McNally's Bluff (20 page)

What she thought must have amused her because she laughed. “Judge not, lest you be judged. Remember?”

“Oh, shut up,” I scolded.

“Billy is a diamond in the rough, Archy.”

“Then polish him,” I advised.

“That would spoil the fun.”

And we both laughed.

“I look forward to our sailing date. Call me for details,” were her parting words.

I was certain Billy Gilbert did not want me aboard. Why?

I
LEFT FLAMINGO RUN
with more questions than answers on my score sheet. This was not unusual after an interview, especially in a case involving opposing factions. I said I was more inclined to believe Carolyn Taylor than Tilly. This was not only because I found Carolyn more attractive and far less base, in spite of her boy toy, but because it would have been almost impossible for Carolyn to slip upstairs that evening. The operative word being
almost.

But then it was just as impossible (that word again) for Marlena Marvel to have been poisoned and transported to the maze that night. But she was.

I am investigating the murder of Marlena Marvel, not the death of Linton Taylor, and the ensuing animosity between Linton’s son and Linton’s widow, but was there a correlation between the two? I mentally listed the suspects in the Marlena Marvel murder.

Matthew Hayes

Matilda Thompson

Carolyn Taylor

Laddy Taylor (and everyone else who was at the party)

Next, suspects in the death of Linton Taylor—if he was murdered, which is most doubtful.

Carolyn Taylor

Aided and abetted by Marlena Marvel

Clearly there is a correlation, and the link is Carolyn Taylor, whom I chose to believe. But then I recall several damsels I rather liked before leading them, handcuffed, to jail. It’s called dancing with the devil and I so enjoy doing a two-step with an alluring succubus.

And was it just a lucky coincidence for Laddy that Marlena was poisoned with digitalis, the medication taken by Linton Taylor, giving Laddy the ammunition he needed to fire at Carolyn? Laddy was also lucky in teaming up with Tilly so soon after his arrival. Did Tilly see Carolyn on the second floor the night of the party, or did Laddy tell her she did? Birds of a feather, Carolyn had dubbed them. Was their birdseed illicit drugs? That might account for the speed with which the two connected, the drug culture being a tight-knit clan with its own buzz words, sign language and meeting places.

Enter the yachtsman, Alejandro Gomez y Zapata, who is making runs out of a marina in Miami with—guess who? Carolyn Taylor and Billy Gilbert. Rechecking my lists I find one name stands out like a neon sign in a dark alley. The lady whom I chose to believe. The lady who had come a long way from cocktail waitress to cruise hostess to Palm Beach matron. People don’t change, remember, only the roles they choose to play change.

And why didn’t that brat want me to join the cruise?

(Reminder: Call Georgy and see if she can get the day after tomorrow off to go yachting. Note: I must give in to the new century and get a cell phone however opposed I am to people walking about with the damn things glued to their ears and yakking like magpies.)

The only scenario Carolyn Taylor doesn’t appear in is the one involving Mack Macurdy. Replacing her is the lovely Marge Macurdy. We seem to have a plethora of attractive women in this case, each with her own separate, and very distinctive, appeal. Freckles, moonlight and roses. Cockatoo Lounge, hostess and—foxglove?

Was Mack leaning on Matthew Hayes? Like the claims of Tilly and Carolyn, I have only Marge’s word regarding Mack’s euphoria since Marlena’s murder and Mack’s subsequent visits to Le Maze.

Such were my thoughts as I drove from Flamingo Run to police headquarters. I found a parking space on County Road and walked up the steps to the palace. Before you reach the information counter one passes the Crime Scene Evidence Unit. Inside the glass enclosure a group of officers were milling about, chatting and gesticulating. If there were any crime scene evidence about it escaped my notice.

The officer at the information counter, a tall blonde beauty, reminded me of my Georgy. How the physical persona of police personnel has changed in the past two decades. Will I live to see a woman president? I certainly hope so.

“May I see Lieutenant Eberhart? Archy McNally calling.”

“Is he expecting you?” she asked.

“No, but if you give him my name I’m sure he’ll see me,”

Hesitantly, she inquired, “Are you here to report witches’ covens or other strange occurrences in your neighborhood—or if you’re taking digitalis, please see your doctor.” It was clearly a set piece, oft repeated in the past few days.

