McNally's Dilemma (12 page)

The rookie raised his hand to wave, but Al shot him a look that froze the hand in midair, rendering the kid an indoor traffic cop. I looked at the boy suspiciously before retreating.

I learned after returning from the scene of the crime that I was not Monsieur Poirot.

We made it back to the drawing room just as Hattie entered from the other door, tray in hand. Coffee, cream, sugar, and a plate of jumbo macadamia chocolate-chip cookies. The cookies reminded me of after-school treats and I would have liked to ask for a glass of milk, but didn’t dare.

“When will Missy be back,” Hattie demanded as she set down her burden.

“Miss Veronica will fill you in on what’s happening,” I assured her. “And if all goes well, Missy will be here by this time tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Archy. You always bring good news.” From your lips to God’s ear, I thought. “When Mrs. Marsden asked me where Veronica was, I told her Mr. Archy is taking care of her.” She beamed at me and Lolly giggled.

“Pour the coffee, Lol,” I said.

Hattie was showing me her hand and it took me a moment to focus in on what she was saying. “... They pressed my fingers on a pad and took my prints like on the TV. See, they’re still dirty. I washed but it doesn’t all come off. The policeman said it takes a little time.” With that she left us to our repast.

Now I thought I knew why Al wanted to see Veronica, but still wasn’t sure why the room was off-limits after the police had been and gone. Lolly served our coffee, and one taste of my cookie told me it wasn’t out of a box or the freezer. When Lolly planted himself in the chair Melva had sat in last night, my taste buds deserted me. She had looked so small and fragile. I couldn’t imagine what she looked like in a jail cell and didn’t even try. Instead, I munched my chocolate chip.

“How did the interview go, Lol?”

“Splendid. She’s very articulate and, in case you haven’t noticed, very pretty.”

“I noticed, but I’m surprised you did.”

“Sticks and stones...” Lolly retorted and sipped from the fine bone china cup.

“Did she give you any details of what happened here last night?”

“No, because she wasn’t here when it happened and said she thought a statement from the police or Melva’s lawyers would be forthcoming.”

Veronica was not only very pretty and very sexy, but also very smart. A rare combination indeed. If she had to choose between Buzz and me, whom would she pick? Handsome Buzz or cute Archy? Robert Taylor was handsome and Mickey Rooney was cute—and I wish I hadn’t made that comparison.

“Where was the body, Archy?” Lolly was still mentally filing his story.

“What makes you think I know?”

“Because Veronica told me Melva called you last night and you came right here. I know you couldn’t resist going into that room and having a look.”

I had to get some information out of Lolly, and keeping to my creed of give-and-take, I knew I had to give before taking. “On the floor, just parallel to the couch.”

“Faceup or -down?”

“You’re the ghoul, Lol.”

“No, Archy, I’m the reporter.”

“There are those who would say the labels are interchangeable.”

“I’m not one of them. Faceup or -down?”

“On his back.”

Lolly was making hieroglyphic marks on a small notepad. Good grief, he knew shorthand. Was Lolly a graduate of Katherine Gibbs? In that hat, why not?

“What was he wearing?”

I stopped munching. “Don’t you remember?”

Lolly stopped jotting and looked up at me, seated just across from him. “Me? Remember what?”

“What Geoff was wearing last night, that’s what.”

“Archy, are you daft? How would I know what Geoff Williams was wearing last night?”

I thought I was back on the
Sans Souci,
trying to get some information out of Phil Meecham. So did my stomach.

“Didn’t you see Geoff last night?”

“Archy, we’re going in circles here. What are you saying? Out with it, now.”

“You picked up Geoff last night and drove him to Phil Meecham’s party.”

If I had sent my coffee cup flying into his face, he couldn’t have looked more surprised. Lolly was a competent actor. In fact, I think he did a few unremarkable seasons so far off-Broadway they called it Bucks County, PA. He was also a competent liar. Had he been carved out of wood by a sentimental Italian in need of a son, Lolly would be able to sniff out gossip in Hollywood without leaving Florida. But no one, Barrymore or Pinocchio, could pull a face like that and not mean it.

“Why would I pick up Geoff and drive him to Phil’s yacht?”

“Because he called you and asked you to do just that?” It was a question, not a statement, and I knew what I was going to hear before Lolly spoke the words.

