Part 35 (1/2)
He punched the b.u.t.ton. ”h.e.l.lo, Charlene, how are you?”
”Terrible,” she replied. ”I'm very upset about Vanessa.”
”It was a very bad thing.”
”Did you know her, Stone?”
”I met her at Marc Blumberg's Palm Springs place a couple of days ago.”
”You were right about the police; they're on their way over here now. Maybe you and I should talk before I meet them.”
”No, you don't need a lawyer; just answer their questions truthfully. If we met first, it might make them think I'm involving myself in their case even more than I'm already involved.”
”How are you already involved?”
”I had dinner at Vanessa's house last night; apparently, I was the last person to see her alive.”
”Lucky Vanessa! At least she went with a smile on her face.”
”It wasn't like that, Charlene,” Stone said. ”When can we get together?”
”Why don't you come over here for lunch? I'll be done with the police by then, say one o'clock, and I don't have to be back on the set until three.”
”All right, where are you?”
”In the biggest f.u.c.king RV you ever saw,” she said, ”parked at the rear of sound stage six. It's got 'Georgia Peach' painted on the side.”
”I'll find it. See you at one.”
”I'll look forward.”
Forty-three.
STONE FOUND THE RV AT THE BACK OF THE SOUND stage, and Charlene had not overstated its size. It looked as long as a Greyhound bus, and it, indeed, had ”Georgia Peach” painted on the side. Stone was about to get out of his car when he saw the two policemen, Rivera and Goldman, leaving the big vehicle. He waited until they had driven away before getting out of his car.
He knocked on the RV door and, a moment later, it was opened by a plump middle-aged woman wearing horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, with a pencil stuck in her hair.
”You Barrington?” she asked.
”That's me.”
”I'm Sheila, come on in.” She sat down at a desk behind the driver's seat and pointed at a door a few feet away. ”Charlene's expecting you.”
Stone rapped on the door.
”Come on in, Stone,” came the voice through the door.
Stone opened the door and stepped into a surprisingly well-furnished room. It contained a sofa, coffee table and a couple of comfortable chairs, a desk, a dressing table, and a king-size bed. Charlene's voice came from what Stone presumed to be the bathroom, the door of which was ajar. ”Have a seat,” she called. ”I'm just getting undressed.”
”What?”
”Sit down. You want a drink?”
”I'm okay at the moment.”
Charlene stuck her head out the door. ”You don't mind if I'm naked, do you?” It was a rhetorical question. Before Stone could reply, she stepped into the room, and, unlike the last time he had seen her, she was not even wearing her bikini bottom. ”I hope you're not too, too shy,” she said, ”but I'm shooting a nude scene this afternoon, and I can't have any marks on my body from clothes or underwear.”
Stone sat down on the sofa. ”I won't complain,” he said, but he felt like complaining. Why were women always walking around naked in front of him just when he was trying to be good? He was struck anew at how beautiful she was-tall, slender, with b.r.e.a.s.t.s that were original equipment, not options, and she was a lovely, tawny color. ”Did you greet the cops this way?”
”For them, I put on a robe, but it left this little mark where I tied it around the waist, see?” She pointed at a slightly red spot.
”Can't have that, can we?” Stone said lamely.
”The director would go nuts,” she said. ”Once I turned up with pantie marks and he shut down production until the next day, and I got a call from Lou Regenstein about it. You sure you don't want something to drink? Some iced tea, maybe?”
”All right, that would be nice.”
She went to a small fridge, opened the door, and bent over, presenting a backside for the ages.
Stone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was not a hint of fat or cellulite anywhere. How did Hollywood do it?
She came back with a pitcher of iced tea and two gla.s.ses, then poured them both one and sat down on the sofa.
She pulled a leg under her, and Stone could not help but notice that she had recently experienced a clever bikini wax.
”The fuzz were very nice,” she said.
”I'll bet.”
She giggled. ”I don't think they'd ever seen a movie star up close before. I mean, not this close, but close. You're by way of being an old acquaintance, so I don't mind.”
”Neither do I,” Stone said truthfully.
”Vanessa's death really shook me up,” she said, but she didn't look shaken. ”People my age are not supposed to die.”
”You think the ex-husband did it?”
”I can't think of anybody else with a motive,” she replied, shaking her head. ”Vanessa was a sweet girl. You said you were with her last night?”
”Yes, I gave her a lift home from Marc Blumberg's office, and she asked me to stay for dinner.”
”Oh, speaking of food, it should be here in a minute.” As if on cue, there was a rap on the door, and Charlene got up and went into the bathroom. ”You let them in, sugar; I don't want to give the waiter a coronary.”
”You don't seem to mind giving me one,” Stone said, walking to the door. He heard a giggle from the bathroom.
Two waiters came in and, in a flash, had arranged two lobster salads and a bottle of chardonnay on the coffee table. They were gone just as quickly, and Charlene returned, just as naked.