Why was Hanna sitting next to her self-proclaimed nemesis, William Ventura?
Why had Fitz banished herself to the rear of the assembly where she looked forsaken without Buzz at her side? And why wasn’t William filling the void?
William was flanked by Hanna and an empty chair, so where was Arnie Turnbolt? Tête-à-tête with Phil Meecham, that’s where, and both of them slightly apart form the group as a whole. Did they know something they were loath to share with their cohorts?
The Tremaines were sitting up front, keeping their eyes glued to the podium.
The two men forming a trio with Hank Wilson would have to be Ed Rogers and Ron Seymour. I would soon learn which one was Seymour and invent an excuse to discuss his wife’s aborted séance with Ouspenskaya.
With thoughts of bypassing the security guard and going directly to makeup for his screen test inflating his pretty head, Buzz wasn’t giving two hoots in hell for the deceased and how he got to be that way. Before facing a camera, Buzz would have to run the course, bypassing Lady Cynthia, Fitz and Phil Meecham in order to “rehearse” with Desdemona and fulfill his destiny.
Our lucky mascot, Ouspenskaya, was not with us. Just as well. The luck he had dispensed at our last outing would last us a lifetime, especially Richard Holmes’s lifetime.
Sudden thought: If Lady C had served wine this evening, how many would have declined the offer?
When the Creative Director had finished her homily it was my turn in the barrel. Being a director director rather than a Creative Director, I thought I would tell them what they had come to hear.
“I just wanted to add briefly to what Lady Cynthia said about the unfortunate death of Richard Holmes,” I began, pricking up all ears. “In order to determine how the poison got into Richard Holmes’s wineglass we will all be questioned by the police in the very near future.” I could feel rather than see Lady C’s wrathful glare.
“Just tell them what you saw and try, if possible, to recall who you were standing next to at the time.” With this, heads began to turn and fingers began to point. It was the biggest show of enthusiasm they had exhibited all evening.
To placate Lady Cynthia I said, “The cause of the accident must be determined to help prevent such a thing from happening again.” In support of Father I said, “If you should choose, you may have a lawyer present when summoned.”
Then I told them I had just come from a visit with Desdemona and that she was resting quietly. I explained the schedules Binky had distributed, adding that we would begin rehearsing four weeks before our opening which had yet to be determined. I suggested that they learn their lines before rehearsals began, stopping short of encouraging them to form workshops to do so. There was enough of that going on already.
Because living theater was what we were all about I infused a dash of theatrical lore into our first conclave. “Joseph Kesselring, the author of Arsenic and Old Lace, thought he had written a very serious and gruesome drama. When it made the rounds, producers rejected it on the grounds that both the premise and the characters of the drama were so insipid, audiences would laugh it off the stage. It took those two geniuses of modern theater, Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse, to discern that if the drama made people laugh it wasn’t unproduceable, it was a comedy. Lindsay and Crouse did indeed produce the play, laughing all the way to the bank.” I got a polite spattering of applause.
I ended with, “You’re going out there unknowns, but you’re going to come back stars.” It did not get a laugh.
All in all it was a somber and sober meeting, which did not speak well for a company on the eve of presenting a comedy. When I was done no one had any questions nor were they inclined to hang around and chat.
Buzz asked me if I thought he should call Desdemona to see if he could be of assistance. I answered in the negative, drawing a smile from Lady Cynthia.
I introduced myself to Ed Rogers and Ron Seymour, who both fled after shaking my hand.
Fitz gave me the obligatory peck on the cheek. Phil Meecham, as usual, cornered Buzz. Arnie Turnbolt told me that the old Warner Bros. version of Arsenic and Old Lace was on a waiting list at all the local video rental shops. “You’re competing with Frank Capra,” he warned. Then the three of them left together to regroup at Ta-Boo’ or the Chesterfield, was my guess. Would Buzz be joining them?
Hanna gave me a quick wave before departing with the Tremaines, followed by William. My para turned instantly noid. Was she avoiding me? Did her favorite psychic know about the meeting between her husband and yrs. truly and leak it to her? If so I would tear up my license to snoop and take up needlepoint.
