McNally's Dilemma (13 page)

With the likes of Veronica Manning in our midst, I feared
mon père
would drag me off to the den for a cigar and port, leaving the ladies behind to gossip over their coffee and puff pastry. In fact, Father and I often did go into the den after dinner for a nip and a smoke while Mother joined Ursi and Jamie in the kitchen for coffee and an exhilarating hour at the TV, watching Ursi’s favorite sitcoms. Mother could name all the members of these coaxial cable couples just as a previous generation knew all members of the celluloid Hardy, Aldridge, and Bumstead broods.

I roused the group out of the lethargy that often follows a sumptuous meal by reminding them that we had a nine o’clock date with the Cable News Network.

“I don’t enjoy watching the news on television,” Father said as we filed into the den. “I prefer a good newspaper with an intelligent editorial staff.”

“I think you’ll find this the exception to your rule, sir,” I answered.

“And I think I know why,” Veronica joined in, taking her place in the comfortable leather chair I usually occupy when conferring with Father. “You’re going to see how Archy averted the press and the curious in getting me to my home and out again.”

“Archy on television?” Mother asked, sitting next to Father on the settee. “Should we call in Ursi and Jamie?”

“I daresay they’ll be watching in the kitchen,” Father told her. “And I know all about my son’s escapades, Veronica. In fact, all of Palm Beach knows, thanks to Clara.”

“Clara?” Veronica questioned. “Should I know who she is?”

“She’s the upstairs maid of your nearest neighbors on Ocean Boulevard,” Father explained. “Clara watched your arrival and departure through binoculars—”

“From an upstairs window,” I couldn’t help injecting.

After paying tribute to my wit with an icy glance, my sire continued his tale. “And then she called Mrs. Marsden...”

When he strokes his mustache, as he was now doing, Father takes on the air and verbosity of Disraeli addressing Parliament.

“Well,” Veronica said, “I think Archy was very clever to come up with the idea, and very resourceful to put it into motion and make it work.”

“My son is smarter than he likes people to know,” Father bragged, as if I were something he had just plunked down on the auction block—and perhaps I was.

“Yes,” Mother agreed, with a beatific smile directed at me.

Without missing a word I pretended to hear none of this as I opened the doors of the mahogany credenza that hid the television screen from Pater’s disapproving view. “We’ll see our afternoon cruise on the
Sans Souci
and more,” I told them.

“More?” Veronica asked, looking apprehensive.

“Promise,” I said.

“But how do you know the network will carry it at exactly nine o’clock?” Veronica insisted on knowing, and not for the first time since I had made the announcement.

“Trust Archy,” Mother said.

After tuning in to the news channel, I kissed Mother’s rosy cheek before taking my own seat.

“More on the Palm Beach society murder,” was the anchor’s lead-in, immediately followed by the predicted aerial shot of us climbing out of Meecham’s yacht and into the speedboat, the camera staying on us until Veronica fell into Hattie’s arms. The voice-over explained what we were doing and why, intercutting shots of the melee in front of the Williams house to stress the point. Some wag at the network decided on the bouncy air known as “I’m Popeye the Sailor Man” to accompany our caper.

Most prominent from the air was Veronica’s blond hair and Lolly’s panama hat. When the zoom lens moved in on us it focused on Veronica, whose beauty surrendered nothing to the small screen, and on Buzz at the helm of the speedboat. Our pilot, I noted grimly, looked more like James Bond than the guy in the yachting cap and boat-neck striped shirt. Yes, it hurt.

“And now, standing by in his office is the man who accompanied Veronica Manning on her watery trail to the safety and comfort of her home: Palm Beach society columnist Leonard Spindrift.”

I almost fell out of my chair. Leonard? I knew “Lolly” was a byline dreamed up by Lolly’s editors, who believed that a woman society columnist would prove more appealing than a man. However, we were all so used to calling him Lolly we had forgotten he had a real name. But Leonard? I would have put my money on Bruce.

Veronica squealed, then covered her mouth with her hand as she glanced over at me. Father nodded his approval. “The name Lolly always reminded me of a child’s candy,” he said with conviction. Strange, it always reminded me of a jowly woman in Hollywood proclaiming, “... and here is my first exclusive.”

