McNally's Folly

by Lawrence Sanders

  He didn’t have to mull that one over for long. “It’s my phrase you’re coining.”

  “So it is. Can I know who’s being indecent?”

  “In this town? Everyone! And I said I would tell you if you told me why one of your lawyers had arrived at the station house that morning to assist Desdemona and Lady C. Remember?”

  “I did call you as soon as I learned the answer, but your line was busy. You must have had the police press release by then.”

  “So we owe each other nothing,” Lolly stated.

  “Tell me as a favor and I’ll owe you.”

  “Listen, Archy, it was something I picked up by chance from not too reliable a source. I mean I got it secondhand.”

  No surprise there. “You get everything secondhand,” I said.

  “Secondhand from reliable sources. That’s different. I don’t want to make waves unless I know it’s true.”

  This was a revelation. The only thing that liked to make bigger waves than Lolly Spindrift was the QE2. A few days ago he was willing to tell all. Now he was having second thoughts. Who was he protecting? “Okay, Lol, but will you answer one question?”

  “Tell me what it is, and I’ll think about it.”

  “Is one of the parties one of my wannabe thespians?”

  He gave this a lot of thought and I waited patiently for a response. When it came it was a simple, “Yes, one of them is.”

  In our game of give and take why did I get the feeling that Lolly Spindrift got more than he gave?

  NINETEEN

  IT WAS AFTER THREE when I got off the phone with Lolly Spindrift. Kate usually arrived at our house at ten and left about three, when Mother went in for her nap. There was a good chance that she would be back in her condo in West Palm at this hour. Now that I could once again bill my time I decided to ride over to Currie Park and, if she was still speaking to me, ask Kate a few more pointed questions about the art of magic and fortune-telling.

  Over our Tex-Mex dinner she had admitted to knowing several psychics in her Las Vegas days. Since checking out the accommodations on Clematis Street I wanted to know what, if anything, she knew about the man upstairs. It was my new client who had pointed out the connection between Ouspenskaya and Hanna’s mysterious outings, therefore I had no compunctions about ambling along in the Miata with Ventura’s meter ticking.

  As I drove I thought about my new assignment, looking for something besides the fee I would earn to be cheerful about and coming up snake eyes with every try. Hanna was young, pretty and trying to make a difficult marriage work while doing battle with a hostile stepson who lived in. If she was seeking solace elsewhere I didn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle. Be that as it may, I had taken the job and I had an obligation to my client. I would call it as I saw it but hoped, as Ventura had suggested, that the diversion was nothing more than a passing flirtation.

  The suspicion that his wife was using Ouspenskaya as a beard, possibly with the seer’s consent, was too intriguing to pass up and gave me a starting point for my investigation, which, to my advantage, took up where my last case left off. The boy, William, also had to figure in this debacle. He watched his stepmother like a hawk, looking for just such an indiscretion to report to his father. Either William didn’t know what was going on or he was waiting for Hanna to pass the point of no return before going public. My job was many things, but never dull.

  Kate was still in her gardening clothes, minus the Top-Siders, when she opened her front door. “I didn’t call,” I said, “because I was afraid you’d refuse to see me.”

  She smiled that fetching smile and stood back to let me in. “Someone called last night but rang off without leaving a message,” she answered, closing the door. Except for her shoes, which lay on the floor in front of a cushioned chair, the place looked uninhabited and even more austere in the bright light of day than it had the other evening.

  “Guilty,” I admitted. “I called to invite you to dinner but if you weren’t here, what was there to say?”

  “Oh, but I was here and I would have picked up the moment you mentioned dinner,” she said with a mischievous look in her bright eyes, “If you had called to make excuses not to see me, I would let you believe I was otherwise engaged.”

  “You’re a devious young lady,” I scolded, taking her in my arms and planting a kiss on her freckled nose. In her stocking feet the top of her head just cleared my shoulder. She returned the embrace until my lips sought hers and then she pulled back, putting me at arms’ length. “You smell of the good earth, Kate,” I quipped.

