“That’s exactly what I said.”

“But what about Vance’s wishes?” Stone asked. “You said he had always wanted the studio to be closely held, not sold to some developer.”

“I wish I could follow his wishes, but I can’t,” Arrington said.

“What’s wrong, Arrington? Why the about-face?”

“I need the money.”

Stone was astounded. Arrington had been left a very wealthy woman at Vance’s death. “Arrington, I really am very tired after a long flight. Can I call you in the morning, and then we’ll find the best way to do this?”

“All right, but I’m not changing my mind again,” she said. “Good night.” She hung up.

Dino was looking at him. “She flip-flopped?”

“She flip-flopped.”

“Oh, well, what do you care?”

“I’m too tired to care right now,” Stone said. “I’m going to bed.” Ten minutes later, he was asleep.

Stone woke the following morning in a strange, sunlit room. It took him a moment to orient himself and to realize the phone was ringing. He struggled to sit up in bed and grab the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Stone? It’s Rick Barron,” a voice said. He sounded a lot younger than his ninety-odd years.

“Good morning, Rick,” Stone said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long. Arrington called me a couple of days ago and said you were winging your way west.”

“Yes, and she suggested we have dinner. Would you and Glenna like to come here tonight?”

“We’d love that; I’ve always been a sucker for Carmen’s cooking. May we bring a guest?”

“Of course. Seven o’clock?”

“I see you remember L.A. is an early town. That’s perfect.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you,” Stone said. They said goodbye.

Someone rapped on Stone’s window, and he looked up to see Dino outside, wearing a terry robe. “Come on,” he shouted through the closed window. “Breakfast.”

Stone brushed his teeth and took his vitamin pill, then got into the guest robe and his slippers and went outside.