Well, her namesake, if indeed that’s what our Lolly was, did have an exclusive that quickly overshadowed our brief moment of comic relief. All eyes were on the screen and all ears attuned to Leonard Spindrift’s words.

First he discussed his interview with Veronica Manning aboard Meecham’s yacht, making the cruise sound as purposeful and as hazardous as Bogart and Hepburn’s ride on the
African Queen.
He stressed Veronica’s devotion to her mother and alluded to her stepfather’s imperfections. The philandering stepfather number was implied rather than stated. No one likes to hear ill of the dead—especially the murdered dead. Good work, Lolly. Or should the credit go to Veronica?

I looked at Melva’s daughter as she listened to Lolly. Poised, alert, and clear-eyed—Veronica Manning was young in years but not in experience. She would prove a crutch, not a worry, to Melva.

“And now,” Lolly said in a tone that heralded the arrival of his purpose on national television, “with Veronica Manning’s permission, I am going to reveal a fact regarding this tragedy that, as of today, is known only to the police. Prior to the confrontation between Melva Williams and her husband, Geoffrey, Mrs. Williams came upon her husband in a compromising situation with a young woman unknown to Melva Williams.

“That woman fled the scene before the shooting occurred and is not, in the legal sense, a witness to the crime. However, she is vital to the case as a corroborating witness to Mrs. Williams’s account of the incident. The police will be seeking her; Mrs. Williams’s lawyers will be seeking her; and now, on behalf of Mrs. Williams’s daughter, I am asking the Mystery Woman to contact the Palm Beach police immediately.

“To the Mystery Woman I say—neither I nor Melva Williams nor the police can guarantee you anonymity. We can only appeal to your conscience to provide a ray of hope to a woman who is perhaps a victim of circumstance rather than an architect of premeditated malice.

“You have just heard a dramatic appeal to...”

I used the remote to turn off the television. The silence we had managed to escape at the dinner table now infiltrated the den. I looked at Veronica and nodded my encouragement. She answered with a brave smile that gave me goose bumps. It was Mother who broke the spell of Lolly’s telecast. “If you will excuse me,” she said, “I think it’s past my bedtime.”

Father helped her to her feet and she took his arm, anxious to escape from a scene I’m sure she didn’t quite understand. “Please stay, Archy—and you, too, Veronica,” Father said, “I’ll be back before I retire and I should like a word with both of you.”

Veronica wished her hostess a good night, and I kissed Mother before Father escorted her from the room. When the door closed behind them, brave Veronica broke down in tears. I went to her and put my hand on her bent head. Her hair was silky smooth. “Lolly did a great job,” I said.

“The Mystery Woman,” she sobbed. “How humiliating for Mother.”

“But necessary,” I told her. I removed a tissue from the box on Father’s desk and handed it to her. “In the movies the guy always has a handkerchief, but I seem to be fresh out.”

She blotted her eyes and managed a smile. “Poor Archy. I’ve been an albatross around your neck since last night. How can I ever repay you?”

I could have mentioned a few ways but bowed to the solemnity of the moment. “I don’t want to be repaid. I promised your mother I would watch over you, and that’s just what I’m doing.”

She looked up at me and took my hand. “Is that the only reason, Archy. Because you promised Mother...”

“Thank you for waiting,” Father said as he opened the door and entered the den. Seeing Veronica’s hand in mine, he turned to close it, giving us time to separate. “Mother is settled in,” he announced as he took the chair behind his desk, a signal that the class was being called to order and teacher would preside.

“Archy, why don’t you pour us a drink. Veronica, what can we offer you?”

“Is a kir possible?”

“Of course,” Father assured her. “Brandy for me, Archy.”

I mixed Veronica’s kir and poured two Rémys into brandy snifters. After serving the drinks, I pulled a chair alongside Veronica’s, and reached into my suit pocket for an English Oval. “Does anyone mind?” I asked politely, sitting.

“Not if I can have one,” Veronica answered.

Father produced an ashtray from a desk drawer and placed it in front of us with a show of impatience. I have seen the Master enjoy a good cigar in the company of gentlemen but never in the presence of a lady.

“The bail hearing is set for tomorrow at eleven,” he began. “Your mother’s people will meet in my office at nine to be briefed by our man who has been acting on your mother’s behalf since this morning. He will also guide them through the maze of the Florida judicial system.”

