Part 20 (1/2)
”Haven't you ever said you were going to kill somebody?”
”No, not seriously.”
”Neither has Arrington-seriously.”
”You're sweet, standing up for her like that. You really think she's innocent?”
”I really do,” Stone said. ”Or I wouldn't say so.”
”So, what's your strategy going to be at trial?” somebody asked.
”That will be for Marc Blumberg to decide; he's the lead attorney in the case. I'm just helping out when I can and handling Arrington's personal affairs.”
”Oh, so Arrington had affairs, too?” someone asked.
”Her business affairs,” Stone said, wagging a finger at her. ”There's an estate to settle and a lot of other things to be taken care of.”
”Didn't Vance have a lawyer?”
”Yes, but Arrington is ent.i.tled to her own representation.”
”So, what have you handled for her?”
”Ladies, you'll have to forgive me; I've said about all I can.”
”Oh, shoot,” Berends said. ”And there was so so much I wanted to know.” much I wanted to know.”
”I'm sorry to disappoint you,” Stone said.
The absence of further information seemed to cast a pall over the luncheon, and soon the women began leaving. Finally, Stone was left alone with Charlene Joiner.
”Thank you, Ramon,” she said to the houseman, who was clearing the dishes. ”Just put those things in the dishwasher, and you and Reba can go. Thank you for coming in today.” She watched the man go into the kitchen, then turned to Stone. ”Alone at last,” she said, standing up and slipping out of the sarong. ”I hope you don't mind if I get some sun.”
”Not at all,” Stone said. To his surprise, she didn't stop with the sarong; she unhooked her bra, freeing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and shucked off the bikini bottom. He noted that there were no sun lines on her body.
She stretched like a cat. She was tall and slender, and she obviously took very good care of herself. Her legs were long, her hips were narrow, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were impressive.
”They're original equipment,” she said, catching Stone's glance.
Stone laughed. ”I'm glad to hear it. You said you had some information for me.” He tried to keep his tone light and his breathing regular.
She settled on the chaise beside his, turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. ”Yes, I do. It may not be important, but I thought you ought to know about it.”
”I'm all ears.”
”Vance and I use the same gardening service, which takes care of the grounds of both his Malibu and Bel-Air houses. The man, whose name is Felipe, was due here on Monday morning to cut the gra.s.s and do some gardening work, and he didn't show up. I called the service, and they sent somebody else that afternoon.”
Stone waited for this to become relevant. ”Go on.”
”The man who came in the afternoon didn't do a very good job, so I called his boss and asked when Felipe would be back. He said he had called Felipe's house-he apparently lived with a sister-and was told that he had returned to Mexico over the weekend, and he didn't know when he'd be back.”
”Did Felipe also work at the Calders' house?”
”Yes; he worked there last Friday and on Sat.u.r.day, the day Vance was killed.”
”And he suddenly went back to Mexico on the Sunday?”
”On the Sat.u.r.day night, according to his boss.”
”So he couldn't have been questioned by the police,” Stone said. ”That is is interesting.” interesting.”
”I thought you might think so. The man did good work, but once I caught him in my house. He said he was looking for a drink of water, but he wasn't in the kitchen; he was in the living room.”
”Did he know where the kitchen was?”
”Yes, he had been in there before. I think he fancied Reba, my maid.”
”You think he might have stolen something?”
”I think he would have, left to his own devices. I told him not to come into the house again. If he wanted water, he was to ask Reba to bring it to him. There's a staff toilet off the kitchen he could use. His full name is Felipe Cordova; his boss says he's from Tijuana.”
”Thank you for telling me this,” Stone said. ”There's something I'd like to ask you; it's a rude question, but I'd appreciate a straight answer.”
”Was I f.u.c.king Vance Calder?” she asked.
”That's the question.”
She laughed. ”Sweetie, all of the women here today have f.u.c.ked Vance, at one time or another.”
”All of them?” of them?”
”Every one of them is a member of the I f.u.c.ked Vance Calder Club. The club is bigger than that, of course; we're only the tip of the nipple.”
”Let's get back to my original question.”
”You bet I was f.u.c.king him, and loving it.” She smiled. ”So was he.”
”Where did these meetings take place?”
”You mean where did we f.u.c.k? I hate euphemisms. In his bungalow at the studio; in his trailer, when we were on location; in his Colony house just down the street; and here. Right up until the day before his death.”
”How often did this happen?”
”Every day we could manage it; sometimes twice a day. Vance was always ready,” she said, ”and so was I.” She turned toward him and placed a hand on his arm. ”In fact,” she said, ”I'm ready right now.”