Read Online McNally's luck by Lawrence Sanders - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Sanders
Tags: det_crime
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sauteed peppers and onions and a lot of other swell stuff, all inflammatory. Meg asked for a diet cola and I ordered a bottle of Corona beer.
"And a stomach pump for two," I was tempted to add, but didn't.
I shall not attempt to describe the actual consumption of that combustible meal. Suffice to say that it was accompanied by gasps, brow-mopping, and frequent gulps of cold diet cola and Mexican beer. Our tonsils did not actually shriek in protest, but my stomach began to glow with an incandescent heat, presaging an insomniac night.
Of more importance to this narrative was our conversation that evening, for it included tidbits of information that would have aided my investigation-if I had had the wit to recognize clues in Meg's casual remarks. But I was too busy gnawing fried frog legs and swilling Corona to pay close attention. Do you suppose S. Holmes ever neglected a case because Mrs. Hudson brought him a plump mutton chop?
"Good news," Meg said, working on her chili. "I found an apartment. I already have the keys. I'm moving in tomorrow."
"Wonderful!" I said. "Where?"
"Riviera Beach. It's just a small place and I only have it till October. But the off-season rent is reasonable. I'm going to fly back to Pennsylvania, pack up more clothes and things, and then drive my Toyota back. Now I'll be able to stop freeloading on my sister."
"And get away from Harry," I added.
"That's the best part," she said. "I'll still see Laverne, of course, but not in that house."
We discussed her hope of becoming a personal trainer to Palm Beach residents seeking eternal youth through diet and exercise. I offered to supply a list of friends and acquaintances who might be potential clients.
"That would be a big help, Archy," she said gratefully. "Laverne has already given me some names, but I need more prospects. How about you?"
I laughed. "I'm really not the disciplined grunt-and-groan type. I try to do a daily swim, as I told you, and I play tennis and golf occasionally. I admit I'm hardly in fighting trim, but regular workouts are not my cup of sake. Too lazy, I suspect. I'm surprised you're willing to accept men as clients. I thought you'd limit your efforts to reducing female flab."
"Oh no," she said. "I'll be happy to train men. As a matter of fact, Harry Willigan has already volunteered to be my first client. But he's not interested in improving his health and fitness."
"No?" I said. "What is he interested in?"
I knew the answer to that, and it was just what I expected.
"Me," Meg Trumble said.
Our entrees arrived and we plunged in.
"I hope your sister isn't aware of her husband's interest," I said.
"Of course she's aware. She trusts me, but secretly she'll probably be relieved to have me out of the house."
That amused me. "If there was anything going on between you and Harry, your moving out wouldn't end it. Facilitate it more likely."
"Well, there's nothing going on," she said crossly, "and never will be. I told you what I think of that man."
"I share your opinion," I assured her. "He can be grim. It's amazing that Laverne puts up with his nonsense."
"Oh, she ignores him as much as she can. And she has other interests. She's taking tennis lessons, and she's very active in local clubs. She's at meetings two or three nights a week. But enough about Laverne and Harry. How are you making out on finding Peaches?"
"Not very well," I said. "No progress at all, except for one oddity that needs looking into."
I thought it would do no harm to tell her about the missing cat carrier. I thought it would surprise her, and that she'd immediately guess what I had already assumed: someone in the Willigan household had stuffed Peaches in the carrier and hauled her away.
But Meg kept her head lowered, picked through the jambalaya for shrimp, and said only: "Oh, I'm sure it will turn up somewhere around the house."
We finished our dinner with scoops of lemon sherbet, which helped diminish the conflagration-but not
"And a stomach pump for two," I was tempted to add, but didn't.
I shall not attempt to describe the actual consumption of that combustible meal. Suffice to say that it was accompanied by gasps, brow-mopping, and frequent gulps of cold diet cola and Mexican beer. Our tonsils did not actually shriek in protest, but my stomach began to glow with an incandescent heat, presaging an insomniac night.
Of more importance to this narrative was our conversation that evening, for it included tidbits of information that would have aided my investigation-if I had had the wit to recognize clues in Meg's casual remarks. But I was too busy gnawing fried frog legs and swilling Corona to pay close attention. Do you suppose S. Holmes ever neglected a case because Mrs. Hudson brought him a plump mutton chop?
"Good news," Meg said, working on her chili. "I found an apartment. I already have the keys. I'm moving in tomorrow."
"Wonderful!" I said. "Where?"
"Riviera Beach. It's just a small place and I only have it till October. But the off-season rent is reasonable. I'm going to fly back to Pennsylvania, pack up more clothes and things, and then drive my Toyota back. Now I'll be able to stop freeloading on my sister."
"And get away from Harry," I added.
"That's the best part," she said. "I'll still see Laverne, of course, but not in that house."
We discussed her hope of becoming a personal trainer to Palm Beach residents seeking eternal youth through diet and exercise. I offered to supply a list of friends and acquaintances who might be potential clients.
"That would be a big help, Archy," she said gratefully. "Laverne has already given me some names, but I need more prospects. How about you?"
I laughed. "I'm really not the disciplined grunt-and-groan type. I try to do a daily swim, as I told you, and I play tennis and golf occasionally. I admit I'm hardly in fighting trim, but regular workouts are not my cup of sake. Too lazy, I suspect. I'm surprised you're willing to accept men as clients. I thought you'd limit your efforts to reducing female flab."
"Oh no," she said. "I'll be happy to train men. As a matter of fact, Harry Willigan has already volunteered to be my first client. But he's not interested in improving his health and fitness."
"No?" I said. "What is he interested in?"
I knew the answer to that, and it was just what I expected.
"Me," Meg Trumble said.
Our entrees arrived and we plunged in.
"I hope your sister isn't aware of her husband's interest," I said.
"Of course she's aware. She trusts me, but secretly she'll probably be relieved to have me out of the house."
That amused me. "If there was anything going on between you and Harry, your moving out wouldn't end it. Facilitate it more likely."
"Well, there's nothing going on," she said crossly, "and never will be. I told you what I think of that man."
"I share your opinion," I assured her. "He can be grim. It's amazing that Laverne puts up with his nonsense."
"Oh, she ignores him as much as she can. And she has other interests. She's taking tennis lessons, and she's very active in local clubs. She's at meetings two or three nights a week. But enough about Laverne and Harry. How are you making out on finding Peaches?"
"Not very well," I said. "No progress at all, except for one oddity that needs looking into."
I thought it would do no harm to tell her about the missing cat carrier. I thought it would surprise her, and that she'd immediately guess what I had already assumed: someone in the Willigan household had stuffed Peaches in the carrier and hauled her away.
But Meg kept her head lowered, picked through the jambalaya for shrimp, and said only: "Oh, I'm sure it will turn up somewhere around the house."
We finished our dinner with scoops of lemon sherbet, which helped diminish the conflagration-but not
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