Binky and I walked Connie to her office to pick up her things and I told them the truth about my meeting with Desdemona Darling. “She’s going to be trouble,” was Connie’s educated guess. “And did you get a look at her bedroom?”
“I most certainly did not. Why do you ask?”
“Remember the night of her party when she told me to put your megaphone in one of the bedrooms? Well, it was her bedroom I put it in and I couldn’t help notice the framed photos on her dressing table. Five of them. All men. Didn’t she have five husbands before Richard Holmes?”
“That she did,” I said. “Lady C has flags, Desdemona has framed photographs. I wonder which I like least.”
“Do you think there are six framed photos there now?” Binky asked.
“I would say it’s too soon,” I told him. “But what do you think Richard thought of her rogue’s gallery?”
“Maybe he didn’t spend too much time in her bedroom,” Connie offered.
On the way out we ran into the housekeeper, Annie, and Binky paused to have a few words with her. When we reached the parking area I could just about make out Hanna and William in the light of the overhead floodlights, conversing. As we approached they broke off and got into their respective cars, and drove away. Interesting?
I saw Connie to her car and waited for Binky. When he came out I chided him for hitting on the help.
“I wouldn’t do that, Archy,” he pleaded. “I know Annie from work. She’s with Temporarily Yours, too.”
Interesting?
TWENTY-ONE
IT’S A FUNNY THING about cases. There are those you can work on for days, even weeks, following every lead and compiling all the facts, but when you sit down to put the pieces together you discover that none of them mesh to form the picture on the cover of the puzzle box. Juxtaposed is the case you take on in the morning and that night a single clue tells you all you need to know, even if it’s not what you want to know.
But in either case it’s often that bit of nuance—a seemingly inconsequential event, a word spoken in haste, a wry glance—that signals the beginning of the end. A young man stops to say a few words to a young woman. Two profiles silhouetted in the orange haze of a floodlight part at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Binky’s astounding news, coming before I had a chance to digest Hanna and William’s abrupt parting and DeeDee’s earlier revelation, had me defying Lady Cynthia’s cardinal rule—NO SMOKING anyplace on her ten acres. In the words of the late Diana Barrymore, “It was all too much, too soon.”
“I thought you gave those up,” Binky, who is as predictable as our planet’s orbit around old Sol, droned.
“My dear Binky, jure divino compels me to abandon my English Ovals but jure humano makes the break arduous. In clichéd English, the mind is willing but the flesh is weak. Now drive directly to the Pelican Club and await me at the bar.”
“Who’s buying, Archy? Jure divino or jure humano?”
Good grief! Either walking his patients or rubbing shoulders with the theatrical crowd had Binky crowing like a stand-up comic. “Last to arrive buys the drinks,” I proposed.
I crawled along in my Miata because I wanted to think and because Binky deserved a nightcap for diverting my attention from the mystical to the factual—the obscure to the obvious—the pits to the cherries.
Mrs. Trelawney called Tempora
rily Yours and told them of our need for temporary help with Mother’s garden. Did she mention that Mother and Father were going to cruise the Caribbean? Probably, because Mrs. Trelawney likes to chat. Did she know what cruise lines were being considered? Probably not, but one step at a time will get us there.
Serge Ouspenskaya got his start in Palm Beach society when he called Connie Garcia and offered his services as a psychic before anyone knew Lady C was in the market for a psychic for her “who-done-it?” gala. Did Mrs. Marsden leave for vacation before the party and was Annie of Temporarily Yours ensconced in the house when the decision to use a psychic was made? To be determined. But Annie was there when Lady C and DeeDee discussed the Lake Worth Playhouse and, more to the point, when they discussed bringing me into the community theater as director.
At lunch with Hanna Ventura she had stated very clearly, “Margaret is new.” Margaret being the Venturas’ housekeeper. Where did Margaret come from and was Margaret employed in the Ventura home when the diamond clip went missing and so conveniently reappeared? That would be easy to check on.
