Read Online McNally's Dilemma by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo
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she’s here, but I’m on my way out and can’t talk now. Later, Lol, I promise.”
“I want an exclusive, Archy.”
Why not? Lolly Spindrift was a friend to the rich and famous of Palm Beach. He would be kind, if nothing else, and give the proper slant to his interview with Veronica—kind mother, wicked stepfather—it could go a long way in shaping the coverage the press would give the story, all to Melva’s advantage.
I remembered that Lolly Spindrift was one of the last people to see Geoff alive. Lolly drove Geoff to Phil Meecham’s party, where, most likely, Geoff picked up his playmate. Lolly, whose job it was to note and record such facts, could certainly identify the woman. I’m sure the details of the murder were not yet public knowledge, so Lolly had no idea that he would be a pivotal figure in Melva’s defense. But his role in this passion play deemed it even more practical to give him the exclusive interview with Veronica Manning he so craved.
“What’s it like at Melva’s place?” I questioned, stalling for time.
“Pure havoc. The front gate looks like a mob scene for a DeMille epic. A couple of cops behind the gate are keeping them from storming the castle. The police station and the courthouse are also under siege.”
“All bases covered,” I said. Just as well Veronica stays here for now. “I’ll call you later this afternoon, Lol, and arrange something.”
“Promise?”
“On my word, Lol.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Archy.”
Employing a smart Anglo-Saxon expletive, I told Lolly Spindrift that he could go do unto himself as he would have others do unto him, and hung up.
I selected the blue suit and rep tie I had worn to lure Ginny, but substituted a pair of sensible brogues for the Allen-Edmonds kilties. On the second floor, I paused at the guest-room door, which was closed, hoping to catch a glimpse of Veronica—or did I want Veronica to catch a glimpse of me in my corporate attire? Either way, it proved a futile maneuver.
“Don’t you look nice,” Ursi greeted as I entered the kitchen. Did this imply that I don’t always look nice?
“Coffee, Ursi, please. Black and strong,” I answered, without so much as a good morning. Ursi was at the stove, as usual, and Jamie was seated with a cup of coffee and the morning paper before him.
“I’ll brew a fresh pot, Mr. Archy. Won’t take a minute.”
“Father had a problem getting his Lexus out of the garage this morning?” I directed this at Jamie. He nodded without taking his eyes from his newspaper. So taciturn is Jamie that in his presence a clam appears verbose.
“Miss Veronica is still asleep,” Ursi was saying as she plugged in the electric perc.
“How do you know who’s in the guest room?” I directed this at Ursi.
“Mrs. Marsden, of course,” Ursi replied, as if I should have known better than to ask.
“Mrs. Marsden?” I cried. Mrs. Marsden was Lady Horowitz’s housekeeper.
“Yes, Mr. Archy. Mrs. Marsden went to the Williams house this morning to take Hattie a tonic for her change of climate malaise. She makes it herself, and it’s the only thing that helps poor Hattie. Well, when she got there she thought the place had been burgled, what with the reporters and the police and...”
“How did she get into the house?” I asked incredulously.
“The tonic, Mr. Archy. She told the men at the gate she had to deliver the tonic.”
“And they let her through?”
“But of course, and not a moment too soon. Poor Hattie was in desperate need—”
“Is the coffee ready, Ursi?” I broke in, needing it more than poor Hattie needed Mrs. Marsden’s tonic.
“Almost, Mr. Archy.”
“So Hattie told Mrs. Marsden what transpired at the house last night and Mrs. Marsden has passed it along, house to house, on her way back to the Horowitz place.” I spoke as one who knows.
“Isn’t it terrible, Mr. Archy. Poor Mrs. Williams.”
No one had yet said “Poor Mr. Williams,” I
“I want an exclusive, Archy.”
Why not? Lolly Spindrift was a friend to the rich and famous of Palm Beach. He would be kind, if nothing else, and give the proper slant to his interview with Veronica—kind mother, wicked stepfather—it could go a long way in shaping the coverage the press would give the story, all to Melva’s advantage.
I remembered that Lolly Spindrift was one of the last people to see Geoff alive. Lolly drove Geoff to Phil Meecham’s party, where, most likely, Geoff picked up his playmate. Lolly, whose job it was to note and record such facts, could certainly identify the woman. I’m sure the details of the murder were not yet public knowledge, so Lolly had no idea that he would be a pivotal figure in Melva’s defense. But his role in this passion play deemed it even more practical to give him the exclusive interview with Veronica Manning he so craved.
“What’s it like at Melva’s place?” I questioned, stalling for time.
“Pure havoc. The front gate looks like a mob scene for a DeMille epic. A couple of cops behind the gate are keeping them from storming the castle. The police station and the courthouse are also under siege.”
“All bases covered,” I said. Just as well Veronica stays here for now. “I’ll call you later this afternoon, Lol, and arrange something.”
“Promise?”
“On my word, Lol.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Archy.”
Employing a smart Anglo-Saxon expletive, I told Lolly Spindrift that he could go do unto himself as he would have others do unto him, and hung up.
I selected the blue suit and rep tie I had worn to lure Ginny, but substituted a pair of sensible brogues for the Allen-Edmonds kilties. On the second floor, I paused at the guest-room door, which was closed, hoping to catch a glimpse of Veronica—or did I want Veronica to catch a glimpse of me in my corporate attire? Either way, it proved a futile maneuver.
“Don’t you look nice,” Ursi greeted as I entered the kitchen. Did this imply that I don’t always look nice?
“Coffee, Ursi, please. Black and strong,” I answered, without so much as a good morning. Ursi was at the stove, as usual, and Jamie was seated with a cup of coffee and the morning paper before him.
“I’ll brew a fresh pot, Mr. Archy. Won’t take a minute.”
“Father had a problem getting his Lexus out of the garage this morning?” I directed this at Jamie. He nodded without taking his eyes from his newspaper. So taciturn is Jamie that in his presence a clam appears verbose.
“Miss Veronica is still asleep,” Ursi was saying as she plugged in the electric perc.
“How do you know who’s in the guest room?” I directed this at Ursi.
“Mrs. Marsden, of course,” Ursi replied, as if I should have known better than to ask.
“Mrs. Marsden?” I cried. Mrs. Marsden was Lady Horowitz’s housekeeper.
“Yes, Mr. Archy. Mrs. Marsden went to the Williams house this morning to take Hattie a tonic for her change of climate malaise. She makes it herself, and it’s the only thing that helps poor Hattie. Well, when she got there she thought the place had been burgled, what with the reporters and the police and...”
“How did she get into the house?” I asked incredulously.
“The tonic, Mr. Archy. She told the men at the gate she had to deliver the tonic.”
“And they let her through?”
“But of course, and not a moment too soon. Poor Hattie was in desperate need—”
“Is the coffee ready, Ursi?” I broke in, needing it more than poor Hattie needed Mrs. Marsden’s tonic.
“Almost, Mr. Archy.”
“So Hattie told Mrs. Marsden what transpired at the house last night and Mrs. Marsden has passed it along, house to house, on her way back to the Horowitz place.” I spoke as one who knows.
“Isn’t it terrible, Mr. Archy. Poor Mrs. Williams.”
No one had yet said “Poor Mr. Williams,” I
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