Lisa took Stone’s hand and led him to a padded table behind the mud baths. She directed him to lie on his stomach, with his face in an opening for breathing, then, using heated, scented oils, began massaging his back, shoulders, legs, and buttocks. After half an hour she asked him to turn over.

Stone turned over, expecting her to cover his genitals with a towel, but she did not. Lisa began with his neck, face and scalp, then covered his eyes with a cool cloth and worked her way down his body. Stone found himself becoming tumescent and squirmed a little.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Lisa said. “I’d be hurt if you weren’t feeling just a little excited.”

“More than a little,” Stone breathed.

She laughed. “Good. I’d take advantage, but I have the feeling that your friend would kill us both.”

“I believe you’re right,” Stone said. He heard the bamboo door open and close, but he could see nothing. Suddenly, Lisa’s hands were cooler and much more explorative. “Lisa?” he said.

“Shhhh,” came the reply.

Stone felt her climb onto the table with him, and in a moment, she was sitting astride him.

“Lisa, I’m saying myself for Betty,” Stone said.

Betty burst out laughing. “That was a politic thing to say. Now be quiet; there are things I want to do with you.”

She brought him fully erect, then lifted herself and came down gently upon him.

Stone made little noises. The dry, warm desert air, the soft breeze, and the girl on top of him seemed to be all he had ever wanted in the world. They took each other noisily, then collapsed. After a few minutes, Betty led him to a futon overlooking the valley to the south. She kissed him sweetly, then returned to the table and the waiting Lisa for her own massage.

Stone drifted into a dreamless sleep.

An hour later, Betty crawled onto the futon with him, and they made love again, less urgently this time, slowly and more sweetly. When they had recovered, Betty tugged at his hand. “I want a swim,” she said. “Come with me.”

Protesting mildly, Stone allowed himself to be drawn back up the path, naked, toward the pool. It occurred to him that he had not been nude in front of this many people since the showers at the police academy, where the circumstances were less inviting. He dove into the pool and swam a couple of lazy laps, with Betty alongside him.

“Feel like some tennis?” she asked when they stopped.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get all tensed up again after all this relaxation. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is good.” she replied.

They lay naked on lounges beside the pool and drank exotic fruit juices and watched the other guests go by.

“Anybody you know?” Stone asked.

“Not a soul, and that’s fine with me.”

“Me, too,” he said. The last thing he wanted was to run into somebody either of them knew.

Betty caught him glancing furtively at a very beautiful girl as she walked past, naked. “It’s all right to look,” she said, “but don’t touch.”

They dressed for dinner and dined at sunset on some of the best food Stone had ever tasted, and he chose a wonderful cabernet from an outstanding list of California wines. He noticed that other couples were gravitating toward a terrace adjoining the dining room, and when they were done, Stone and Betty joined them. Soon a fireworks display began and went on for a quarter of an hour. The deep desert night was shattered by bright explosions and dazzling trails of light. When it was over, everybody drifted away, and soon the area was deserted. Stone and Betty were the last to leave, walking hand in hand to their suite.

The following morning they played tennis, and Betty turned out to be very good indeed.

“I’ll bet you beat most of the men you play with,” Stone said when they had finished.

“I beatall the men I play with,” Betty replied, tossing him a towel.

They had lunch, and Betty said it was time to leave. “They like everybody out by midafternoon, so they can get ready for the new week and give the staff some time off.”

“I’ll get the bill,” Stone said.

“It’s on me,” she replied.

“It’s too expensive; let’s at least share it.”

“I’ll take it out in sex,” she said, laughing.

“IOU.”

“You bet your ass you do.”

When Stone had driven down the mountain and they were back on the road to L.A., he started to ask questions. “I’m sorry, but I have to,” he said. “What did Vance say to you on Friday?”

“Not much, which is unusual,” she replied. “He came in at mid-morning and shut himself up in his office, told me to hold all calls.”

“Who called?”

“Lou Regenstein, but not the other two,” she said. “I know that’s what you wanted to know.”

“Was Vance there all day?”

“He didn’t leave until late afternoon; had lunch at his desk. It was very unlike him. Normally, he’d have lunch with a friend, often Lou, and he’s usually in great spirits after finishing shooting, but not on Friday.”

“Have you ever seen him like that before?”

“No. He was worried, I think, and I’ve never seen him worried before. Vance is not, by nature, a worrier.”

“Did he give any indication of what he was worried about?”

“None; he hardly spoke to me all day.”

“But it must have been Arrington.”

“Maybe.”

“My cop friend, Rick Grant, thinks she might be having an affair. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Sure, I guess. It surprises me when married peopledon’t have affairs.”

As they entered Interstate 10 for the quick drive back to Los Angeles, Stone thought for a moment that he caught sight of a silver Lincoln Town Car a quarter of a mile behind them, but then he wasn’t sure. They drove the rest of the way in silence, and Stone dropped Betty at her house, after having driven around the block a couple of times to be sure no one was watching. Then he headed back to his hotel.

When he walked into his suite, he had the immediate impression that someone had been there, someone besides the maid. He walked through the place cautiously, ready for anything, then he went through his belongings to see if anything had been disturbed. The place was neat, as only a hotel maid could leave it, but there was one anomaly. A glass sat on the bar, one he had not left there. Stone picked it up, holding it by two fingers at the very base, and held it up against the light. Somebody’s fingerprints were there, and they couldn’t be his.

25

Stone slept late the next morning, and when he was finally up and dressed he went to his kitchenette, found a plastic garbage bag under a counter, slipped the bar glass into it, and left the building. From his car he called Rick Grant.

“Rick, it’s Stone. Can we meet somewhere for half a minute? I’ve got something for you.”

“Where are you?”

“In West Hollywood.”

“Can you find police headquarters on your map?” He gave Stone the address.

“Got it.”

“There’s a coffee shop directly across the street; I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

Stone found the coffee shop, and Grant walked over to his car. “What’s up?”

Stone handed him the plastic bag. “There’s a glass in here from my hotel suite with some clear prints on it; can you run them for me?”

“Sure.”

“Call me on my portable,” Stone said, then waved and drove off. He had only one place to go where he might pick up some trace of Arrington, and he drove straight to Marina Del Rey. He parked, went into the chandlery, and bought some boat shoes, a light sailing jacket, a floppy hat, and some sunglasses, then he retrieved his binoculars from the car and started walking. His disguise wasn’t much, but he figured it would be less conspicuous than a business suit.

He started at the ramp nearest to where Arrington’s car had been parked and began ambling down every pontoon, wishing a good morning to those people who noticed him and looking at every boat, from racing dinghies to floating gin palaces. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, but he’d know it when he saw it, he hoped. Maybe he’d even see Arrington. He trudged down the pontoons for two hours, stopping occasionally for a soft drink from a machine, and he still was nowhere near inspecting every boat in the huge marina.