But of course. Mack Macurdy had mentioned on several occasions that Lieutenant Oscar Eberhart was in charge of the Marlena Marvel murder. Eberhart was now a household name with a listed phone and therefore subject to calls and visits from the loony-toon fringe. The way she kept glancing at my fuchsia Lacoste and matching hat band led me to believe she thought me one of them. Impudent little thing. Give them a badge and they start taking themselves seriously.

“None of the above, ma’am. If you’ll just give him my name I’m sure he’ll tell you to let me in.”

She picked up her phone, hit a few buttons and announced me to Oscar. She looked disappointed as she pointed to my right and said, “One flight up.”

I didn’t say “I told you so” nor did I stick my tongue out at the doubting Thomasina for fear that she would sound an alarm and I would end up a piece of evidence in the crime scene unit. With dignity, I tipped my boater, squared my fuchsia shoulders, and headed for the stairs.

This was not my first visit to Oscar’s office so I knew my way. As I approached, a sergeant with a gray crew cut and a body that suggested he played Santa Claus at the department’s annual eggnog bash was just leaving. With a nod he held the door for me.

Lieutenant Eberhart quickly closed a large notepad as I entered, but not quick enough to hide the top page which was covered with completed tic-tac-toe diagrams. Thick black lines had been drawn through the games that boasted a winner. In England they call the game Noughts and Crosses. They also call suspenders braces and pronounce clerk so that it rhymes with mark. I passed none of this on to Eberhart.

“I’m not disturbing you, I trust,” I said.

Unperturbed, he shoved the notepad aside and pointed to his visitor’s chair, which his opponent had so recently vacated. It was still warm. Was Eberhart the noughts or the crosses? Crosses was my guess as noughts were synonymous with nothing and Oscar Eberhart longed to be something—like the guy who solved the Marlena Marvel murder.

“I hear you’re working for Hayes,” he stated.

“Reluctantly, but it gives me the right to snoop. This is the first time I’ve been a witness to a crime and couldn’t say wha’happen if I was called upon to give testimony. It irks me, Lieutenant, and I don’t like being irked.”

“Welcome to the club. You got anything to report?”

“I have information to pass on, strictly hearsay.”

He retrieved the notepad. Was he going to challenge me? “We have nothing, McNally. Zero, zilch, nada, nothing. We’ve been over every blade of grass in that maze not knowing what we’re looking for but it makes no difference because we didn’t find anything.

“Hayes is as communicative as the Sphinx. He told us he hired you because we’re incompetent. That pipsqueak’s got a pair on him, let me tell you. The maid sticks to her story till I want to strangle her, and our interviews to date have done nothing for us but cost the department a wad in overtime and we haven’t made a dent in the list.”

“If you don’t know what you’re looking for, Lieutenant, how do you know you didn’t find it?”

“Nobody likes a smart-ass, McNally, especially one in a purple shirt.”

“It’s fuchsia, Lieutenant.”

“That’s even worse. If I was you, buddy, I would stop having intimate dinners with Lolly Spindrift. He was on top of our interview roster and I had the pleasure of speaking to him. He knew everyone at the party by name, who they were married to, who they used to be married to, who they were sleeping with, how much money they had, and would I like to have cocktails with him in a dubious bar some evening.”

Dubious bar? I suppressed a laugh which was a pity because laughs were sorely missing in this case. “You should accept, Oscar. Look at what happened to Lolly’s last boyfriend. I just left him swimming in the buff in Carolyn Taylor’s pool.”

He flushed from neck to forehead as I knew he would. Shame on me.

“Was Mrs. Taylor watching?” When I nodded with a wink he positively glowed like a cherry ripe for the picking. “What did she say?” he growled.

“She said he was insecure and responded by being pompous.”

He shook his head, the color slowly draining from his cheeks. “Everyone in this town is nuts, McNally, including you. And immoral. Spindrift said there was less to Billy Gilbert than met the eye. What do you suppose that means?”

Knowing he would drop dead if I told him, I played it safe and lied, “He means the kid is all facade and little substance. More important, what did Lolly say about Carolyn Taylor?”

“She met Linton Taylor, millionaire, on a cruise ship and he married her. She was some kind of entertainer. Strictly off the rack, Spindrift called her. Go figure. The guy even talks queer.”

“Off the rack means she was not to the manor born. And she was a hostess on that liner.”

