Bel-Air Dead (Stone Barrington 20)

They drove out to Malibu in Vance Calder’s Bentley Arnage, which Stone thought might get them a better parking spot from the valets at the party. He was right.

The dinner party was a mile up the beach toward L.A. from Charlene’s house in the Colony. “Whose party is this?” Stone asked her.

“His name is Jack Schmeltzer; he’s an independent producer, and he has a production deal at Centurion. He’s produced a couple of my pictures, and I still like him. That’s saying a lot.”

The house was a Bauhaus wonderland, glass and very little apparent steel. Once inside, they had a spectacular view of the Pacific with the sun low in the sky, and the dinner crowd, at least forty people by Stone’s estimate, was pretty spectacular, too. The women were all gorgeous, and the men all looked very rich. Stone was glad he’d brought the Bentley.

They had just placed an order with a waiter for drinks when Stone peered through the glass living room wall out onto the deck. There he saw Terry Prince leaning on the rail, holding court with half a dozen people close around him.

“Shall we go out and say hello?” Dino asked.

“Let’s let him come to us,” Stone said.

“Why do you think he will?”

“I sent him a message, sort of. Believe me, he is overwhelmingly curious.”

“What sort of message?”

“It’s complicated; I’ll tell you about it later. I wouldn’t want to be overheard in this crowd.”

Their host, Jack Schmeltzer, appeared, kissed Charlene and Hetty on their cheeks, and introduced himself to Stone and Dino.

“Thanks for letting us come to your home, Jack,” Stone said.

“I’m very glad to have you,” Schmeltzer said. “I’ve heard a lot about you the past couple of days. How’s Jim Long doing?”

“In and out of it, last I heard,” Stone said. “I’m hoping for the best.”

“I hear he’s willing to sell you his shares,” Schmeltzer said.

“The rumor is true.”

“And I hear that would give you control of Centurion.”

“It would give my client control,” Stone said.

Schmeltzer looked toward the front door. “I have more guests arriving,” he said. “Perhaps we could find a moment to talk privately after dinner?”

“Of course,” Stone said.

Schmeltzer wandered off to greet his guests, and Stone looked out at the deck. Terry Prince had disappeared.

“Good evening,” someone said from behind him.

Stone turned to find Prince standing there. He wondered how he had managed to sneak up on him.

“Can we talk?” Prince asked.

34

Prince took Stone’s arm and propelled him to a corner of the room behind the grand piano, the player of which was apparently on break. Stone noticed that four other men wearing studiedly casual outfits moved with them. Prince had security, from all appearances, and Stone wondered why.

Stone extricated his arm from Prince’s grip. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“First of all,” Prince said, “I want to apologize for the tenor of our conversation when we last met. It was not my purpose to establish an adversarial relationship with you or your client, and things, somehow, went awry. I hope we can establish a more cordial atmosphere for discussions from here on in.”

“I hope so, too,” Stone replied. “Now, what discussions?”