McNally's Folly (21 page)

“It was no accident, Archy. Poison doesn’t get passed around at a friendly party like pot or coke. The guy was done in,” Joe stated, looking very distressed by the fact.

“It was a bad night for all of us,” I told him. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest. The mail can wait a day.”

“Thanks, Archy, but I’ll be okay. The news is worrying my nerves, that’s all.”

“It has us all a bit jumpy. Sudden death from unnatural causes tends to stimulate our imaginations.”

“I didn’t imagine that I was standing next to Richard Holmes when the ladies passed out the wine.”

So that was it. “Who was on his other side, Joe? Do you remember?”

He shook his head. “Binky, maybe. Or Connie. No— no—it was the beauty they call Fitz.”

“And did you all take your wine from the same tray?”

“Sure.”

“And who served you, Joe?”

“Lady Cynthia Horowitz, that’s who.”

B
EFORE CALLING CONNIE I
dialed Lolly Spindrift’s cell phone number as I had promised him I would and got a busy signal for my troubles. An educated guess told me the police had issued a statement to the press and Lolly was on with his editor, turning a terse press release into a saga.

When reporting, Lolly never lied, but he never told the truth either. He was a master of insinuation and innuendo. Our purveyor of all the news that’s barely fit to print would never win a Pulitzer, but that wasn’t his aim. Remaining a fixture on the Palm Beach “A” list, scoring extra dough for society obits, and competing with Phil Meecham for the local beefcake trade were his métiers and he excelled at all three.

Next I called Connie and got her.

“Archy, what do you know?”

If one more person asked me that today I’d jump out the window—if I had a window to jump out of. Has anyone ever jumped out of an air-conditioning vent?

“Brace yourself, Connie. Richard Holmes’s heart did not cease to function because of his cholesterol count. He was poisoned.”

I could hear Connie gasp before she cried, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God, Archy. He knew! He knew!”

“Take it easy, Connie. Who knew what?”

“Ouspenskaya, that’s who. He felt something wasn’t kosher when he woke up this morning. He had a dream. That’s what he said. It came to him in a dream.”

Connie was not the hysterical type but right now she was fast losing claim to that distinction. In contrast, I spoke as slowly as possible, hoping to put the brakes on her babbling. “Tell me what he said and take it one step at a time, starting from the beginning. When did you see Ouspenskaya?”

Another gasp and Connie exclaimed, “Every extension on my board is blinking at me, Archy. The world is trying to call Lady Cynthia. This is crazy.”

She was referring to her “telephone,” which consisted of a panel of red and green lights similar to something Mission Control would use to send a man to the moon. “The word must be out,” I told her. “Pay them no mind, Connie, I’m sure Lady Cynthia is not ready to make a statement.”

“They can all leave messages on the voice mail system,” she answered.

“Good. Now tell me when you saw Ouspenskaya.”

“I didn’t see him, Archy. He called me twice.”

She was revving her engine again. “Connie, take a deep breath, count to ten backwards and pick up from when you got out of bed this morning.”

She must have heeded my advice because it was a good half minute before she answered. “I got up late,” she began, decidedly calmer. There was still an edge to her tone but who could blame her for that? “After last night I thought I deserved it. I got here about ten and Annie, who’s filling in for Mrs. Marsden, told me Madame had left before nine in her Jaguar. Then I found a note from her on my desk telling me she had gone to pick up Desdemona Darling to take her to the police station. She expected to be back in an hour or so.”

“Fine,” I said. “Then what?”

“I checked my voice mail like I always do and one of the messages was from Ouspenskaya. He said he wanted to speak to Lady Cynthia and would she please call him.” There was a pause before she groaned, “Half the lights went out and now they’re all lit up again.”

“Forget the lights, Connie, and go on with your story.”

“Don’t sass me, Archy. I’m tense enough as it is. He was murdered? Right in front of all of us? How is that possible?”

“I didn’t say he was murdered. I said he died of poisoning. The latter is not a necessary result of the former.”

“Like an unwanted pregnancy is not the result of one drink too many.”

I decided not to challenge that one. “Go on, Connie. Then he called again? When?”

