L.A. Dead Part 2

They returned to the palazzo in the late afternoon, ready for a nap. Stone was shown to a suite-sitting room and bedroom-that overlooked the Grand Ca.n.a.l. He dozed off to the sounds of motorboats and of water lapping against stone.

He dreamed something that disturbed him, but when he awoke, he couldn't remember what it was. He joined the others for c.o.c.ktails with a strange sense of foreboding.

At c.o.c.ktails, Eduardo's sister, Rosaria, was present; she was a large woman who perpetually wore the black dresses of a widow. Stone had met her at Eduardo's home in New York, where she had kept house for her brother since his wife's death. Her younger niece was named for her, but the family had always called her Dolce.

The cardinal was now dressed in a beautifully cut black suit.

Half an hour later they were all shown aboard Eduardo's motor launch and transported to dinner at the world-famous Harry's Bar. Stone suspected that Eduardo's presence alone would be cause for considerable deference from the restaurant's staff, but the presence of a cardinal sent them into paroxysms of service. Stone had never seen so many waiters move so fast and from so crouched a position.

They dined on a variety of antipasti and thinly sliced calf 's liver with a sherry sauce, with a saffron risotto on the side. The wines were superlative, and by the time they had been returned to the Bianchi palazzo, Stone was a little drunk, more than a little jet-lagged, and ready for bed. Dolce left him at his door with a kiss and vanished down the hallway.

Stone died for ten hours.

Four.

AT NINE O'CLOCK THE FOLLOWING MORNING, STONE was resurrected by a servant bearing a tray of blood-red orange juice, toast, prosciutto, sliced figs, small pastries, and coffee. A corner of the huge tray held that day's International Herald Tribune International Herald Tribune and the previous day's and the previous day's New York Times New York Times. By the time he had breakfasted and done the crossword puzzle, it was after ten.

The servant knocked and entered. "Mister Bianchi requests that you be downstairs at eleven o'clock," he said. "The civil ceremony is to be at noon." He disappeared.

Stone shaved and showered then went to the huge cupboard where his clothes hung, all freshly pressed. He dressed in a white linen suit he had bought for the occasion, a pale yellow, Sea Island cotton s.h.i.+rt, a tie with muted stripes, and tan alligator oxfords. Finally, he tucked a yellow silk square into his breast pocket, stuffed his trouser pockets with the usual contents, including some lire, and consulted the mirror. It occurred to him that he might never look so good again.

The group gathered in the central hall of the palazzo. Dolce wore a dazzling white silk dress that showed a becoming amount of very fine leg and wore only a single strand of pearls for jewelry, along with the five-carat, emerald-cut diamond engagement ring supplied by a man of Stone's acquaintance in the diamond district of New York.

"You are very beautiful," Stone said to Dolce, kissing her.

"Funny, that's what I was going to say about you," Dolce replied. "I love the suit."

"It's my wedding dress," Stone explained.

Dino and Mary Ann were well turned out, and to Stone's astonishment, Aunt Rosaria wore a dress of white lace. She was, apparently, out of mourning, at least for the day.

"Is the cardinal coming?" Stone asked Dino.

"No," Dino replied. "Cardinals don't attend civil marriage ceremonies."

"I suppose not," Stone said.

They were escorted to the palazzo's jetty where a small fleet of gondolas, garlanded with flowers, awaited, and they were rowed down a bewildering series of ca.n.a.ls to the town hall, where the mayor awaited on the jetty.

Moments later, the party was arranged before an impossibly ornate desk in the mayor's office. Much Italian was spoken. At one point, the mayor turned to Stone, his eyebrows lifted high.

"Say 's,' " Dino whispered.

"S," Stone said.

Dolce also said, "S," then an ornate doc.u.ment was produced and signed by Stone and Dolce, then by the mayor and the witnesses. The mayor said something else, delivered sternly.

Dino translated. "He says, 'Remember, you are not yet ent.i.tled to the pleasures of the marriage chamber.' "

Back on the jetty outside the town hall, Stone discovered that the gondolas had been replaced by Eduardo's motor launch, and shortly, they were moving fast over open water, toward an island.

Dolce, who held fast to Stone's arm, explained. "Papa has taken the Cipriani Hotel for lunch."

"You mean the dining room?"

"I mean the entire hotel; Papa has many guests. There will be many people at lunch, but don't worry about remembering their names; they don't matter."

Stone nodded.

The hotel occupied the entire island, and lunch was held in its garden.

"Not much chance of party crashers," Dino commented as they walked into the garden. "Unless they swim well." He looked around at the huge crowd of guests who were applauding their entrance-middle-aged and elderly Italians, dressed for Sunday, who were demonstratively affectionate with Dolce and who behaved toward Eduardo pretty much as if he were the Pope. Stone was introduced to each of them, but the flood of Italian names pa.s.sed him by.

"Who are these people?" he asked Dolce.

"Distant relatives and business acquaintances," she replied tersely.

Stone could not see any family resemblance. "Who are these people?" he asked Dino, when he had a chance.

"I can't prove it," Dino said, "but my guess is you'd have a real problem placing a bet, buying a wh.o.r.e, or getting a fix anywhere in Italy right now."

"Come on, Dino."

"You'll notice that, although there's a band and lots of food, there's no photographer?"

Stone looked around and couldn't see a camera in anybody's hands.

"My guess is, the wedding pictures will be taken Monday, at the church, and that none of these people will be there, which is okay with me. I certainly don't want to be photographed with any of them."

It was late afternoon before they returned to the palazzo. Stone was told to be downstairs at eight for c.o.c.ktails, then he was allowed to stagger to his room, strip, and fall facedown on the bed, until he was shaken awake by a servant and told to dress. He'd had the bad dream again, but he still couldn't remember it.

