Swimming to Catalina (Stone Barrington 4)

“And Ippolito will know within the hour.”

“Probably,” Grant said. “I wonder how the information will affect him. I expect it will confuse and annoy him.”

“I hope so,” Stone said.

37

When Stone arrived back at the Beverly Hills Hotel, he was approached by the parking valet.

“Oh, Mr, Barrington, I thought you said you wouldn’t be needing the SL500 for a while,” the man said.

“That’s right.”

“Well, your friend Miss Tierney left in it about ten minutes ago.”

“She left?” Stone asked incredulously.

“That’s right.”

Stone went into the hotel, baffled, and went to his suite. Barbara’s things were still there, and there was a single note on the bedside table.

Dear Stone,

I left my makeup kit on Marty’s boat, so I’ve gone to pick it up. I might do some window shopping, too, but I’ll be back later this afternoon.

Barbara

“Oh, Jesus,” Stone groaned. He ran down the stairs and ordered his car.

The parking valet looked baffled when he brought it. “Mr. Barrington, if you’re only going to be a couple of minutes, we can keep your car here up front,” the man said.

“Sorry about that,” Stone said, slamming the door and yanking the car into gear. He drove to Marina Del Rey as quickly as he could, worried that Martin Barone might have turned up and caught Barbara in the act of moving out. He wasn’t sure of what story she’d tell under pressure, and the last thing he wanted was to put this girl in any danger. When he arrived, Arrington’s car was parked outside the chandlery.

He parked and walked quickly down the pontoons toward where Paloma was berthed.

She seemed deserted. He looked around for unwelcome visitors, then jumped aboard. The cabin door was locked, and he couldn’t see Barbara inside. He got off the boat in a hurry and started back toward his car; then, a couple of pontoons away, he saw something that gave him pleasure. A large crane on a barge was being maneuvered between the pontoons. He walked down the main pontoon and found a spot where he could watch the salvage operation from a distance. It took the divers a few minutes to get lifting straps under Maria’s hull, and then the crane went to work. Slowly, the sports fisherman broke the water and was raised to pontoon level. The divers stripped off their wetsuits and got pumps going to empty her of water. It would take quite a while, Stone reflected with satisfaction. He hoped her interior was thoroughly ruined.

He walked back toward the parking lot, and as he came back up the ramp he stopped in his tracks. Arrington’s car was gone. He climbed back on his old perch on the ice machine and looked up and down the street, but he could not see the car. He hopped down in time to see a Porsche turn into the parking lot and take the space that Arrington’s Mercedes had vacated.

A slickly handsome man in a pinstriped suit got out, locked the car, and walked down the ramp to the pontoon. Stone watched as he made his way toward where Paloma was berthed. This, he decided, was Martin Barone, and he was definitely not in Mexico. Barone disappeared among the boats, then, as Stone was about to leave, he suddenly reappeared, running.

Stone got into his car and pulled down the sun visor. Barone, in a great hurry, ran to the intersection and looked up and down the street, obviously looking for Barbara. He came back talking to himself, looking very unhappy indeed. He stood in the parking lot, deep in thought, for a minute, then got into the Porsche and drove out of the car park.

What the hell, Stone thought, let’s see where he goes. Staying at least a block back, he followed the sports car into the canyons of downtown Los Angeles. I know where he’s going, Stone thought, and he was right. Barone turned into the garage at the headquarters building for the Safe Harbor Bank. Stone wished he could follow him up to Ippolito’s offices and listen to him explain that his girlfriend had run off with Arrington Calder’s Mercedes. He would enjoy that conversation.

Stone sat in his car, waiting, for some forty minutes, then, suddenly, the Porsche emerged from the garage and turned east. Stone followed the car to Beverly Hills and watched as it turned into the gates of a house on Beverly Drive. He made a note of the address, then drove back to his hotel.

“Any sign of Miss Tierney?” he asked the parking valet as he surrendered his car.

“No, Sir, not yet.”

“Thanks,” Stone said, then went to his suite.

He had been there for two hours, idly changing channels on the television, when Barbara walked in.

“Hi,” she said brightly.

“Hi,” he replied. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”