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“It’s Arrington. We’ll be landing at Santa Monica in an hour,” she said. “We’re parking at Atlantic Aviation.”
“I’ll see you there,” Stone said. “Oh, by the way, Mike Freeman is going to join us for dinner.”
“He called me. I’ve already added him to our table.”
“Great, see you in an hour.” Stone hung up. He told Dino about the call from Rick Barron earlier in the day.
“That sounds ominous,” Dino said.
“Yes, it does. I’ve called both Schmeltzer and Harvey Stein, and neither of them has gotten back to me.”
“It’s Sunday afternoon,” Dino said. “They’re probably on the golf course.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Stone said. “You’re probably right; they’ll call back this evening.”
Stone got Vance Calder’s Bentley Arnage out of the garage, and they drove to Santa Monica Airport and got buzzed through the security gate and onto the ramp.
“Here comes a G-III,” Dino said, pointing.
Stone looked up to see the beautiful plane turning from the taxiway into the Atlantic Aviation ramp. “That is she,” he said. He waited until the airplane was chocked, then drove out and parked near the door. The airstair dropped into place, and Arrington walked down the steps, looking fresh as a teenager.
Stone hugged and kissed her, and she gave Dino a kiss, too. “How was your flight?” Stone asked.
“Heavenly,” she replied. “It’s like having your own railroad car, except it moves at five hundred knots. I actually had a shower, so I wouldn’t have to change at home.”
Stone opened the boot of the car so that the crew could load her luggage, then he turned to see another G-III taxiing onto the ramp. “There’s the Strategic Services airplane,” he said. “I’d thought Mike would go into Burbank.”
“We coordinated,” Arrington said. “I was actually able to telephone him from my airplane to his. Isn’t that extraordinary?”
“It is,” Stone agreed. He watched a black SUV pull up to Mike’s airplane and saw Mike get out.
“Why don’t we go straight to the restaurant?” Arrington said.
“It’s Michael’s, in Santa Monica. Mike’s car can take his luggage to the Bel-Air.”
“Good idea,” Stone said, and in little more than a moment they were all in the Arnage, and shortly after that they were settled in a garden table at Michael’s.
Arrington was facing the door. “Well, that’s awkward, isn’t it?” she said, nodding toward the restaurant door.
Stone turned and saw Terry Prince, Carolyn Blaine, and two other people enter the garden.
“Yes, it is,” Stone said. “Igno
re them.”
45
Drinks and menus arrived, but Stone was preoccupied with Prince and his dinner guests. “Dino,” he said, nodding toward their table, “isn’t that the woman we saw out in Malibu, the one with the Rolls-Royce?”
“I thought we were ignoring them,” Dino said.
“What was her name?”
Dino produced his notebook. “The car was registered to an E. K. Grosvenor, of San Francisco. The name meant nothing to you.”
“It still doesn’t,” Stone said, but he had an oddly unsettling feeling about the woman.
“Oh, come on, Stone,” Arrington said, “order something. I’m hungry.”
