "I believe I've heard of you, Stone. May I call you Stone?"