Did other Palm Beach households boasting remarkable losses and finds attributed to Ouspenskaya employ help from Temporarily Yours? When Ouspenskaya directed Mrs. Haberstraw to that desk drawer did a temp parlor maid, secretary or flower arranger lead the way?
It would appear that Temporarily Yours and Serge Ouspenskaya had more in common than just an address. Binky and, I hoped, Kate Mulligan were proof that Temporarily Yours was a legit business with perhaps a few of Ouspenskaya’s plants among the ranks. If so, were the owners of Temporarily Yours aware of the infiltration? It never occurred to me to ask Binky to pay a call on Ouspenskaya when I learned of the agency’s proximity to the psychic’s offices because Ouspenskaya knew of my relationship to Binky thanks to the community theater.
But I did ask Kate to spy for me, and in doing so had I tempted a mole to become a double agent? I couldn’t think of one thing I had confided to Kate Mulligan that had come back to haunt me in the guise of an Ouspenskaya prediction. Therefore, would I think twice before I discussed anything but food, wine, women and song with Kate? You bet your tushie I would. Getting into bed with the enemy is common practice in the worlds of commerce and espionage, but leave it to Archy to transcend the metaphorical into the literal.
To be sure, this was all speculation based on a chance comment by Binky Watrous. The only thing I knew for certain was that Desdemona Darling had told me Ouspenskaya had found her can of film. Was this wishful thinking, tipsy chatter, or the truth? If the latter it could validate Serge Ouspenskaya and invalidate all of the above.
I could add to this evening’s educated guesses my hunch that Hanna and William Ventura were the best actors in our troupe. This observation was based solely on a chance glimpse of the pair in Lady C’s parking area under the light of an electric lamp, not a full moon. In both cases I was shy on facts but I now had two working hypotheses to prove or disprove.
When I arrived at the Pelican the only person at the bar was Mr. Pettibone, polishing glasses. The Pelican is open from noon to midnight, but generally the last of the diners and drinkers are gone by eleven and the clapboard house is dark below stairs and lit above where the Pettibone family dwells in comfort.
“Good evening, Mr. Pettibone. Where’s Binky?”
“I haven’t seen him all evening, Archy,” Mr. Pettibone informed me.
If I had walked I couldn’t have gotten here much later, so where was Binky? The boy couldn’t win a bet even when his adversary threw the game. Binky Watrous, I often thought, could be depended upon for two things—catching colds and missing planes. “He should be here momentarily, I hope, but while I’m waiting, Mr. Pettibone, what can you tempt me with?”
He recommended a little-known brandy with great pretensions. “It will lift you for an hour and then gently drop you into a dreamless sleep. Guaranteed.”
“Sold,” I declared. “And how is Mrs. Pettibone? I hear she has a touch of the flu.”
“That she has and she won’t stay in bed like she should. The doctor has given her a little something so we’ll all get some rest tonight.”
Here, Binky entered the Pelican and joined me at the bar. “Did you come by way of Boca?” I questioned.
“I was stopped for speeding,” Binky announced. “The officer made me take a breathing test to see if I was drunk.”
“And?” I said, anticipating the worst.
“I passed,” Binky told me and Mr. Pettibone, who had paused in his work to listen to Binky’s narrative.
“Good for you, Binky. Join me in a brandy,” I invited.
“I’ll have a beer,” he answered. “I told the cop I was hurrying home to my invalid grandmother.”
“And?”
“I failed. He gave me a ticket.”
Consumed with guilt I called off the bet and offered to pay not only for the beer but for Binky’s summons as well. This brought a smile to his face but even when Binky smiled he looked on the verge of tears. “Now tell me,” I began, “when did you learn that Annie worked for Temporarily Yours?”
“Just today. I went to the office to collect my check and she was there for the same reason. She’s not a bad looker, Archy.”
In the world according to Binky Watrous, sex determines comeliness. If it’s female, it’s not a bad looker. “Indeed not,” I agreed, eager to move on. “And have you befriended any other employees at Temporarily Yours?”