“Who told you that?” he asked.

“She did. While Billy was—well, you know. And before she was a hostess she was a waitress in the Cockatoo Lounge in Des Moines. And would you like to hear who Mrs. Taylor roomed with in Des Moines?”

“Not really, but you’ll tell me anyway.”

“She roomed with Molly Malone, that’s who she roomed with.”

I got a blank stare before he almost leaped out of his chair. He reached for a manila folder, opened it and ran his eyes down the first page. “Molly Malone,” he read aloud. “The deceased.”

“None other, Lieutenant.”

“Carolyn Taylor knew Marlena Marvel?” he questioned. “Why didn’t she come forward. Why didn’t you? Withholding information is...”

“I’m not withholding anything. I’m here to tell you what I’ve learned.”

“Which is more than we’ve learned,” he barked at me. “Go on, say it.”

“Okay. Which is more than you’ve learned.”

“Smart-ass,” he chastened. “You said it was hearsay.”

“Carolyn Taylor and Marlena Marvel were roommates in Des Moines some twenty years ago. They’ve stayed in touch, on and off, since then. That’s a fact, the rest I have to tell you is hearsay. Meaning it’s one person’s word with no corroborating witnesses. Now sit back and listen.”

I reported, in detail, my meeting with Tilly and my interview with Carolyn. I did not report on my meeting with Hayes as that would breach client confidentiality. Besides, Eberhart was at liberty to question Hayes. If the police didn’t ask the right questions, that was their problem, not mine.

Nor did I tell him anything that was said in father’s office between father and me, or the details of Laddy’s last visit to McNally & Son. Laddy had blabbed to the police on that score.

When I had said my piece, Eberhart rewarded my efforts with, “You should have come here before you went to the Taylor dame. I can cite you.”

“No way, Oscar. The maid’s accusations are unprovable. You can’t cite me for not reporting what amounts to a rumor. And isn’t it obvious that she intended for me to pass it on to you? She and her boyfriend.”

Reaching for his phone he mumbled, “This is the first break we’re had on this lousy case.” A moment later he was shouting into the mouthpiece, “I want someone to pick up Matilda Thompson. She’s the maid in the Marlena Marvel case. I want her brought in ASAP. She lives in the Hayes house on Ocean Boulevard. Radio a patrol car and have them do it.

“No, she’s not under arrest. I want to question her. And not a word to anyone or the press will get hold of it and headline her guilty and that nut Macurdy will have her on a broomstick.” He banged the instrument in its cradle.

Well, ain’t that something. One word from Archy and the entire police force is off and running—perhaps on a wild-goose chase but hey, at least I put a stop to Noughts and Crosses ennui.

“Let’s take it from the top, McNally, and I want it all. You hold anything back and I’ll revoke your license.”

It did my heart good to see Oscar on the offensive. It made me less culpable for not coming here right after my meeting with Tilly, and I did squeeze out the info just now like a cardsharp with a poker hand.

So we went over the facts and the hearsay. I stifled a yawn.

“I don’t like this Laddy Taylor tie-in. Do we have two wrongful deaths here, or one?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Lieutenant.”

Eberhart began scratching the back of his head. I noticed that he has been letting his hair grow a wee bit longer. Nothing dubious, mind you, but definitely more urbane. It could be the way the overhead fluorescent light illuminated his curly locks, but I could swear the lieutenant’s mane had also gotten a shade or two lighter since our last encounter. Are Eberhart’s pretentious longings coming out of the closet, or is a lady the impetus? I know nothing of Oscar’s love life and dare not ask, but I could query Al Rogoff on the subject.

“Maybe we should have paid more attention to Linton Taylor’s son. Maybe there’s more to his accusations than we know,” he speculated. “What do you think, Archy?”

Notice how he segued from the robust McNally to the familiar Archy without making any stops along the way. Oscar was buttering me up but I’m not easy. I had given him all I knew and he would have to make of it what he would.

He would interview Tilly, Carolyn Taylor and, given my disclosures, Laddy Taylor. They would tell him just what they told me. I didn’t want to influence his conclusions with my take on these characters, nor did I believe for an instant that his judgment was subordinate to mine. On the contrary. Everything I know about this business I learned from observing the police at work—be it a case of murder, or ticketing a jaywalker.