"I have a temper, Detective Durkee, but on the occasions when it comes out, I have never harmed another human being."

"When was the last time you fired a handgun?" Bryant asked suddenly.

"I have never fired a pistol," she replied.

"But you know how, don't you?"

"I have never, to the best of my recollection, even held a handgun."

"Mrs. Calder," Durkee asked, "where is your husband's jewelry box?"

"I'd like very much to know, Detective; I had hoped that, by now, you might be able to tell me."

"Where did you hide the jewelry box and the pistol?"

"I didn't hide either of them anywhere," she replied.

"But you say you don't remember anything about the shooting. How could you remember not hiding them?"

"To the very best of my recollection, I have not handled either my husband's jewelry box or his gun."

"Mrs. Calder, do you recall hearing or reading somewhere that perfume applied to the hands and arms removes any trace of having fired a weapon?"

"No, I don't."

"What kind of perfume do you use?"

"I use several, but my favorite is Chanel No. 5."

"Did you use that the night your husband was shot?"

"I don't remember the night my husband was shot."

"Would you use perfume before taking a bath?"

Arrington looked at him as if he were mad. "No."

"Then why would you reek of perfume on getting out of a bath?"

"I use bath oil, Detective, of the same scent as my perfume, but generally speaking, I never reek."

Stone supressed a smile. He sensed that the two detectives were running out of questions, but he didn't rush them.

"Mrs. Calder," Durkee said, "I have to tell you that, after investigating your husband's murder very thoroughly, we have concluded that the two of you were alone in the house when he was shot."

"That hardly seems possible," Arrington replied. "Otherwise, where are the jewelry box and the gun?"

"We believe you hid them after shooting your husband."

"Where? Have you searched our house?"

"We haven't found them-yet," Bryant said.

"Let me know when you do," Arrington said. "Otherwise, I'll have to file an insurance claim."

Durkee stood up. "I believe that's all for now," he said, turning to Stone. "I want to be notified when she leaves the hospital, and I want to know where she goes."

"I'll give you a call," Stone said, walking both men toward the door.

When they were outside, Bryant turned to Stone. "She killed him," he said.

"Nonsense," Stone said. "It's obvious that someone got into the house. Haven't you found any evidence of anyone else?"

The two detectives exchanged a glance.

"I want disclosure," Stone said.

"Are you licensed to practice law in the state of California?" Bryant asked.

"No."

"My advice is to get her a lawyer who is. I'm sure the D.A. will disclose to him."

Stone watched as the two detectives walked to their car. He didn't like the way this was going.

Fourteen.

STONE ARRIVED BACK AT VANCE'S STUDIO BUNGALOW to find a message from Lou Regenstein, whom he'd been meaning to call anyway. He got the studio head on the phone.

"How is Arrington?" Lou asked.

"Much better. Her doctor says she can go home tomorrow."

"Have you given any thought to funeral arrangements?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. I'm sure the studio can do a much better job of this than I can."

"I have a suggestion," Lou said.

"Go ahead."

"We have a cathedral set on our biggest sound stage right now. I'd like to hold a memorial service for Vance there and, in addition to his friends, invite many of the studio employees who have worked with Vance over the years."

"That sounds good to me," Stone said.

"I'd like to invite a small media pool and allow them to tape the service. I think that will go a long way toward keeping them off Arrington's back right now."

"Why don't you give Arrington a call at the Judson Clinic and discuss it with her? I think she's up to it now; she saw the police this afternoon."

"Is Arrington facing any legal difficulties?" Lou asked.

"It's too soon to tell, Lou; the police, not having a suspect, quite naturally look at the spouse. I think we'll just have to wait for them to get past that."

"Have you called Marc Blumberg, my lawyer friend, yet?"

"Not yet; I hope we won't need him. Also, there's a downside to calling him; if somebody in his firm leaked the call to the press, it would make it look as though we expected Arrington to be charged."

"I understand," Lou said. "I'll call Arrington now."

Stone hung up and glanced at his watch. It would be midnight in Sicily, now, and he hadn't called Dolce yet. He knew she liked to stay up late, so he dialed the number.

It rang once, before being picked up by a machine. "I'm entertaining a guest right now," Dolce's voice said, "so go away."

Stone hung up, angry, and tried to think of something else. He thought of Marc Blumberg and dialed his number.

"Mr. Blumberg's office," a woman said.

"My name is Stone Barrington; I'm calling Mr. Blumberg at the suggestion of Lou Regenstein."

"And how can Mr. Blumberg help you, Mr. Barrington?"

He obviously wasn't going to get past this woman without telling her the purpose of his call, and he had no intention of doing that. "Please ask Mr. Blumberg to call me at Centurion Studios." He gave her the number and hung up.

Betty Southard came into the office. "I was pa.s.sing and heard you mention a Blumberg. Marc Blumberg?"

Stone nodded.

"Is Arrington in that that much trouble?" 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. "I'd 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 pa.s.s 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 perfectly 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?"

Stone sat down beside him. "Of course."