First he laughed, the sound more cynical than joyous. “One, I’ve been trying to get that lug to call me for ten years. Two, he never did. Three, he wouldn’t get in the same car with me, alone, if he needed a ride to the hospital. Four, what the hell is this all about?”

I calculated my options, which didn’t take long, because I had none. Geoff had lied to Melva, and now I had to tell Lolly Spindrift the truth. And did it matter? The tawdry scene played out in the room presently guarded by Al Rogoff would be public knowledge by tomorrow morning if it hadn’t already been leaked to the media. Besides all that, maybe Lolly could still tell me something that would help us identify Geoff’s last piece of forbidden fruit. Lolly knew more gossip than any servant, lawyer, or marriage counselor in Palm Beach. Most important, what Lolly didn’t know, he would go to great lengths to learn.

“He was nude,” I stated, as blandly as if I were asking Lolly to pour me another cup of java.

I should have waited until Lolly had downed his last sip from the expensive piece of Limoges. One mustn’t gasp and swallow at the same time. It makes breathing difficult. After he finished gargling with Hattie’s fine brew, he began making wheezing sounds that had me wondering if I should administer the Heimlich maneuver. By the time it occurred to me that I didn’t know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver, Lolly came up for air.

“Flat on his back and naked!” he cried. His face was as red as a stoplight.

“And dead,” I added.

“What happened here last night?” Lolly leaped out of his chair, spilling a few drops of coffee on the poor old couple’s carpet. If the spots remained, Melva would have to pay for the cleanup, which, I’ll admit, was the least of her worries at the moment.

With Lolly standing over me, I told the story just as I had heard it from Melva. No embellishing, no editorializing—just the facts.

“Who’s the girl?” he eagerly asked.

“Funny, Lol, but that’s what I wanted you to tell me.”

Lolly began pacing, shaking his arm in the air like Dr. Frankenstein trying to figure out where he went wrong. “You know what I learned in the gossip business, Archy? I learned that if you don’t ask the right questions, you’ll never learn what you want to know.”

“The girl’s identity is what we want to know. Melva’s defense will depend on it.”

“The
crime passionnel.”
Lolly rolled the words around on his tongue as if he were savoring a fine wine. I would lay heavy odds on what the headline would scream from the front page of his rag.

“The girl appears in the final scene, Archy. We have to start from where the curtain rises and take it scene by scene until we get to the finale.” He walked to the table where Hattie had placed the tray, and helped himself to a cookie. “So, scene one. Geoff had no intention of going to Phil’s party. He had a date. Why didn’t he pick up the girl like any gentleman would?”

“Because Geoff Williams was no gentleman. Also, Melva said he didn’t want to leave her without transportation, should she decide to go out,” I told him.

“I never knew Geoff to be considerate, especially to his wife and more especially when he was hot to trot, so to speak. And Melva is not poor. If she wanted transportation she could call a taxi, or more likely a limo service, and go where she liked, when she pleased. He didn’t pick up his date because he couldn’t.”

“And I think I know why,” I joined in, warming to the game. “Melva said she was young. Suppose she was a friend of Veronica’s, living at home and not wanting her parents to know that her date was a married man. That could also be the reason why he took her back here. They couldn’t go to her place, and she wasn’t the motel type.”

Lolly pointed at me with half a chocolate-chip cookie. “Very good, Archy. See how far we’ve gotten already. A young girl, living at home, of respectable lineage. So, she’s one of us.”

I never knew “one of us” to be either overtly respectable or shy of motels. “Why did Geoff use you as a beard?”

“Simple. Let’s say that he knew the lady knew me. She has to pick up Geoff. If Melva happens to see her, the girl says she’s filling in for poor Lolly who’s laid low with the gout.”

Not bad. It was the same reasoning I used to figure out why Geoff had taken her back to the house. If Melva was awake, he could say the girl drove him home because Lolly couldn’t, and if she were a friend of Veronica’s, that would make it even more plausible.

I summed up our hypothesis. “So we have a young girl, living at home, who may or may not be a friend of Veronica’s. She’s anti-motel, knows you, and likes married men. How many girls do you know, Lol, who fit the mold?”

“I’m thinking, Archy. There are, I know, exactly four boys who live at home and like married men. But girls...”