My brandy and Binky’s beer were placed before us along with Mr. Pettibone’s blessing. “To your health, gentlemen.”
We raised our glasses in salute to our well-wisher before Binky answered me. “No, Archy. Annie is the only one I’ve talked to. Why do you want to know?”
“Curious. What did you and Annie talk about?”
“Richard Holmes and how he was poisoned at the party. What else? That’s all everyone is talking about. Annie can’t wait for a new assignment.”
“Think, Binky. Did she question you about anyone in the community theater and me in particular? Anything at all, even if it seemed like a perfectly ordinary question at the time.”
Putting down his beer, Binky turned to me and said, “What is this, Archy, a case?”
There is nothing Binky likes better than a case, especially when I ask for his assistance in the proceedings. We are not the Sherlock and Watson of the pulps, perish the thought, but more akin to Charlie Chan and Number One Son of the old B flicks. I would consider taking in Binky as a partner if we could afford the additional cost in liability insurance such a move would entail.
“It was a case,” I confessed. “Holmes hired me to investigate Ouspenskaya but, as you know, I lost my client.”
“Are you investigating his death?” Binky asked.
“No, I’ll leave that to the police. I’m still curious to learn how Ouspenskaya works his magic. I’ve thought for a long time that he has informants and I’m guessing that Annie is one of them.”
Shaking his head, Binky disagreed. “I don’t think so, Archy. She’s new in town and if she can find work after the season winds down she might settle in. I hope she does.”
Ouspenskaya was also new in town and so was Margaret and so was Kate. I hated to include Kate in my list of suspects but I had no choice, did I? “Did Sally Duhane interview you at the agency?” I asked Binky.
“How do you know Sally?” he asked with genuine surprise. “Archy, have you been nosing around Temporarily Yours? Why?”
“I was checking out Ouspenskaya’s digs and noticed he was in the same building as the agency so I paid a call on your employer to see what they were all about. Perfectly legit, Binky, I assure you.”
“I don’t believe you.” Binky’s innocence seemed to have gone the way of his mustache. Where was the boy who never doubted my word even when I did? “You’re trying to connect Temporarily Yours with Ouspenskaya, Archy, right?”
“I’ll not say nay to that one. The agency is like an octopus with tendrils in the be
st homes.” Including my own, I might have added. “It wouldn’t be the first time the help tattled on their employers for thirty pieces of silver. Well, did the Duhane woman interview you?”
“No,” Binky stated. “Sally Duhane is the receptionist and I think the owner or one of the owners. Kyle Romaine does the interviewing.”
I motioned for Mr. Pettibone to refill Binky’s glass. “Is Romaine about your age and height, Binky? Dark hair and slim?”
“Thanks, Archy,” Binky acknowledged when his fresh beer was drawn and served. “That sounds like Kyle. You’ve seen him?”
“When I was at the agency I saw him come in from the adjoining room. Is that where the interviews take place?”
“Yeah, Archy. There are just two small interview rooms but as far as I know Kyle is the only one who does the interviewing.”
“And you don’t recall him asking you anything odd or unconventional when he conducted your interview? I mean was he feeling you out for any extracurricular activities he might want to send your way?”
We were interrupted by Priscilla in jeans and a man’s shirt with the tails hanging out, who had emerged from the kitchen bearing a plate of something that looked like Lincoln logs. She served her father before offering them to Binky and me. “And what do we have here, pray tell?” I inquired.
“Mozzarella,” Priscilla named her offering, “dredged in seasoned breadcrumbs and sautéed in olive oil and butter. Leroy is thinking of putting them on the menu.”
“I’ve had them,” Binky said, helping himself. “They’re delicious.” Binky frequents fast-food bazaars where such items abound.
A rolled-up pizza? It sounded like instant agita but when has that ever stopped me from indulging?
“How was the meeting?” Priscilla asked.
“Uneventful,” I told her.
“No one died, if that’s what you mean,” Binky enjoined, scooping up another fried cheese delight. I had to admit they weren’t bad but felt they went better with a beer than a pretentious brandy.
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