“That’s right. A law firm representing the next of kin of Mrs. Elizabeth Manning has asked me to act for them in St. Marks. They have requested a copy of the death certificate, so that Mrs. Manning’s estate may be probated.”

“Of course,” the coroner said. “I’ll give you an original.” He sat down, took a pad of blank certificates from his briefcase, wrote one out, signed it, and handed it to Stone. “There you are,” he said. “Nice that this inquest is so much simpler than the last, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

He smiled a little. “Not as interesting, though.”

Stone smiled with him. “No, I guess it isn’t.” He shook the man’s hand and left the hall. To his relief, the two journalists had disappeared.

Back at the Shipwright’s Arms, a fax was waiting for him.

Dear Stone,

Just a quick note to let you know I’m not dead. My research is going well. I’ve been spending all my time with Vance, who has been a dear. I’ve been staying at his house, which is very beautiful, and I’ve met many friends of his. The life out here is really wonderful.

Oh, Chip McGrath at the New York Times Book Review has asked me to review a big new book on the history of Hollywood and the studios—front page of the review, if you can believe it. It’s a nice showcase for me.

I might stay out here for a week or two when I finish the piece. This California living gets under your skin.

Got to run. We’re off to dinner.

Love,

Arrington

Stone was hurt. After all he’d said to her in his letter, she hadn’t even referred to it. Then it hit him: his letter had gone down with Chester’s airplane, in Libby Manning’s purse. She had never received it. He swore at himself for not remembering that before now. I’ll write her tomorrow, he thought. First thing.

Chapter
37

Stone returned to Expansive with some trepidation. He was not looking forward to talking with Allison about this, partly because she did not need additional problems while facing a trial for murder, and partly because he did not relish a scene with her, and he had come to know that she was adept at scenes.

To his surprise, he found her packing.

“Oh, hi,” she said, stuffing things into a duffel. There were two others, already full, on the aft cabin bed.

“Going somewhere?” he asked. He really wanted to know.

“Sure,” she said, “next week. I didn’t have anything to do, so I thought I would get some things together, and then when the trial is over I can get out of here pronto!”

“I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of here,” he said. “What will you do about the boat?”