“Think hard, Lol. A lot depends on it.”

“Oh, I will. And I’ll make an appeal in my story and column. But if Melva’s story is quoted verbatim, and it will be, the shy young lady will be labeled ‘The Rider’ and be asked to pose in jodhpurs for
Town and Country
magazine. Do you really think she’ll come running to Melva’s defense?”

“We have to try, Lol. If we can’t produce her in the flesh, we have to conjure up her presence in the mind of a jury. The hunt for the mystery woman will do just that.”

I could hear Veronica and Hattie chatting as they came down the stairs. Before we had to restrict our deliberations, I quickly mentioned something to Lolly that had been bothering me since we left the yacht.

“Strange how that chopper knew exactly where and when we would be landing.”

“Yes, isn’t it,” Lolly answered, fingering but not taking another cookie.

“How much do you think one of the major television networks would pay for information like that?”

“A lot, Archy. And sometimes more than money can be used for bait if the circumstances are just right.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I gave a little and I’m going to get back a lot.”

In the game of give-and-take, Lolly Spindrift was a doyen par excellence.

D
INNER THAT EVENING WAS
exceptionally splendid, if rather low-key given the circumstances that brought Veronica Manning to our table. The linen tablecloth and napkins were standard for our evening meal, but the silver candelabra complete with ivory tapers were, I’m sure, the Master’s idea. The floral centerpiece came from Mother’s garden, and she beamed with delight when our guest commented on its perfection.

Mother, as I had predicted, was completely recovered from the afternoon’s unpleasantness and looked enchanting in a simple beige dress adorned with a single strand of pearls. Tennessee Williams wrote that blue is the color of distance and royalty. Having attended scores of weddings, my sister’s included, I can say with some authority that beige is the color of mothers attending their offspring’s nuptials. Was Madelaine’s choice of dress, like a politician’s necktie, sending a message? If it was, her favorite son was not dismissing the idea out of hand.

Veronica did not pack a portmanteau for her overnight stay, but neither did she stuff a backpack for camping out. She wore a lightweight merino wool dress that was Givenchy’s genuine article—Ginny, eat your heart out—and, consistent with the previous evening’s attire, no jewelry, costume or otherwise.

Mother, in her golden years, and Veronica, in the full bloom of youth, were the quintessence of the alpha and omega manifestations of the
femme fatale.
Sunrise, sunset—expectation and remembrance of things past.

Dare I assume that Veronica Manning would be amiable were I to press my suit?—and I don’t mean the one I’m wearing. I dared, all right, but did I want to? A union between the McNally and Ashton-Manning clans would render Father delirious with joy even as the Ashtons and Mannings revolved in their graves. Mother would be happy if I married Little Orphan Annie, and Lolly Spindrift could report on the May-December wedding with all the rancor of his chosen profession. In short, everyone would be pleased except, perhaps, the groom. But did that matter? To the groom, it most certainly did.

Ursi outdid herself with a crown roast, each little chop so succulent one envied Hobo the joy of sucking each bone dry while we poor humans were not allowed to touch these treats with anything other than knife and fork. Alongside the roast were potatoes Anna and sugar snap peas with lemon zest and cracked black pepper. For the accompanying wine, I passed up the traditional Burgundy in favor of a sturdier côtes du Rhône to impress our company. If she noticed, she did not comment on the wine steward’s expertise.

Conversation was polite and guarded, but to completely avoid Melva’s predicament would only serve to draw attention to it. Father told Veronica that her mother’s lawyers had arrived in Palm Beach. “A team of three,” he said, “and two, I am happy to say, are admitted to practice in Florida.”

I silently questioned father’s joy at that bit of news.

“I expect more will be coming down if needed,” he went on. “I booked them into the Chesterfield Hotel on Cocoanut Row. Do you know it?”

“I know the Leopard Bar there,” Veronica admitted.

“Of course,” Father said, “I’m sure it’s a favorite with your set.”

The Chesterfield! Score one for McNally & Son. The Chesterfield was a deluxe hostelry without the notoriety and pomp of The Breakers. Had Melva’s crew been put up at the latter it would have evoked the image of wealth and privilege. Jurisprudence frowns upon the world seeing Ms. Justice winking behind her blindfold as her scales are being tipped with pieces of eight.