Swimming to Catalina Page 11

  “Well, I’m sitting here looking at Arrington’s car. Rick Grant got it found for me.”

  “She’s not in it?”

  “Nope.”

  “You got any idea what’s going on?”

  “I wish I could tell you I did. I’m just looking for a way into this thing, and so far, except for the car, I’m hitting a blank wall. Oh, there were a couple of hoods following me last night, but I hope they think I’ve gone back to New York.”

  “Anything I can do from here?”

  “I can’t think of anything. I’m getting good help from Rick, though.”

  “Glad to hear it. Call me if anything breaks.”

  “As long as it’s not my neck.”

  “Yeah. See ya.” Dino hung up.

  Stone sat for another hour, watching the car. Bored, he got out, looked around, and approached the vehicle. The top was up, and it was locked. There was a pack of matches from Elaine’s on the passenger seat. He tried the trunk; that was locked, too. He went back to his car. After another hour had passed, he had to go to the toilet; he squirmed for a while, then went into the chandlery.

  “Pardon me, have you got a john I can use?”

  “Sure,” the girl behind the counter said. “Down the hall, second door on your left.”

  Stone looked out at the car, then down the hallway. “Would you do me a favor for just a minute?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Could you keep an eye on the white Mercedes convertible, parked right there?” He pointed.

  “Sure.”

  He walked quickly to the men’s room, used it, and hurried out. The Mercedes was gone.

  “It’s gone,” Stone said to the girl.

  “Yeah, a woman just got in it and left.”

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “What? Did you want me to shoot out the tires or something?”

  “Sorry, thanks for your help. Oh, what did she look like?”

  “Tall, dark hair, wearing a bikini with a guy’s shirt over it.”

  “Thanks.” Stone ran for the parking lot and looked up and down. The car was nowhere in sight. He ran to his own car and raced through the car park to the street, looking both ways. Lots of traffic, no white Mercedes. No Arrington.

  He pounded on the wheel again and again, swearing.

  22

  S tone found the Greek restaurant on Melrose, was seated at a good table, and ordered a drink. He had half an hour’s wait before Rick Grant showed up. “Sorry to be late,” Grant said as he slid into a chair and ordered a scotch. “Somebody squatted in my office for half an hour just as I was about to leave.”

  “That’s okay; it gave me some thinking time, not that it did much good.”

  “How’d it go with Arrington’s car?”

  “Your guys did good; they were still there when I arrived. Marina Del Rey is a big place; lots of people there. I waited and watched for more than two hours, and the second I went to the can she drove away.”

  “The girl was the driver?”

  “Yeah; somebody saw her.”

  “Were you in plain sight all of this time?”

  “Most of it I was sitting in my car; I did walk around a little when I first got there.”

  “Could somebody have recognized you?”

  “Well, I was standing on top of an ice machine with binoculars for a good five minutes. I’d have been hard to miss.”

  “If somebody had an eye on you, she could have waited for you to disappear into the john before driving off.”

  “I don’t think Arrington is avoiding me,” Stone replied. “After all, she’s tried to telephone me twice.”

  “Good point. Was anybody with her when she drove off?”

  “No, and what’s more, she was wearing a bikini under a man’s shirt.”

  “Sounds like she was just sunning herself on somebody’s boat and decided to leave.”

  “Yeah, that’s twice she’s been seen alone in her car, and I have to think she could have driven anywhere she wanted to, including back to Calder’s house.”

  “Doesn’t sound like there’s any duress involved.”

  Stone sighed. “There’s all kinds of duress.”

  Grant handed him a menu. “Let’s order.”

  “You order for me; I don’t think I can get my mind around a menu right now.”

  Grant ordered for both of them, and soon Stone was enjoying a selection of pâtés and a moussaka, along with a Cypriot wine.

  “Feeling better?” Grant asked.

  “Yeah, I am; I guess I was a little depressed.”

  “Not without cause. You’ve got a real mystery on your hands.”

  Stone looked around; the restaurant was only half full and was very quiet. “You mind if I make a phone call?” He produced his pocket phone.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Calder called me in New York; he thinks I’m back there.” He dialed the number in Bel-Air.

  “Good evening, Mr. Calder’s residence.” It was the Filipino butler.

  “Good evening, this is Stone Barrington; I’m returning Mr. Calder’s call.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Barrington; please hold.”

  “Stone?”

  “Hello, Vance.”

  “Did you have a good flight home?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “I understand you stayed over for a couple of days.”

  “Betty is very attractive.”

  “Of course she is; I don’t blame you a bit.”

  “Is Arrington back home yet?”

  “Not yet; she’s still out in the Valley, but everything is all right.”

  “Vance, are you absolutely certain about that? I have to tell you that my impression when I was out there is that things are not entirely all right.”

  “Well, I can see how you might have gotten that impression, but I assure you, they are.”

  “How’s shooting going on your film?”

  “We wrapped today,” Calder said, “and I think we’ve got a winner. Certainly your work helped.”

  “Thank you. Well, please give Arrington my best when she’s home. Ask her to give me a call when she has a moment.”