  “Your mother’s good earth. And you smell like something very expensive,” she rejoined, sniffing the air between us.

  “Royal Copenhagen,” I announced.

  “If that’s Royal Copenhagen, I’m the queen of Denmark.” The woman was sharp and wanted people to know it. “Would you like a drink? I have the brandy and the snifters.”

  “Too early for anything that potent and I’ve just come from lunch.”

  “That accounts for the snazzy suit. What about coffee?”

  “I’ll take a cup of coffee,” I accepted.

  “It’s instant,” Kate called, heading for the apartment’s galley kitchen. With her back to me she didn’t see me wince. Raspberry sorbet and instant coffee. Only the memory of the lemon sole kept my stomach from revolting. “Have a seat. It won’t take a moment.”

  When she returned with our coffee on a tray along with cream, sugar and sticky sweet rolls still in the box they came in, she put the load down on the glass and chrome coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch. I put a drop of cream in my coffee, assiduously avoiding the sugar and rolls.

  “Were you going to take me to dinner at your Pelican Club?” Kate asked, helping herself to both the sugar and a roll.

  I almost dropped my cup and saucer. “Where did you hear about the Pelican?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.

  “Your mother, of course. She loves to talk about you. I also know about your silk berets and your expulsion from Yale. You naughty boy.”

  Hoping to elude committing myself to being seen at the Pelican with Kate Mulligan and having it reported to Consuela Garcia, I said with great concern, “Did Mother tell you why I was booted from Yale?”

  “She didn’t seem to know, but was certain the school was being unfair. Were they, Archy?”

  I feigned a sigh of relief and quoted Sofia Richmond. “Yesterday is a memory, gone for good forever / while tomorrow is a guess / what is real is what is here and now / and here and now is all that we possess.”

  Kate laughed and licked a sticky finger. “The blarney stone must have landed on your head, McNally. Why did you come here this afternoon? I would imagine a director would have more pressing things to do when his actors begin taking their roles a bit too seriously—like posting closing notices.”

  “The show will go on, Kate. Desdemona Darling insists.”

  “When you’ve buried as many husbands as she has the ritual must wear thin. Do you know anything more about the poisoning than is in the papers?” Kate asked. “I refuse to believe it was an accident.”

  I managed a sip or two of the coffee before returning it to the table. “I agree and I know as much as you do.” Not wishing to get into a discussion of Holmes’s death and the decision to go on with the play I said without preamble, “Remember our discussion about psychics and how they ply their trade? You told me you knew a few in Las Vegas.”

  Kate finished her coffee and putting down the cup she leaned back and shrugged her shoulders. “I knew them in passing. There was a café that never closed, like everything else in Vegas, where the minor acts hung out to see, be seen and swap stories. That’s as much as I know about them. And I get the feeling we’re back to playing cat and mouse, Archy, and I don’t like it. Is this about the guy who was at the party where Desdemona’s husband was poisoned?”

  Kate Mulligan shot up so straight I felt like a fink. “It is, Kate, and I couldn’t discuss it
the other night because I was working on a case, but now that Holmes is dead so is the case.”

  She sat forward, facing me. “You mean you were working for Desdemona’s husband?”

  “I was, and if you’ll hear me out I’ll tell you all about it.” I took out my box of English Ovals. “Mind?” She shook her head. I lit up and recited the continuing saga of “Serge the Seer,” leaving out only Desdemona Darling’s reason for seeking help from the psychic. When I was finished Kate patted the cushion next to her in an inviting gesture. Being a gentleman, I acquiesced.

  She rested her head on my shoulder and I placed an arm around hers. She did smell of the good earth, and soap and water, and sticky sweet buns. “Freddy McNally and Lolly Pops,” she giggled. “Show business is in your blood, Archy. I knew we were kindred spirits the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “If you want to keep your job I wouldn’t mention Freddy to Mother and especially not to Father,” I cautioned.