“Not long after I arrived here. That would make it about fifteen or twenty past ten. He was very excited. He wanted to know if I had gotten his earlier message and if Lady Cynthia had returned. I told him she had not.

“Then he said it made no difference because he was too late. That’s what he said, Archy. That he was too late. He knew that Lady Cynthia was going to escort Desdemona to the police station. That was decided last night. He called here this morning to try to stop them.”

“Stop them? Why?”

“Listen, Archy. Just listen. It’s scary,” Connie maintained. “He said he had tried to get Desdemona earlier this morning after calling here but she had already left. Her houseboy told him that she had been picked up by Lady Cynthia and so he knew he was too late. I asked him what the trouble was and if I could help him.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He told me that he awoke this morning with a heavy heart—you know how he talks, Archy—because he remembered a terrible dream he had had during the night. He didn’t say what the dream was, just that he wanted to stop Desdemona from going to the police station because something terrible awaited her there.”

Those icy fingers were at work on me again. This Ouspenskaya was playing my spine like a xylophone. “This could be important, Connie. Do you know what time Ouspenskaya left the message on your voice mail?”

“Sure. I get the date and time verbally at the end of a message. It came exactly one minute after nine.”

“And the second call came after ten?”

“That’s right. I get in a little after ten and his call came shortly after that. What does it mean?”

It means, I calculated, that at nine o’clock this morning, when Desdemona and Lady Cynthia were just arriving at the police station, Ouspenskaya knew what only the police knew at that time. When Lolly called me, he said the ladies had arrived at the station house at nine and had been locked up with the police for an hour. That would make it about ten when Lolly called me, just when the press was beginning to suspect something was rotten in Palm Beach. This is when Ouspenskaya made his second call to Lady Cynthia’s residence. He knew more about what was happening there than the press on the scene.

Sticking to my spy theory, it meant Ouspenskaya had a plant in our police department. Impossible. That left two choices. Ouspenskaya had the gift or he had poisoned Richard Holmes. But if he had slipped Holmes the mickey he certainly wouldn’t be leaving voice messages telling anyone who cared to listen that Desdemona and Lady Cynthia were not going to have a nice day. That left the one hypothesis I still refused to accept. Who told Ouspenskaya, before nine o’clock this morning, that Richard Holmes had been poisoned? The doc who performed the postmortem?

“Are you still there, Archy?”

“I’m here, Connie. Don’t take any calls until Lady Cynthia gets back and then consult with her on what you should say. I believe she left the police station a short time ago. Then tell her I’m on my way to see her.”

“You haven’t been summoned, Archy.”

“If you don’t lower the drawbridge I’ll swim the moat, but I have a hunch Lady C will be very happy to see me.”

“I know I’ll be happy to see you. What about lunch?”

“With all that’s going on do you think you’ll be able to get away for lunch?”

“Yeah. I forgot about that. Let’s see how it’s going when you get here.”

Counting on it going my way, I called Al Rogoff at his “wagon,” where I guessed he should be by now. I was right. The “wagon,” as Al dubbed it, is a mobile home off Belvedere Road, where it sits on a solid foundation along with similar residences. A trailer park, if you will. A mobile home resembles what used to be called a railroad flat in old New York tenements. Those that still exist are being sold as co-ops and touted as having old-world charm. The old-world charm comes with a hefty new-world price tag.

Al had a kitchen, bath, living room and bedroom, all in a row. He was his own interior decorator and while not fancy, it was a comfortable bachelor’s digs.

“You awake, Al?”

“I am now, pal. I thought I would be hearing from you. Your society ladies are up-to their chins with this one. I knew I would lose sleep the minute I got the call to that mansion, and when I saw you there I figured the guy didn’t expire of natural causes.”

“Why, Al?”

“Because you’re the custodian of God’s waiting room, pal, that’s why.”

“Thanks a bunch, Al.”

“Like I always tell you, we’re here to serve.”

“Can I serve you lunch this afternoon?”

“I’m trying to get a few hours’ shuteye, Archy. I got off duty at six this morning and they called me back in at nine. Have a heart.”

“I have more than a heart, Al, I have information for you.”

