McNally's Folly (28 page)

Interesting?

I
T’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 Temporarily 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
b
ed 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 best 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.

“I hope you’re sticking with the show,” I lectured Priscilla, trying to unstick my fingers from the mozzarella wrap.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she said. “Did Hank ask for me?”

“As a matter of fact, he did not. Out of sight, out of mind, young lady, so you had better make your intentions known,” I pressed on.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Mr. Director.” With that, Priscilla picked up her tray and departed.

“For every adage,” Mr. Pettibone stated thoughtfully, “there is one to countermand it. Look before you leap,” he tossed at me.

“He who hesitates is lost,” I returned the volley.

“Seek and you shall find.”

“All things come to he who waits.”

“For every man there’s a woman,” Binky proclaimed.

Mr. Pettibone and I gave this some thought but could come up with nothing to douse Binky’s hopes. “You win, Binky, but I wouldn’t count on it. Now drink up so Mr. Pettibone can put the Pelican and his family to bed. And do me a favor, please.”

“Sure, Archy. What is it?”

“Keep your eyes and ears open around Temporarily Yours.”

“You can count on me...” Binky paused in midsentence and then vociferated, “That’s what Kyle said, Archy. Now I remember.”

“What did he say, Binky?”

“When he sent me to the animal hospital he told me to keep my eyes and ears open and report anything of interest about the operation and the personnel because it would be helpful to the agency to better service them.”

Interesting?

Alone, alone, all all alone
in my crow’s nest. I undressed, washed, brushed and donned my silk dressing gown. Begging Noel Coward’s pardon, I dispensed with the ascot. Then I poured myself a marc which had no claim to pretention to banish the memory of Mr. Pettibone’s brandy, and in lieu of music I lit an English Oval to soothe my savage breast. Settled, I entered my newly formulated hypotheses in my journal and ruminated upon their validity.

If Ouspenskaya wasn’t connected with Temporarily Yours, I would pop the question to Connie Garcia in May. (And May it never happen.) I doubted if all the agency’s employees worked for Ouspenskaya. The operation must consist of patsies, like Binky, and paid informers.

And which was Kate Mulligan? Should I drop a few choice items into Kate’s pretty ear when next we cohabitated to see how long it took for them to be recycled into an Ouspenskaya radio broadcast? The thought aroused more than my interest. Distrust an aphrodisiac? I banished the thought before it led me astray.