“Will they grant bail?” Veronica nervously tapped a bit of ash from her English Oval into the ashtray.

“I would like to answer positively and without conditions,” Father said, “but one can never be a hundred percent sure of anything when standing before a judge.”

“Let’s say it’s a silly little millimeter less than certain,” I added to ease her anxiety—and to save my English Oval from being extinguished before its time.

Father nodded in agreement. “One could say that.”

“I would like to be at the hearing,” Veronica stated.

“And your mother’s lawyers want you there,” Father told her. “A show of family unity is very important during the early stages of a case like this. I’ll be leaving for the office at eight tomorrow morning, and I suggest you come with me, Veronica. I’m sure they will want to confer with you before the hearing. From there, you can accompany your legal people to the courthouse. I’ve arranged a car and driver for them. The driver, I think, will be necessary until they get to know their way around the area. Your car can remain here and Archy will see that it gets back to your home later in the day.”

Well, Archy was
persona non grata
at Melva’s bail hearing. Why?

“Mr. McNally, I want to thank you for your help and hospitality.” She put out her English Oval and deposited her drink on the desk. Both had a long way to go before they could be considered consumed. “I know you want to talk to Archy, and unless you have more to tell me or want me to stay, I would like to go to my room. It’s been a long day.”

“No, there’s nothing more I have to say,” Father told her, “and I think a good night’s rest is a most sensible idea.”

She rose and Father and I did the same. “I’ll show you up,” I offered.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to lose my status as preferred guest, so I’ll find my own way. Good night, Archy, and Mr. McNally, I’ll see you at seven.”

“Half past six if you want breakfast,” Father reminded her.

“Oh dear.” And with a toss of her blond head she left us to our brandy and masculine parlance.

“I expected to accompany Veronica to the hearing,” I said as soon as the door closed behind her.

“It’s what I wanted to discuss with you, Archy.” He reached into a drawer and came up with a box of cigars. Taking one, he used an instrument made for the express purpose of snipping off one end before lighting up. “She’s taken quite a shine to you, Archy.” He exhaled the words along with a cloud of smoke.

“A port in a storm, sir.”

“I think there may be more to it than that.”

“She’s very young,” I said.

“She’ll be twenty-two next month.”

“You know, sir?”

“I thought it prudent to know. A fifteen-year difference is not unheard of.”

I stopped sniffing my brandy and took a generous slug. “It’s early days, sir, and I think Melva is top priority at the moment.”

“Indeed. I was just speculating, Archy. Just speculating. The counsel I assigned to Melva told me about this so-called Mystery Woman. What have you learned, Archy?”

I brought him up to date and when I finished he said, “You’re something of a fop, Archy, but you’re not a fool.”

I didn’t know if I should be flattered or insulted. “I’m your son, sir.” Now he didn’t know if he should be pleased or indignant.

“Do you know what I’m thinking, Archy?”

“Yes, sir. We’re all assuming that Geoff lied to Melva about where he was going last evening. One could also assume that Melva was lying when she told her story.”

“Exactly. And Geoff isn’t here to counter anything she says. Whom do you believe?”

“Melva is an old and dear friend, sir.”

“I know that, Archy. What’s said here is said in complete confidence, you know that.”

“I do, sir. I think Melva is telling only a part of the story. I mean, I think she knows who the Mystery Woman is, and is protecting her.”

“A friend of Veronica’s,” he quickly stated. Father is a quick study, and Geoff’s reputation is no secret in Palm Beach.

“Yes, sir.”

He enjoyed a few more puffs on his cigar while engaged in thoughtful meditation. When he had worked it all out, he said, “There are too many variables here, and, as you’ve just said, it’s early days for any decision making. For that reason, Archy, I’d like you to back off until Melva has consulted with her attorneys and we know exactly the stance they will take in her defense. Any assumption on our part that is contrary to the defense and leaked to the wrong people could be disastrous for Melva.”

I agreed with what he said, although I was a little chagrined at what he might be implying. “Do you think Lolly’s appeal on national television was ill-timed, sir?”

“No, no,” he quickly responded, waving his cigar to make the point. “It was just a matter of time before this Mystery Woman became public property. Lolly’s presentation was very sensitive, very dramatic. I take it you used Lolly to commandeer Phil Meecham’s yacht, and he alerted the network in return for his fifteen minutes of fame.”