McNally's Dilemma (26 page)

“Happy to oblige, Mrs. Trelawney. When may I have a check?”

“I’ll take this right to accounting,” she said.

“Petty cash would be more fitting,” I told her.

“There is nothing petty about your swindle sheet, Archy. And your father would like to see you.”

“How does he know I’m here?”

“Guess,” she called over her shoulder as she toted my expense account to the keepers of the privy purse. “You can go right in, he’s expecting you.”

Father was seated at his desk, outfitted in a single-breasted blue tropical worsted suit with vest and Countess Mara paisley tie, looking every inch the sovereign of his domain.

“Anything new on the Fairhurst business?” Father asked as I sank into a leather visitor’s chair.

“Nothing concrete, sir, but after my visit there I’m more certain than ever that the chauffeur, Seth Walker, is our blackmailer.”

“The young man recommended by Geoff Williams?”

“One and the same.”

“What was his connection with Geoff, Archy? Sorry, but I forgot.”

“He’s the son of one of Geoff’s lady friends. No secret there. The boy readily admitted it. I told you Geoff was in Palm Beach about a month ago when he ran into John Fairhurst and recommended the boy.”

“What was Geoff doing in Palm Beach alone?”

“Visiting with Seth’s mother, I assume, which resulted in Seth’s being taken on by Fairhurst. By the way, the boy hates the job. Thinks it’s beneath him.”

“I see,” Father mused. “How do you think this boy, Seth, learned the facts? He’s only been in John’s employ for several weeks.”

“True. But Seth struck up a quick and close friendship with Mrs. Fairhurst’s secretary, Arnold Turnbolt, who has been a member of the household staff for ten years. Turnbolt and Mrs. Fairhurst have become very close during that time, and I’ve learned that Turnbolt noticed the dates on the portraits some five years ago.”

Father didn’t need a road map to tell him where this was leading. He had stated our position regarding a private meeting with Mrs. Fairhurst and would never again allude to the subject. If Prescott McNally was Dickensian in his literature, he was Machiavellian in his politics. When it came to business, the end justified the means, and if the means were contrary to policy, so be it, but never discuss it. Father would never ask how I knew what I knew.

“Can you prove the boy’s involvement in this business?”

“No, sir. I’m hoping to link Seth to the letter detailing where and when to deliver the loot.”

“Can you lean on this Turnbolt to see what he may have passed on?”

“I’d rather not,” I answered. “He’s a very astute man, and if I said too much I would be giving my hand away and our pigeon might fly the coop.”

“Do you think Turnbolt would warn this Seth?”

I didn’t pause a moment before saying, “No, sir, I do not. I believe Turnbolt would confront Seth, and that could prove dangerous.”

Father was taken aback but he did not raise an eyebrow. “Are you being rather dramatic, Archy?”

“I don’t think so, sir. Seth Walker is a bad seed, but thanks to his connection to Geoff, he and the rest of the Fairhurst staff think I’m investigating Geoff Williams’s death. I’d like to keep it that way until we get the second letter.”

Father leaned forward in his king-size swivel chair and placed both hands, palms down, on his desk. “I have a bit of news regarding Melva’s case. The Mystery Woman has given herself up to the police.”

I tried to feign surprise but had all I could do to stifle a yawn. I had no idea why Father was acting like a kid on Christmas Eve. “I know about the reward, sir. How many Mystery Women do the police have in tow?”

Father did not take kindly to my underhanded slap at his sagacity. “The usual kooks, publicity seekers, and gold diggers turned up, but so did the genuine article.”

Chastised, but still skeptical, I muttered, “How did they separate the wheat from the chaff?”

Triumphant, the Master leaned back in his chair and teased me with his silence. He gloated for a full minute before telling me. “As I understand it, the police put three key questions to any would-be Mystery Woman. Those who answered two correctly would be granted a more in-depth interview. Until now, none have gotten past step number one.”

“And I take it this one did,” I said, my interest fading fast. The law of averages would account for at least one impostor to guess two out of three correctly.

“The young lady came to the police,” Father went on, “and identified herself as the woman they were seeking. Then, before they could question her, she said she would sign a statement waiving all rights to any reward.” Father looked at me intently. “Are you hooked, Archy?”