Aunt Rosaria had prepared what Stone a.s.sumed was their wedding dinner. They ate sumptuously, then adjourned early, everyone being tired from the day's festivities.

"Sleep as late as you like," Eduardo said to the group. "Ma.s.s is at eleven tomorrow morning."

Each retired to his own room. Stone, having had a three-hour nap, was not yet sleepy; he changed into a sweater and decided to go for a walk.

He was almost immediately lost. There was a dearth of signs pointing to anywhere, except St. Mark's Square, and he didn't want to go there. Instead, he just wandered.

An hour later, he found himself approaching what he recognized from photographs as the Rialto Bridge. As he climbed its arc, a woman's head appeared from the opposite direction, rising as she walked backward toward him, apparently talking to someone following her. Immediately, Stone knew her.

The s.h.i.+ning hair, the slim figure, the elegant clothes, the shape of her calves. It was Arrington. His heart did strange things in his chest, and he was suddenly overcome with the unexpected thrill of seeing her. Then he remembered that she was now Mrs. Vance Calder, of Los Angeles, Malibu, and Palm Springs, that she had borne Vance's child, and that he had sworn her off for life.

Stone was struck heavily by the fact that his reaction to seeing her was not appropriate for a man who would be married on the morrow, and he was suddenly flooded with what had been pent-up doubts about marrying Dolce. In a second, every reservation he had ever had about marriage, in general, and Dolce, in particular, swept over him, filling him with a sickening panic.

On Arrington came, still walking backward, talking and laughing with someone who was still climbing the other side of the bridge, probably Vance Calder. Stone recovered quickly enough to place himself in her path, so that she would b.u.mp into him. She would be surprised, they would laugh, Vance would greet him warmly, and they would congratulate him, on hearing of his plans.

She ran into him harder than he had antic.i.p.ated, jarring them both. Then she turned, and she wasn't Arrington. She was American, younger, not as beautiful; the man following her up the bridge was young, too, and beefy.

"I'm awfully sorry," Stone said to her.

Her young man arrived. "You did that on purpose."

"I apologize," Stone said. "I thought the lady was someone I knew."

"Yeah, sure," the young man said, advancing toward Stone.

"Don't," the girl said, grabbing at his arm. "He apologized; let it go."

The man hesitated, then turned and followed the woman down the bridge.

Stone was embarra.s.sed, but more important, he found himself depressed that the woman had not been Arrington. He stood at the top of the bridge, leaning against the stone railing, looking down the ca.n.a.l, wondering if the universe had just sent him a message.

Five.

STONE WAS HAVING THE UNPLEASANT DREAM AGAIN, AND in it, someone was knocking loudly on a door. Then someone was shaking him, and he woke up this time, remembering that Arrington had been in the dream.

A servant was bending over him. "Signore Bianchi asks that you come to the library at once," the man said. "It is not necessary to dress."

"All right," Stone replied sleepily. He looked at his bedside clock and saw that it was shortly before eight A.M. He found a large terry robe in the wardrobe, put it on over his bedclothes, found his slippers, and, smoothing down his hair, hurried to the central hall, where the servant directed him to the library, a room he had not yet seen.

It was a large room, the walls of which were lined from top to bottom with leather-bound volumes, leaving room for only a few pictures. Stone thought he recognized a Turner oil of the Grand Ca.n.a.l. Eduardo, the cardinal, and Dino, all in dressing gowns or robes, stood before the fireplace.

"Good morning," Stone said. "Is something wrong?"

None of the men seemed to want to speak first. Finally, Eduardo spoke. "We have had some bad news from the States." He turned to his son-in-law. "Dino?"

Dino flinched as if he had been struck, then he began. "My office called a few minutes ago: Rick Grant from the LAPD called and left a message."

Stone knew Rick Grant; he was a detective a.s.signed to the office of the chief of police of Los Angeles, who had been helpful to him on an earlier visit to California. "What is it?"

Dino took a deep breath. "Vance Calder is dead."

"I am very upset about this," Eduardo said. "Vance was my friend, too."

Stone knew that Eduardo was a stockholder, with Vance, in Centurion Studios and had been an investor in some of Vance's films. "How?" he asked Dino.

"He was shot. Last night, in his home."

"Murdered?"

"Yes; shot once in the head."

"Is Arrington all right?" He steeled himself for the answer.

"Yes; she's in a local hospital."

"Was she hurt?"

"No."

"Who shot Vance?"

"That's undetermined," Dino said. "But when I got back to Rick, he told me he thinks Arrington might be a suspect."

Stone found a sofa and sat down. "Jesus Christ," he said, then remembered in whose company he was. "Forgive me, Your Eminence."

The cardinal nodded soberly.

"I wouldn't put too much stock in that theory," Dino said. "You and I both know that, in cases like this, the spouse is always a suspect until cleared."

Stone nodded. He was trying to think what to do next but not getting anywhere.

The cardinal came and sat down beside him. "Stone," he said, putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder, "I am aware of your previous relations.h.i.+p with Arrington. Eduardo and I have discussed this at some length, and we agree that it would be extremely unwise to go forward with the wedding until this . . . situation has been, in some way, resolved."

Stone looked at the man but said nothing.

Eduardo came and stood next to Stone. "This is very complicated," he said. "Both Dolce and I are friends of Vance's, and you, of course, were very close to Arrington. There will be many emotions at work for a while, so many and so confused that to proceed with the marriage at this time would be folly."

"Does Dolce know about this?"

Eduardo shook his head. "I am going to go and wake her now and tell her; this is my duty, not yours."

"I will come, too," the cardinal said. "She may need me."