L.A. Dead Part 35

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.

"I'm starved!" she said, sitting down and attacking the lobster.

Stone poured them both a gla.s.s of wine. "Charlene, who were Vanessa's best friends?"

"You met most of them at my house," Charlene replied. "The ladies who lunch? The whole group was there, except for Vanessa and Beverly."

"Beverly Walters?"

"Yep. You know her?"

"I met her briefly in a restaurant once."

"Beverly's all right, I guess, but she wouldn't be in the group, if it hadn't been for Vanessa."

"What's Beverly's story?"

Charlene shrugged. "She's a Beverly Hills housewife, I guess. She came out here to be an actress and ended up giving b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs for walk-ons. Her husband saved her from that; now all she does is have lunch and shop."

Stone tried the lobster; it was perfect, tender, and sweet. "Where'd the food come from?" he asked.

"From the studio commissary; have you been there, yet?"

"No."

"You'll have to come with me, sometime, sugar; that would do wonders for your reputation around here."

"You're not exactly shy, are you, Charlene?"

"You ever noticed anything anything shy about me, sugar?" shy about me, sugar?"

"No, I haven't. Tell me, was this group of ladies with you on the day Vance was shot?"

"Was it a Sat.u.r.day? Yes, it was. I remember now. Sure, they were all there that day; we have a regular Sat.u.r.day thing at my house."

"How late?"

"Later than usual, as I recall. Everybody's mostly gone by five or six, but a couple of people stayed right through dinner. I think it's cleansing cleansing to have dinner without a man occasionally." to have dinner without a man occasionally."

"What time did Vanessa leave?"

"She didn't stay for dinner. I remember, they left, because Beverly had a dinner party to go to that night, and she had to get home and change. I don't know what Vanessa was doing."

"They left together?"

"Yes, they came and left in Vanessa's car."

"That's promising," Stone said, half to himself.

"Promising? How do you mean?"

"Sorry. I was thinking aloud."

Charlene, having eaten a third of her lunch, grabbed her winegla.s.s and half reclined on the sofa, resting her feet in Stone's lap.

The view was transfixing, Stone thought, trying to concentrate on his lobster instead. "Are you and Beverly close at all?" he asked.

"Not very. Like I said, she's not my favorite person."

"I understand that Beverly is . . . talkative."

"Well, that's an understatement! We had to listen to every detail of every affair she had."

"Did she ever sleep with Vance?"

"Sugar, if Vance had ever had a social disease, half of Beverly Hills would have come down with it."

"I mean, did she ever talk about having an affair with him?"

"She tried, but she was late to the party; the rest of us had already had Vance."

"Vanessa, too?"

"Sure, and before she was divorced. Vance didn't discriminate against married women."

"Who is Beverly married to?"

"A producer on the lot here: Gordon Walters. That's her entree around town; if she were ever divorced, she'd never get asked to dinner. Gordy's a sweetheart, but Beverly isn't all that popular. Everybody knows you can't tell her anything. It would be like putting it on a loudspeaker at Spago."

"Charlene, I wonder if you'd do a favor for me."

"Sugar," she said, poking him in the crotch with a toe. "I've been trying trying."

"Another kind of favor."

"Sure, if I can."

"Have lunch with Beverly Walters; see if you can find out what happened after she and Vanessa left your house that Sat.u.r.day."

"Why do you want to know?"

"You can't share this with the ladies," Stone said.

She made a little cross with a long fingernail on her left breast.