"What circumstances?" she asked.

"Arrington is in trouble, and until I can get her out of it, I can't think about anything else."

"She killed Vance, didn't she? I knew it."

"She did not," Stone said.

"I could smell it as soon as I arrived in this town. The newspapers and TV know she's guilty, don't they?"

"They don't know anything, except the hints the cops are dropping."

"The cops know she's guilty, don't they?"

"Dolce, she passed a lie detector test this afternoon, a tough one, by a real expert."

"You need to think she's innocent, don't you, Stone? I know you; you have to believe that."

"I do believe that," Stone said, although Dolce was still shaking her head. "The police are trying to railroad her, because they can't find the real perpetrator, and I can't let that happen."

"Are you still in love with her, Stone?"

"Maybe; I haven't had time to think about that." In truth, he'd hardly thought of anything else. "Dolce, we very nearly made a terrible mistake. Let's both be grateful that we were spared a marriage that would never have worked."

"Why would it never have worked?"

"Because we're so different, tempermentally. We could never live with each other."

"Funny, I thought we had been living with each other for the past few months."

"Not permanently; we were playing at living together."

"I wasn't playing," she said.

"You know what I mean. We were… acting our parts, that's all. It would never have worked. I wish you hadn't come."

"Stone, I'm here, because you're my husband, and you need me."

"Dolce, I am not your husband, and I'd appreciate it if you'd tell the hotel that."

"Have you forgotten that we were married last Saturday, in Venice, by the mayor of the city?"

"You know as well as I do, that ceremony is not valid without a religious ceremony to follow."

"We took vows."

"I said 'si' when prompted; I have no idea what the mayor said to me."

Dolce recited something in Italian. '"Til death us do part," she translated.

"Well, that's what happened with your previous husband, isn't it?" He shot back, then immediately regretted having said it.

"And it could happen again!" Dolce spat.

"Is that what we've come to? You're threatening me?"

Dolce stood up and came toward him. "Stone, let's not do this to each other; come to bed."

Stone stood up and backed away from her. The robe had come undone, and he fought the urge to couch her, "No, no. I have to leave, Dolce, and you should leave, too, and go back to New York or Sicily or wherever."

"Papa is going to be very disappointed," she said in a low voice.

That really did sound like a threat, Stone thought. "I'll call him tomorrow and explain things."

"Explain what? That you're abandoning me? Leaving me at the altar? He'll just love hearing that. You don't know Papa as well you think you do. He has a terrible temper, especially when someone he loves has been wronged."

Stone was backing toward the door. "I haven'twrongedyou, Dolce; I've just explained how I feel. I'm doing you a favor by withdrawingfrom this situation now, instead of later, when it would hurt us both a lot more." He was reaching for the doorknob behind him.

"You're my husband, Stone," Dolce was saying, "and you always will be, for as long as you live," she added threateningly.

"Good-bye, Dolce," Stone said. He got the door open and hurried out, closing it carefully behind him.

He had gone only a few steps when he heard a large object crash against the door and shatter. On the way through the lobby, he stopped at the front desk. "I'm Stone Barrington," he said to the young woman.

"Yes, Mr. Barrington," she said. "Are you checking in again?"

"No, and please be advised that the woman in suite 336 is Miss Dolce Bianchi, not Mrs. Stone Barrington. Will you let the telephone operator know that, please?"

"Of course," the young woman said, looking nonplussed. "Whatever you say, Mr. Barrington."

Stone got the station wagon from the attendant and headed back toward Malibu. Before he had even reached Sunset, the car phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Stone," Arrington said, "I'm on my way back to Bel-Air."

"Why and how?" Stone asked.

"I caught sight of a photographer on the beach with a great big lens, and I guess it just creeped me out. Manolo came and got me; he had to smuggle me past the gate in the trunk."

"All right, I'll meet you at the house. Tell Manolo to use the utility entrance." He said good-bye and hung up. How long, he wondered, had that photographer been on the beach?

Stone got to the house first. He parked the car, went into the house and out to the guest house, where he started packing his clothes. He had his bags in Vance's Mercedes by the time Arrington arrived.

She came in through the front door, took a few steps, and froze, staring down the central hallway. "That's where he was, isn't it?" she asked Stone, nodding toward the spot.

"You remember?" Stone asked.

She nodded again.

He turned to the buder. "Manolo, will you fix us some dinner, please? Anything will do."

"Of course, Mr. Barrington," the butler said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Stone took Arrington's hand and walked her to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and sat down beside her. "What else do you remember?" he asked. "This is important."

Arrington wrinkled her brow. "Just Vance lying there, bleeding."

"Do you remember anything immediately before that?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you remember hearing the shot?"

She shook her head. "No. Just Vance lying there."

"Do you remember the police and the paramedics arriving?"

"No. Nothing until I woke up in the clinic." She laid her head on his shoulder. "When is this going to be over, Stone?"

"Not for a while," Stone replied. "We've still got the funeral on Friday, and on Saturday, we have to take you to the district attorneys office."

"Will they put me in jail?"

"I hope not; Marc Blumberg's working on that."

"I'm so glad you're here," she said. She put her hand on his cheek and drew him closer, kissing him.

Stone pulled back. "Listen to me carefully," he said. "You and I cannot be seen by anybody being… affectionate with each other."

"Only Manolo and Maria are here."

"And they'd both be shocked, if they walked in here and found us kissing. If they were called to testify in court, they'd have to tell the truth. Your husband has been dead for less than a week; you have to be seen to be the grieving widow for some time to come; I cannot tell you how important that is to your future."

She nodded. "I understand." She took his hand. "But it's important for you to know that I still love you. I never stopped."

Stone squeezed her hand but could not bring himself to respond. "Go freshen up for dinner," he said.

They dined in the smaller of the two dining rooms, on pasta and a bottle of California Chardonnay. They chatted about old times in New York, but as dinner wore on, Arrington seemed increasingly tired.

"I think you're going to have to put me to bed," she said finally.

Stone rang for Manolo. "We'll get Isabel; she'll put you to bed."

Arrington nodded sleepily. "I wish you were coming to bed with me."

"Shhh," Stone said. He turned her over to Isabel, got the keys and the alarm code for the Colony house from Manolo, then drove back to Malibu. He chose the guest room nearest the kitchen, unpacked, soaked in a tub for a while, and fell asleep.