"Thank you, and by the way, would you inform the management that there is no Mrs. Stone Barrington. The woman's name is Dolce Bianchi, and should she check in again, I would be grateful if you would not allow her to use my name in the hotel."

"I'll speak to the manager about it," the woman replied, looking baffled.

"Thank you very much," Stone said, managing a smile for the woman. He walked back to the parking lot, switched on the ignition, and called the Bianchi house in Manhattan. He got an answering machine for his trouble. Frustrated, he called Dino's number at home.

"Hello?" Mary Ann, Dino's wife, answered.

"Hi, Mary Ann, it's Stone."

"Hi, Stone," she said cheerfully, then her voice took on a sympathetic tone. "I'm sorry things didn't work out in Venice."

"Thank you, but I think it was for the best."

"Well, since you're not too broken up about it, I don't mind telling you, I think you're lucky to be out of that relationship. I mean, Dolce's my sister, and I love her, but you're far too nice a guy to have to put up with her."

"She registered at the Bel-Air as Mrs. Stone Barrington," he said.

"Oh, Jesus," Mary Ann breathed. "That's just like her."

"She checked out yesterday and said she was returning to New York, but there's no answer at the Manhattan house. Have you heard from her? I want to talk to her."

"Not a word; I knew she went to Vance Calder's funeral, and I thought she was still in L.A. Hang on, Dino wants to speak to you."

"So how's the bridegroom?" Dino asked.

"Don't start. She checked into the Bel-Air as Mrs. Stone Barrington. Are you sure that civil ceremony has no force in law?"

"That's my understanding, but I'm not an Italian lawyer," Dino replied. "Is Dolce giving you a hard time?"

"I'm staying at Vance Calder's cottage at Centurion Studios, and she barged in there this afternoon with a camera and caught me in bed with Betty Southard, Vance's secretary."

Dino began laughing.

Stone held the phone away from his ear for a moment. "It's not funny, Dino. I can't have her going around pretending to be Mrs. Bar-rington and behaving like a wronged wife."

"Listen, pal, you're talking to the guy who warned you off her, remember?"

"Don't rub it in. What am I going to do about her?"

"I guess you could talk to Eduardo; you two are such good buddies. Maybe he'll spank her, or something."

"Yeah, sure."

"I can't think of anybody else who could handle her."

"Neither can I."

"You got the Brooklyn number?" Yes.

"That's what I'd do, in your shoes-that, and talk to an Italian lawyer."

"Thanks, I'll talk to you later." Stone punched off, and it occurred to him that he knew an Italian lawyer. He dug out his wallet and found the cardinal's card. He looked at his watch; it would be early evening in Italy. He called the operator, got the dialing code for Rome, and punched in the number.

"Pronto," a deep voice said.

"Good evening," Stone said, "My name is Stone Barrington; may I speak with Cardinal Bellini, please?"

"Stone, how good to hear from you," Bellini said, switching to English.

"Thank you; I'm sorry to bother you, but I need some advice regarding Italian law, and I didn't know anyone else to call."

"Of course; how can I help you?"

"You'll recall that, before my sudden departure from Venice, Dolce and I went through some sort of civil ceremony at the mayor's office."

"I do."

"But I had to leave Venice before the ceremony at St. Mark's."

"Yes, yes."

"My question is, does the civil ceremony, without the church ceremony, have any legal force?"

"Not in the eyes of the church," Bellini replied.

"How about in the eyes of the Italian government?"

"Well, it is possible to be legally married in Italy in a civil ceremony."

Stone's heart sank.

"Can you tell me what this is about, Stone? Is something wrong?"

"I don't want to burden you with this, Your Eminence," Stone said.

"Not at all," the cardinal replied. "I have plenty of time."

Stone poured it all out-Arrington; Arrington and Vance Calder; Dolce; everything.

"Well," the cardinal said when he had finished, "it seems you've reconsidered your intentions toward Dolce."

"I'm afraid I've been forced to."

"Then it's fortunate that this occurred before you took vows in the church."

"Yes, it is. However, I'm concerned about my marital status under Italian law. Is it possible that I am legally married?"

"Yes, it is possible."

Stone groaned.

"I can see how, given the circumstances, this might concern you, Stone. Before I can give you any sort of definitive answer, I'd like to do a bit of research. I'm leaving Rome tomorrow morning for a meeting in Paris, and it may be a few days, perhaps longer, before I can look into this. Let's leave it that I'll phone you as soon as I have more information."

"Thank you, Your Eminence." Stone gave him the Centurion number, thanked him again, and hung up.

He started the car and drove slowly back to the studio. When he reached the cottage it was dark, except for a lamp in the window. Betty had gone.

Stone rarely drank alone, but he went to the bar and poured himself a stiff bourbon. What had he gotten himself into? Was he married? If so, the Italians didn't have divorce, did they? He had not wanted to question a cardinal of the Church about a divorce. He collapsed in a chair and pulled at the bourbon. For a while, he allowed himself a wallow in self-pity.

Stone was signing documents faxed to him from New York by his secretary when Betty buzzed him.

"Rick Grant on line one."

Stone picked up the phone. "Hi, Rick."

"Good morning, Stone. I had a chat with Durkee about this missing Mexican gardener, and I have to tell you that he and his partner don't seem to have the slightest interest in him."

"I suppose they're not interested in the footprint they found outside the house, either."

"Not much. It's a Nike athletic shoe, size twelve, right foot, with a cut across the heel. I got that much out of Durkee."

"Can you get me a copy of the photograph of the footprint?"

"I think you're better off asking for that in discovery."

Rick obviously didn't want to get more involved than he already was. "Maybe you're right."

"I thought of something, though."

"What's that?"

"I told you how tough it was to get suspects out of Mexico, but there might be something you can do."

"Tell me."

"I know a guy named Brandy Garcia. Brandy is a Latino hustler, does a little of everything to make a buck. He's been a coyote, running illegals across the border, he's run an employment agency for recendy arrived Latinos, he may even have smuggled some drugs in his time, I don't know. But he's well connected below the border, especially in Tijuana, where he's from, and he might be able to find this guy, Felipe Cordova, for you."

"Sounds good."

"Trouble is, Cordova is not a suspect, so even if you found him and the Mexicans were willing to extradite him, nobody would arrest him."

"That's discouraging," Stone replied.

"I know. But you might try to talk to him, if Brandy can find him."

"How do I get hold of Brandy Garcia?"

"I left a message on an answering machine, giving him your number. He may or may not call; I don't know if he's even in the country."

"Okay, I'll wait to hear from him."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, Rick." Stone hung up.

Twenty minutes later Betty buzzed him. "There's somebody on the phone, who says his name is Brandy Garcia; says Rick Grant told him to call."

"Put him through," Stone said. There was a click. "Hello?"

"Mr. Barrington?"

"Yes."