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 interview
ing 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?
Dinah sang about “Far Away Places” as a cruise ship, lit from bow to stern, moved across the dark horizon. We stopped dancing only long enough to kiss, and I had the eerie feeling we were being watched from above. Melva? Hattie? Or Clara, the neighbor’s upstairs maid?
24
I WILL NOT REVEAL what happened between Veronica and me after our starlit kiss because a gentleman does not kiss and tell. Suffice it to say we are not officially engaged, and make of that what you will. On this overcast Palm Beach day, I had other things on my mind—and none of them had to do with love.
I called the “palace” on Country Road and got policewoman Tweeny Alvarez. I asked for Sergeant Al Rogoff, and Officer Alvarez wanted to know who was calling.
“His father,” I told her.
A moment later Al was on the phone. “Hello, Pop.”
“Hello to you, son. I thought I’d hear from you for Father’s Day.”
“You did, Pop. That was last June. Now it’s almost turkey time.”
“That’s why I’m calling, son. I’m going shopping at Publix for our turkey. How big a bird should I get?”
“About twenty minutes—I mean twenty pounds.”
“Twenty it is. Don’t forget to wear your bulletproof vest at all times, son.”
“I never take it off, Pop.”
I drove into the lot of the Publix supermarket on Sunset Avenue, parked as far from the entrance as possible, and lit an English Oval as I waited for Al. When he pulled in beside me in his PBPD car, I got out of my Miata and slipped onto the seat beside him. “My father died a few years back, Archy,” were Al’s first words.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Al.”
“Tweeny Alvarez attended the funeral,” he went on.
“I see. Then she didn’t believe it was your father calling?”
“With Alvarez you never know. She told me my father was calling long distance.”
“From heaven?” I was astonished, but Al Rogoff often had this effect on me.
“She didn’t say.” He stuck the remains of the unlit cigar he was holding between his lips and began chomping on it. “I thought I would hear from you last night.”
“I was otherwise engaged,” I said.
“The blonde?”
“I got you here to ask the questions.”
“Fire away, Pop.”
“Please don’t call me Pop.”
Al was offended. “Why not?”
“Because you sound like Number One Son in a Charlie Chan movie.”
“So I’ll tell Alvarez it was Charlie Chan who called.”
“Tell Alvarez anything you want, Al, but first tell me the name of the Mystery Woman.”
Al pulled a notebook out of his bulging back pocket. This cigar-chomping man who murdered the King’s English and loved the ballet and Beethoven was one of the shrewdest officers on the Palm Beach force. He had anticipated what I wanted to know and had carefully jotted down all the facts regarding the appearance of our Mystery Woman.
“That would be Linda Adams, with an address in Boynton Beach. I think she owns a trailer there.”
It would be rude to scream “trailer trash,” so I didn’t. “What were the three test questions they asked the hopefuls?”
Al didn’t have to consult his notes for this one. “First. What was Mrs. Williams wearing when she found you with her husband? Linda Adams knew it was a bathrobe and even told us its color.
“Second. What position were you and Mr. Williams in when Mrs. Williams came upon you?” Al pointed his cigar butt at me. “Archy, if you knew some of the answers these broads gave to this one, you would think they were raised in a cathouse.”
“Some of them no doubt were, Sergeant. Linda’s position was the correct one?”
“Check. How do you think—”
“Ask her,” I cut him off. “Number three?”
“What was Mr. Williams wearing?”
“And she knew that, did she?”
“Right down to his jockey shorts, Archy. Most of the dames said he was wearing a tux. These broads think that’s how the rich dress every night of the week. They’ve seen too many Fred Astaire movies on the tube.” Then Al told me this Linda described the solarium, its entrance from the back patio, the pool, etc., etc., etc.
“The lady has a photographic memory. How convenient. Did she say where she met Geoff?”
“One guess.”
“Bar Anticipation.”
“You know your turf,” Al said.
“You should put a padlock on
that place, Sergeant.”
“Then where would we go when we were in need of someone to arrest?”
I watched one of the Publix boys gather stray shopping carts from the parking lot, nest them, and push them back to home base. The lad deftly maneuvered a train of nineteen carts. He could very well be the heir to one of America’s great fortunes, or a high school dropout hoping to get promoted to a position at the checkout counter. This was, after all, Palm Beach.
“Did Linda say when she met Geoff?”
Not unexpectedly, Al told me she met Geoff about a month ago and he called when he returned to Palm Beach for the winter. Geoff had certainly covered a lot of ground on his hit-and-run visit to our tight little island several weeks back.
“And she picked him up the night in question?”
“That’s right,” Al said. “She picked him up, and they hit a few bars, had a meal, and went back to Geoff’s place.”
“When she picked him up, did she say how she got in the gate? I mean, was the alarm set?”
Al shuffled his pad’s pages. “She didn’t go in the gate. He met her outside, along the A1A.”
“What time was this, Al?”
“According to her, about nine.”
“Will you check the bars and the restaurant to see if anyone can ID them as having been there?”
“Oh, we will, but the places she gave us are dark as pitch and usually as crowded as a New York subway at rush hour. Their bartenders don’t see nothin’ and their clients see even less. They live by the ‘don’t rat on me and I won’t rat on you’ rule, and before you ask, the restaurant is a pizza joint in West Palm. No one will have seen them in any of these places, but no one will not have seen them, either.”
“So the guy takes his date back to his own home where his wife is in residence? Why? And this ought to be good.”
“This Linda broad says Geoff got drunk and refused to go to a motel or to her place in Boynton. He insisted they go back to his place and ‘live dangerously,’ as he put it. She seems to think he wanted to goad his wife and didn’t care if Mrs. Williams caught them at it.”
That was too much. Linda Adams’s testimony would make Melva look more like the victim than the perp, as Al would have it. “So why did she agree to it, Al?”
McNally's Dilemma Page 21