“I think you’re more interested in the information I can give you. How much do you know, Archy?”

“The lawyer, Hastings, called my father from the palace and told him Richard Holmes had been poisoned. That’s as much as I know.”

“I don’t know much more, pal.”

“Remember, Al, I’m a material witness and I know what’s been going on behind the scenes. Catch a few Z’s and meet me at the Pelican at three for a late lunch.”

 When I didn’t get an immediate response I knew I had piqued his interest. “You already told me Holmes had given Ouspenskaya his walking papers and there was bad blood between them.”

“When did you learn that Richard Holmes was poisoned?” I asked him.

“When I got to the palace, about nine-thirty. Why?”

“Serge Ouspenskaya knew it before nine this morning.”

It didn’t take Al long to consider his options. “See you at the Pelican, Archy.”

“Thanks, Al.”

Lady Cynthia had elected to wear a black pantsuit to view the remains and did not change to receive me. She was seated in a throne-like wing chair holding fast to what looked to be a tall whiskey and soda. “I generally don’t condone drinking hard liquor before the sun is over the yardarm but today is an exception to all the rules. Would you like one, lad?”

“No, thank you, Lady Cynthia.”

She was a tough woman but I must say the events of last night and this morning had her looking her age. I even noticed that she was having a hard time controlling the hand that held her glass, which trembled ever so slightly. If Lady C, who is not a booze hound, was indulging at high noon, I could only imagine how poor Desdemona Darling was dealing with all this.

“What do you know, lad?”

I was thinking of getting a sign proclaiming
I KNOW ZILCH
and pasting it to my forehead. I said to Lady Cynthia, “Only what Saul Hastings reported to my father on the phone. What did the police tell you and DeeDee?”

“Not much more. They asked a lot of questions and I must supply them with last night’s guest list, including the caterer’s crew. After consulting with Saul Hastings, DeeDee and I decided to issue a statement to the press. It’s to come from me. Connie is preparing it now. DeeDee will remain incommunicado for the present.”

“And what will the release say, may I ask?”

“You may, lad. It will say that Mrs. Holmes is in a state of shock and that both she and Lady Cynthia Horowitz believe the unfortunate occurrence is the result of a bizarre accident.”

Now that should go over like flatulence in a crowded elevator. “An accident? How could arsenic accidentally get into a wineglass at a social gathering?”

“Simple,” Lady C retorted as if expecting the question and being fully prepared to answer it. “The glasses were supplied by the caterer. One of them was not properly sanitized. I’m thinking of suing.”

This was too much. Even Catherine de Médicis had never made such a claim. These two crones must have intimidated Saul Hastings into not opposing either the press release or its wording and right now the poor man was trying to explain this madness to my father. But I didn’t lose sight of the fact that Lady C was no fool and would wager my last pair of cashmere socks that there would evolve some rationale to this lunacy.

“Are you saying, Lady Cynthia, that arsenic was served at the last party your caterer facilitated and one glass was not properly washed? How jolly.”

“You’re splitting hairs, lad. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.” Lady C backed that up with a hearty swallow of her beverage.

“You and DeeDee poured and served the wine,” I reminded her. “Did one of you accidentally give Richard Holmes the glass that accidentally contained a wee bit of arsenic left over from your caterer’s last happy event?”

Lady Cynthia didn’t like that at all and let me know it. “Listen, young man, and listen good. We poured that wine in front of everyone present, including you. We told that to the police and invited them to question everyone present, including you, to see if anyone saw anything even vaguely suspect in how DeeDee and I performed. Good lord, lad, we rehearsed what we were going to do before the party. We didn’t ad-lib.”

And anyone knowing the drill could have incorporated it into their own malevolent plans. Who and how was the question. There being safety in numbers, the best way to get away with murder was to surreptitiously commit one in front of a dozen witnesses who would automatically become suspects along with the nefarious culprit. I could only think of one person among us last night who had the cunning and daring to pull it off. But did he have the opportunity?

“As director of this year’s community theater presentation,” Lady C rattled on, “I suggest you go along with our view of what happened last night. Solidarity is vital to our success.”