“ ‘I have appointed the firm of Woodman & Weld as my sole legal representatives. You may deal with either Mr. Stone Barrington, the supervising partner on my account, or Mr. William Eggers, the firm’s managing partner, on my behalf.’ ”

“Got it.”

“Fax that to both your Chase banker and Bill Eggers and mail Chase the original.”

“Will do.”

“Time is of the essence,” Stone said. “We have to arrange a bridging loan from Chase right away to close the sale of Champion Farms, so that you won’t have to sell stocks at a loss.”

“I understand.”

“As soon as Eggers and Chase receive your faxes, we’re in business. I’ll have Eggers fax you the deal memo on the sale, which will protect you from undiscovered liabilities.”

“Thank you, Stone, I appreciate your getting this done with such dispatch. What’s happening with the sale of Centurion?”

“There’s been a bad turn of events,” Stone said. He told her about the murder of Jennifer Harris.

“Am I in any danger?”

“No. Just don’t tell Howard Sharp what we’re doing with Champion and don’t talk to him about anything else, either. Write him a letter discharging him and instructing him to overnight all your files to me in New York.”

“I’ll get it done today,” she said. “Bye-bye.”

Stone returned to breakfast.

“Everything okay?” Dino asked.

“Better than okay,” Stone said.

“Did you save Centurion?” Charlene asked.

“Not yet, but that’s next on my to-do list.”

When Stone and Dino left Charlene’s house, there were two men in the front garden and an unmarked van parked out front.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” one of the men said. “May I see some ID?”

They both complied.

“Charlene doesn’t waste any time, does she?” Dino said as they got into the car.

“Never, on any occasion, about anything,” Stone replied.

16

They arrived back at the Bel-Air house. Stone was having a second cup of coffee by the pool when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Mike Freeman, Stone.”

“Hello, Mike.”

“I have some preliminary results on the two background checks you asked us to do, on Prince’s chauffeur and executive assistant.”

“Shoot.”

“The chauffeur’s name is Alexei Popov, thirty-one years of age, born Ukraine, emigrated to this country with his parents at age thirteen. He has a juvenile record, now sealed, with charges of vandalism, auto theft and—always a bad sign—cruelty to animals. We couldn’t get the details. He was also charged with a murder-for-hire three years ago, before he went to work for Terrence Prince, but the case against him was dismissed in mid-trial when the main witness against him vanished.”

“Uh-oh,” Stone said.

“Exactly. Now, about Carolyn Blaine: she doesn’t exist.”

“Beg pardon?”

“She owns no property in Los Angeles, has no telephone listing, no registered vehicle, no credit record, and no one by that name has been divorced in L.A. County for the past five years.

The educational institutions you named—Miss Porter’s School, Mount Holyoke, and Wharton have no record of attendance by anyone of that name.”