“I’m hooked,” I admitted. “Please go on, sir.”

“She then answered all three test questions correctly and was detained for further questioning.”

“When did you learn this?” I asked.

“About an hour ago. Melva’s lawyers received a call from the police with the information I have just given you, and they immediately went to the station house. They are there now.”

My first thought was that I had unintentionally predicted this in my conversation with Lady Cynthia Horowitz. Archy the soothsayer. My second thought was that I didn’t believe it. “I’m troubled, sir.”

“Why, Archy?”

Here I related the discrepancy between Melva’s story and Hattie’s story.

“Couldn’t Hattie be wrong?”

I explained why I believed Hattie but Father wasn’t buying it, and I can’t say I blamed him. I believed Hattie but I had no reason not to believe Melva. There was simply no logical reason for Melva to lie.

Melva had given her statement to the police the night of the murder. So had Hattie. The police must have been grappling with the same problem, and I was sure Melva’s lawyers were in possession of both accounts, too. It seemed there was only one way to settle the case and Father verbalized my opinion.

“This woman’s statement will corroborate either Melva’s story or Hattie’s, and I’d put my money on Melva. Hattie, by her own admission, was not feeling well all day, was rudely awakened out of a fitful sleep, and was petrified. Not a very good witness, Archy.”

“But what if the woman says she beat it after Melva fired at Geoff?”

Father shook his head. “When Melva’s lawyers left here, the lawyer who told me the news said that the woman the police were holding had confirmed Melva’s account of the events of that evening.”

That seemed to be it, but I insisted on going one more round. “And that gate alarm still bothers me, sir. If Veronica turned it on when she went out, who turned it off?”

“It’s my guess Veronica forgot to turn it on,” Father said. “It’s as simple as all that.”

“There is nothing simple about this case, sir.”

I swam my two miles, which got the kinks out of my body but not the questions out of my mind. Back in my room the telephone was ringing. I mentally ran down the list of possible callers.

Lolly Spindrift to ask if it was true that the Mystery Woman had been found?

Binky Watrous to apprise me of the pending suit against Hobo?

Connie to tell me she was eloping with Hector?

Lady C. to call me a party pooper?

Buzz to tell me he had split a seam in his blue silk breeches?

It was Veronica, inviting me to dinner.

I dressed casually yet traditionally in gray slacks, a white turtleneck, and blue hopsack blazer. Just for the hell of it, I added my white beret. On my way out, I stopped in the den where I knew Mother and Father would be having cocktails before dinner. Father frowned at my beret but Mother beamed when I kissed her downy cheek. When I explained that I’d been invited to Melva’s for dinner, Father’s frown mellowed into a benevolent smile.

“Melva will have heard the news,” Father said, “and be much relieved. Her lawyers are very optimistic at this juncture. Tell her I was asking for her, and, Archy, we must have Melva and Veronica to dinner very soon.”

“Yes,” Mother joined in. “That would be nice. And you know your sister and her family will be here for the holiday, Archy. Have you thought about inviting anyone to Christmas dinner?”

“I have, Mother, but I’ve made no decisions.”

“If Melva and her lovely daughter will be alone, they are certainly welcome here. And Connie, of course.” Mother, it seemed, couldn’t care less which one I hitched to as long as I hitched.

But Veronica and Connie were a lethal combination I didn’t want to think about, so I said, “Yes, Mother. I’ll think about it.” I told Father I would deliver his greeting to Melva, kissed Mother again, and headed for the garage. Hobo, perhaps thinking I was a process server, didn’t come out of his house to see me off.

While they weren’t exactly popping open bottles of Dom Pérignon at Melva’s place, the atmosphere was certainly more upbeat than when last I visited. Hattie was exuberant in her greeting, running on about the wonderful meal she was preparing in my honor. Veronica was less demonstrative, to be sure, but I did get a peck on the cheek and a compliment. “You look adorable,” she told me, forgetting that not too long ago she found my smart berets less than chic.

Melva, in her usual chair, opened her arms wide as I entered the drawing room. When I bent to kiss her she said, “I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”

“I have.”