  “Of course, yes. Goodbye, Stone.”

  Stone closed the phone. “It’s all very weird,” he said to Grant.

  “How is it weird?”

  “Vance’s wife has disappeared; I don’t think he has any idea where she is, but he pretends she’s staying with a friend in the Valley, and that he’s talking to her.”

  “Why is that weird? Sounds reasonable to me.”

  “She was seen in Marina Del Rey this afternoon, so I know she’s not out in the Valley.”

  “Maybe that’s just what she told Calder.”

  Stone blinked. “She’s with another man, you mean?”

  “That’s what I mean. If you look at this as purely a domestic matter, it all fits. They have a fight, and she takes off for a few days; not the first time that has happened. Calder panics and calls you. You arrive, and Calder is feeling a little stupid for having done so, so he entertains you for a while, then ships you back to New York. In the meantime, the Calders haven’t settled their differences, one of which might be another man, so she hasn’t come home yet. Maybe she’s cranking up for a divorce.”

  “But why would they stick me in Vance’s movie, pay me a lot of money, then replace me with another actor?”

  “To keep you out of Calder’s face about his wife. He certainly has enough power to ask the producer to do that; maybe he even reimbursed Centurion for their costs. He’s rich enough.”

  “Yes, he is, I suppose. But if the explanation is as simple as that, why were Ippolito’s men following me last night?”

  “Maybe Ippolito is doing Calder a favor. Look, I think your presence here has been an embarrassment for Calder—it shows him up as something of a schmuck—and movie stars don’t like being seen to be schmucks, not to mention cuckolds.”

  “Why would the two guys who were following
me break into Betty’s house and search it?”

  “To find out if you’re still in town?”

  “Maybe. I think I shook them by changing cars.” He thought for a moment. “Why would Arrington call me from Grimaldi’s?”

  “Because she wanted to talk to you?”

  “What would she be doing there?”

  “Maybe she’s seeing somebody who frequents the place.”

  “So you’re saying that every move that everybody has made this week can be explained by a domestic quarrel and a boyfriend on the side?”

  “Stone, try and look at this business like a cop. Doesn’t that scenario answer all the questions? If you had been assigned to investigate possible foul play, would you continue to investigate at this point?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Stone admitted.

  “So, maybe your personal stake in all this is what’s driving you. I mean, I admit that a lot of screwy stuff has happened in a very short time, but I’ve seen screwier stuff happen without a crime being committed, haven’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not underrating the value of a good hunch; if you’ve got a hunch, then that’s a good enough reason to pursue this.”

  “I guess a hunch is all I’ve got,” Stone said. “What would you do, in my place?”

  Grant thought about that for a minute. “I guess I’d pursue it until I was convinced one way or the other.” He laughed.

  Stone laughed with him. “I guess that’s what I’m going to do,” he said. “I’m going to find out what’s going on, one way or the other.”

  23

  S tone was wakened by a ringing telephone at his bedside. He tried to ignore it, but it rang on and on. Finally, he picked up the instrument. “Hello?” he said grumpily.

  “Rise and shine,” Betty said. “Today, you’re mine.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly eight o’clock.”

  “I haven’t slept like that in months,” he said. “I could have kept going another four hours.”

  “Today we play, pal. Now here’s what you do; you pack an overnight bag, and don’t bring a necktie. A swimsuit and tennis clothes would be nice, but if you didn’t bring them we can pick them up later. Got that?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a favorite place of mine, and that’s all you need to know. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

  “No, don’t come here. Take a cab to the Beverly Hills Hotel, make sure nobody’s following you, and I’ll pick you up at the front door in an hour.”

  “Whatever you say, Sir,” she replied, then hung up.

  Stone sat up in bed and thought about how he felt. A hell of a lot better than last night, was the verdict. He’d gotten some sound sleep, and he didn’t feel the heavy weight of depression that had burdened him the previous evening. He struggled out of bed and into a shower.

  Betty was standing at the entrance of the hotel, a suitcase beside her, when he drove up, having made sure that no one was behind him.

  “Hullo, sailor,” she said, tossing her bag into the back seat and getting in.

  “Where to?” he asked, kissing her.

  “Just follow my directions.”

  “You had breakfast?”

  “Only a cup of coffee.”

  “There’s some stuff in a box in the back seat, from my kitchenette.”

  She got them both a croissant and a container of orange juice, and started giving Stone directions. Soon they were on the Santa Monica Freeway, heading east.

  “So where are we headed?” he asked.

  “I told you, no questions,” she replied tartly, “and I don’t want to talk about anything else, either. I just want to drive and relax. We’ll be there in time for lunch.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied obediently. The road became the San Bernardino Freeway, and he thought they must be headed for Palm Springs, but they zipped right through the town.

  “Take a left on Sixty-two,” she said. It was the first time she’d spoken in an hour.

  Stone started seeing signs for Joshua Tree and Twentynine Palms, but they blew through Joshua Tree, and beyond Twentynine Palms was a zillion square miles of desert, if he remembered his geography. The terrain was arid, and mountains rose to their left.

  “Take the next right,” Betty said.

