McNally's Dilemma

by Lawrence Sanders

  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.

  11

  DINNER 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.

  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. Becaus
e 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.”