“Isn’t it wonderful!” Veronica cried. She wore black capri pants with a cream knit top that left her midriff delightfully bare. Having deprived me of the opportunity of gazing upon the full length of her legs, she had made up for it by offering her navel. What other possible delights did the future hold?

“Vodka martinis all around,” Veronica proclaimed, filling a pitcher with Sterling vodka at the portable bar. “I’m playing bartender, but Archy will be our sommelier at dinner.”

As she hefted a bottle of vermouth, I cautioned her not to bruise the Sterling. A wise man once defined happiness as “the sudden turn of events for the better,” and this evening Melva and her daughter were living proof of that keen observation. Up to this very morning they had no hope of the Mystery Woman showing her face and presto!—she not only gives herself up, she also waves away the hundred-grand reward. How altruistic can you be without arousing suspicion?

We toasted Melva’s good fortune just as Hattie appeared with a tray of goodies, including caviar on toast points with chopped onion and grated hard-boiled egg. The rich know how to live, and I, for one, am glad they do. “One cocktail, please,” Hattie warned us. “Save your taste buds for my goose and homemade applesauce.”

“If we don’t,” I announced, “our goose will be cooked.”

When we settled down with our drinks, I asked Melva what she knew about the woman who had turned herself in.

“Nothing. My lawyer called to tell me the police were interviewing a woman they believed was the one with Geoff that night. Later, he called again to say he had seen her and questioned her and both he and the police were certain she was telling the truth.”

Melva was wearing black again. Was it to be her color of choice from now until the end of this ordeal? A black dress and silver threads among the brown hair would go a long way in winning the hearts of a jury. “Do you know her name?” I asked.

“Why, no. I never thought to ask.”

“And why would you?” There was a decided edge to Veronica’s tone. She had once accused her mother of being too forebearing, and I suspected her retort was as much an answer to my question as a rebuttal to her mother’s almost apologetic reply. “I doubt if her name would mean anything to us and besides, it will be in all the newspapers tomorrow.”

Like a camel filling up at an oasis, I helped myself to another dollop of caviar. It can be a very long way between oases. “And your lawyers are pleased?”

“Oh yes,” Melva said. “Wasn’t it you who told us how important this woman’s testimony would be in my case? I’m feeling very sanguine, Archy, and I’ll never forget what a good friend you’ve been through all of this.”

I wanted to remind them both that while we may have scored a first down, we were still a long way from the goalpost. However, if they were in such a celebratory mood, who was I to play the naysayer? Let Melva’s lawyers deal with Hattie’s testimony, and, like my father, I’d accept the fact that Veronica forgot to turn on the alarm when she drove out that night.

“I was happy to help, Melva, and I toast your good fortune.”

“Now that Horowitz person will have to cancel her masked ball,” Veronica said with great glee.

Hattie’s goose with a
foie gras
stuffing was as good to the palate as it was to the eye, and I was privileged to pour a Châteauneuf-du-Pape of excellent vintage. Alongside we also enjoyed a mushroom ragout with paprika and sliced red cabbage. Conversation, as opposed to the meal, was on the light side, and Melva excused herself right after the coffee and dessert. Taking my arm, Veronica led me out to the patio, where we sat side by side in deck chairs, puffing my English Ovals. My hand found hers as we gazed contentedly at the stars and listened to the ceaseless roll of the surf.

“Mother looks her old self again,” Veronica said.

“She does. And I hope it’s not premature.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

“No,” I told her. “I’m a realist. There’s a long way to go before this is over and once the euphoria of today’s news wears thin, you and your mother will have to dig in for the long haul.”

“Couldn’t we bottle the euphoria and drink it for courage during the passage?”

“What a charming thought,” I told her. “You’re not just another pretty face.”

“I thought you’d never notice. Do you dance, Archy?”

“Only to music.”

She got up and went to a table on which sat an object no larger than one of father’s cigar boxes. A moment later, the perfect pitch of Ms. Dinah Shore filled the night air. “That’s my kind of music, lady,” I admitted with pleasure.

“I know,” she said, and coming to me, she extended her hand and beckoned me out of my chair.

I took her in my arms. She was as light as air but far from ethereal. Her perfume reminded me of the night I escorted her home from Hillcrest. That night marked the beginning of our adult relationship. Was this night to be its climax?