  “I get the picture,” she said. Thinking over what I had just told her, Kate commented, “It’s easy to guess how he knew about your grandfather, but how he knew that Holmes was poisoned almost before the police is baffling. How do you figure it?”

  “I have no idea short of him having a connection at the station house,” I admitted.

  “You don’t seriously believe that,” Kate stated.

  “Not for a moment,” I answered. “His office is one floor above Temporarily Yours. I had him under surveillance and checked out the building.” I thought the better part of valor was not telling her I had entered the lobby only after I had seen her coming out of the building.

  “I know,” she said. “If he wears a turban I’ve seen him in the elevator.” I was very conscious of her body nestled against mine and feared it was beginning to become noticeable. “I’ve also seen his name in the local press. He’s very popular with the ladies who like to be entertained and can afford it. What do you want from me, Archy?”

  I kissed her and this time she didn’t resist, but rather encouraged me. “According to his followers he’s done some pretty remarkable forecasting. Locating lost objects seems to be his specialty. I thought you might be able to tell me how he does it.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair and I thought of a line from my favorite Jean Harlow film—“I’d love to run barefoot through your hair.” Come to think of it, Kate was barefoot, but this not being a Harlow film, or any film, I held fast to my tasseled loafers. “Sorry, Archy, but I can’t,” Kate answered. “I could tell you how to pull a rabbit out of a hat but how your Mr. Ouspenskaya knew where to find that diamond clip is beyond my ken.

  “The few so-called psychics I knew out west were actually mind readers. Some people have a natural talent for it and practice it with amazing results. They work places like Las Vegas, New York, Miami and New Orleans for obvious reasons. The tourist crowd. Even a novice can spot a couple on their honeymoon, the recent widow on the make, college kids on their own for the first time and illicit lovers on a spree. Their stories are painfully similar. The psychic makes a few very educated guesses and boggles the minds of the hayseeds. His predictions are always far enough into the future so that he never has to face the consequences of a wrong forecast.”

  “Do they ever use a shill?” I asked, hoping she would never stop combing my hair with her fingers.

  “Definitely,” Kate proclaimed, “especially with the lounge acts. The shill works the bar, chatting with people to get as much information out of them as he or she can without causing suspicion. The psychic knows a lot about his audience before he sets foot on the stage.”

  In other words, I thought, they employed a spy. As Kate had just explained, it was easy to see how it could be accomplished in a public place with a built-in audience. Ouspenskaya didn’t have the convenience of either. “How often do you visit your home office, Kate?” I asked.

  “At least once a week,” she told me, “to pick up my check and see if there are suitable jobs available. I’m with your mother only four hours a day, so I have time to pick up a few extra bucks if the job and the hours dovetail with my meager talents and time.”

  “Pretty fancy digs for a part-time employee in need of extra bucks,” I couldn’t help noting.

  “What? Oh, the apartment. I don’t own it, Archy, I rent. I had a little nest egg from my chorus girl days and combined it with my severance pay from my married days to buy my little car and head east. There’s not much left so I have to supplement it as best I can.”

  “I didn’t mean to be inquisitive...”

  “But it’s the nature of your business,” she finished, restraining my roving hand. “Unless you plan on spending the night I suggest we untangle and part. I have to shower and give some thought to dinner—or do I make my debut at the Pelican tonight?”

  I untangled rapidly and told Kate that my director chores made that impossible. “I have to hand out the rehearsal schedules and give the obligatory pep talk. Given our particular circumstances, that won’t be easy.”

  Kate began to gather up the remains of our coffee and return them to the tray. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” she was saying, “but now that you lost your client I imagine anything you learn about Ouspenskaya will be purely academic.”

  “You might say that, but I’m a tenacious cuss and can’t stop fiddling with a knot until it yields to my ministrations. Would you do me a favor?”

  She was on her way back to the kitchen but stopped in her tracks. “Me? How?”

