Dino handed Stone a sandwich and a Diet Coke from the ice drawer. “Where’s our next stop?”

“Santa Fe.”

“Why that far south?”

“We could refuel in Denver, but look,” he said, pointing at the display. “The Nexrad shows some thunderstorms over the Rockies, so we’ll go south of them to Santa Fe, then on to Santa Monica. The weather along that route is clear all the way.”

“Got it.”

They picked up three hours with the time change, and as they made their final turn on approach to Santa Monica, the sun was setting before them like a big red ball into the Pacific.

Stone left a refueling order. Then their rental car was brought out to the airplane, and they drove to Vance Calder’s home in Bel-Air.

“This is possibly the ritziest neighborhood in Greater Los Angeles,” Stone said, “and Vance owned eight acres of it.” They drove through the open gates and pulled up in front of the house.

Manolo awaited them with a luggage cart. His greeting was warm, and he led them through the house to the back garden, where the sumptuous guesthouse awaited them by the pool.

Stone and Dino had both stayed here before, and they settled in quickly.

“What time would you like dinner?” Manolo asked.

“Well, it’s three hours earlier here than in New York. How about nine?”

“Of course,” Manolo said, then left them to unpack.

They dined by the pool. The evening was cool and pleasant and the food delicious.

Stone’s cell phone went off. “Hello?”

“It’s Arrington,” she said. “There’s been a change of plans.”

3

Stone sighed. “What do you mean, a change in plans?”

“I want you to vote my shares for the sale of the studio.”

“I guess I’m tired after the flight,” Stone said. “I thought you just said you wanted me to vote your shares for the sale of the studio.”