  Stone slowed. “It’s a narrow dirt road, and it seems to go up that mountain,” he said.

  “Take it, and shut up.”

  Stone turned right onto the dirt road. There were no signs of any kind and no road number. Soon they left the plain and started to climb, and he was beginning to feel nervous. He had been trained to suspect everybody, and Betty was not exempt. She had been with him when they had been followed from the restaurant, and now he was with her on a dirt road to nowhere, and he wasn’t feeling great about it. He checked the fuel gauge; he still had half a tank of gas. His options were narrow; he could continue to follow orders and get himself into God knew what, or he could turn around and head back to L.A.

  “Take that little road to the left,” she said.

  This road was even less promising than the one they were on, and Stone stopped the car. “I have to know where we’re going,” he said.

  She turned and looked at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

  He made his decision, though he wasn’t happy about it; he turned left. This little track was very steep and deeply rutted, and he drove slowly of necessity. They were near the mountaintop when she issued further instructions.

  “Turn right,” she said.

  He turned, went around a sharp bend, and found himself in a small parking lot, along with a dozen other cars, all expensive.

  “You get the bags,” Betty said and got out. She went to a post that held a box, opened it, and took out a telephone handset. “This is Betty Southard,” she said. “We’re in the parking lot.”

  Stone trudged over to her with the bags. “Now what?” he asked.

  “They’re coming for us.”

  He set down the bags and noticed, behind Betty, a set of narrow railway tracks. A moment later a small tram came down the mountainside and stopped. It was something like a rollercoaster car with a canvas top to keep off sun or rain.

  “Hop in,” she said.

  He placed their bags in a luggage rack and got in beside her. She pressed a button, and the car started up the mountain. Stone looked back at the desert behind them; he reckoned they were at least four thousand feet above the desert floor now, and his ears were popping regularly.

  The car leveled off and came to a stop beneath an awning; a young man in a polo shirt and Bermuda shorts stepped up and took their bags. “Welcome to Tiptop,” he said. “Please follow me.”

  They walked up a short flight of steps and suddenly they were at the mountaintop. They were in a small lobby with windows that looked out over both sides of the mountain range, and the view was spectacular. Betty signed a registration card, and the young man took them out a rear door, past a large pool, and to a cottage just beyond.

  “Lunch begins at noon,” he said, “and your program starts at one.”

  Stone tipped him and he left them alone in the spacious and beautifully decorated cottage. There was a sitting room, a bedroom, a bath, and a wet bar. “Our program?” he asked.

  “I told you,” she said, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him, “no questions. It’s nearly noon; we may as well have some lunch.” She took his hand and led him to a table at poolside. Half a dozen other couples were seated around the pool now, and two of them were naked.

  “Well, I guess it’s warm enough,” Stone said, nodding toward them.

  “Clothes are optional,” she replied. “I’ll be shedding mine when our program starts, and I won’t be putting them back on until dinnertime, if then. You can do whatever makes you comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” Stone said. “I certainly don’t object to nudity where you’re concerned.”

  “Order,” she said.


  Stone had a delicious lobster salad, and they shared a bottle of very good chardonnay. “Don’t I get to ask you any questions about anything?”

  “Not until we leave this place,” she said. “Until then, you are mine to command. Try to keep that in mind.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, sipping his wine. He was relieved that Ippolito’s men were not sharing the table with them.

  “Isn’t this a beautiful spot?” she asked.

  “It certainly is. How do you know about it?”

  “I’ve been here once before. It’s very private; the phone number is unlisted, and in order to get your first reservation, a former guest has to recommend you. It’s practically a club.”

  “I like the clubhouse,” Stone said, looking around, “and I can’t wait to start the program.”

  “Looks like we’re starting now,” Betty said, nodding toward an approaching young woman, who was wearing a short cotton robe.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Southard,” she said, “and to you, Mr. Smith. Your mud bath is ready.”

  “Mud bath?” Stone repeated.

  “Shut up and do as you’re told,” Betty said. “I apologize for Mr. Smith,” she said to the young woman. “He’s a New Yorker, and he’s experiencing culture shock.”

  “That’s quite all right,” the woman replied. “He’s not our first New Yorker. They seem to loosen up after the mud bath.”

  Stone stood up. “Do with me as you will,” he said.

  24

  T he young woman led them down a flagstone path rimmed with dense desert plantings for a hundred yards, then opened a high bamboo gate. They were outdoors, except for the bamboo screen through which they had entered, and a thatched roof that kept off the strong sun. Under the roof were two rectangular tubs, carved from stone and filled with steaming, bubbling mud.

  “I’ll take your clothes,” the young woman said. “By the way, my name is Lisa.”

  “How do you do, Lisa?” Stone said, stripping off his clothes and handing them to her. Betty did the same, and with Lisa’s help, they lowered themselves into the tubs.

  “I’ll take your clothes to your suite, and I’ll return in half an hour,” Lisa said. She set two pitchers, one of iced water, the other of lemonade, on a stool between them, along with paper cups. “If you get too warm, drink something, or just get out of the tub.” She took their clothes and left.