  “When you visit your office keep your eyes open for Ouspenskaya and his clientele and let me know anything that strikes you as out of the ordinary.”

  She continued to the kitchen and I followed her. “Are we going to play Nick and Nora Charles or Nero Wolfe and Archy?” Kate laughed with great pleasure at her own wit.

  Maybe she had something there. Ouspenskaya knew me and everyone I associated with and watched my every move. If he used a spy, why couldn’t I? Kate was discerning and game for adventure. She had worked lounge acts with a magician and shared billing with clairvoyants. I bet she could spot a scam through a brick wall. “Why not?” I said. “Are you up for a little sleuthing?”

  “Don’t be silly, Archy. I was just kidding.”

  The kitchen was very narrow and we were very close. “Hear me out,” I begged.

  “I hear better when I have room to breathe,” she pleaded.

  I gave her room, but not much, and continued cajoling her. “All I want you to do is visit his office and inquire about a consultation. You can say you work downstairs and are curious. It’s perfectly logical and legal.”

  “What will this prove?” she wanted to know.

  “I want to see how he treats someone who walks in cold. Someone he has never seen before and knows nothing about. Also, what he charges if he’s willing to do a consultation. It’s that simple.”

  The cups were in the sink and the sticky rolls were placed in the refridge. “I’ll have to think about it,” Kate said. “I’m not an actress.”

  “We’ll talk more about it tomorrow night,” I told her. “Over dinner at the Pelican Club?” she said hopefully.

  I returned home in time for my swim and to add a few notes to my journal, deciding to merge my new case with that of the pseudo psychic. Then I called Binky who had just returned from walking his patients and was informed that the Palm Beach Community Theater was meeting at the home of Lady Cynthia Horowitz, Creative Director, at nine.

  On a hunch I called Desdemona Darling and got Jorge. His accent told me that he might be of Philippine extraction but he was hatched in New Jersey. He said he would tell La Signora I wished to speak to her. Give unto me a break.

  “Archy,” she bellowed when she came on, “I knew my director wouldn’t desert me even if everyone else has.”

  “I want to know if you’ll be at the meeting tonight,” I said. “I’m handing out the rehearsal schedules.”

  “I wanted to come, but Cynthia doesn’t think it
would be proper and I’m sure she’s right. It’s not that I’m insensitive to what happened. I loved Richard. But I hate sitting on my hands and brooding. It never did anyone a lick of good.”

  “I agree, DeeDee, but perhaps it would be better if you rested for a week or so before starting rehearsals. We can work around you.”

  “It’s a long way around,” she roared.

  I held the telephone a good six inches from my ear but didn’t miss a syllable. “When is the service for Richard?”

  “I won’t know that until the police officially release him. They questioned Cynthia and me for hours at the station house and they told us to stay available for more questioning. That’s a polite way of telling us not to leave town.”

  “They’re going to question everyone who was at the party that night, which means our entire cast and crew plus the catering people. It’s their job, DeeDee, and can’t be avoided.”

  “Some publicity for our show,” she sighed. “It’s the kind of press you can’t buy and don’t want.”

  “Out in Hollywood they say there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” I reminded her.

  “Tell that to Fatty Arbuckle, Archy.”

  She had a point there. “I’ll leave your schedule at Lady Cynthia’s. The call is four evenings a week, Monday through Thursday, leaving the weekends free. I broke down the scenes and characters so people will know when they must attend. I think we’ll need four weeks but as the theater hasn’t given us our opening date I can’t say what Monday we’ll begin.”

  “What time are you meeting tonight?”

  “Nine,” I answered.

  “Why not come by here first and drop off my schedule?” DeeDee proposed. “We can have a cocktail and a nosh and you can lie to your star and tell her how happy you are you’ll be working with her. It’s standard procedure where I come from.”

  It was just what I wanted to hear. “It’s the best offer I’ve had in years, DeeDee. Should we say seven for seven-thirty?”

  “Let’s say seven for seven, Archy. I’m no camel.”