McNally's Folly (9 page)

“I am a seeker of the truth, Hanna.”

“Are you on a spiritual journey, Archy?” she asked in all seriousness.

I wanted to tell her I was on a case but feared she would have me thrown out of her home—or into the pool with son William. I was also wishing she would ask for another cigarette so I could succumb to temptation with a clear conscience but she refrained. I imagined she was loath to puff on the weed in front of William for fear he would report the fact to Daddy. Did William know the lemonade was in fact vodka and tonic? I suspected he did, and if I were Hanna Ventura I would worry more about James learning how much I imbibed in the afternoon than how many cigarettes I had smoked that day.

“Do you know that Desdemona Darling is here for the season?” Hanna asked without a preamble.

“I’ve heard rumors to that effect.”

“She was a very famous film actress of the silent era,” Hanna misinformed me.

“Not the silent era,” I said. “Desdemona’s moment was fifty or so years ago when the talkies were at their zenith. The wheel, electricity and talking photoplays had all been invented, my dear Hanna.”

“My, aren’t you the smart one. Anyway, Penny Tremaine told me that Desdemona Darling told her that Mr. Ouspenskaya told you something that no one on this earth knew.”

“So I’ve heard, but I can’t imagine what it could have been. However, if Desdemona Darling knows what it is then at least one person on this earth knew it before Ouspenskaya made it public. Correct?”

“You’re always putting him down, Archy.”

“Not really. I’m just highlighting the facts that show his broadcasts could be more planned than spontaneous. As I told you, Hanna, there are many tricks to the psychic trade and Ouspenskaya appears to have mastered them all.”

“Then how do you explain my diamond clip?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” I said. Looking not at her but at the swimmer in her pool, I continued, “Suppose there existed someone who would take great delight in seeing your husband furious with you. Losing that clip, I imagine, would do the trick. And suppose you didn’t dream you removed the clip from your dress and put it in your dressing-table drawer, but in fact you did just that. Then this person, who has great animosity toward you, removed the pin from the drawer and put it back on the dress you had discarded.

“But before the dress goes off to Goodwill, this person learns that Ouspenskaya is going to perform at the Fairhurst charity ball and this person, who is always in need of ready cash, sees a way to make a fast buck on your embarrassing situation. Naturally, this person can’t pawn the clip because that would be too risky for a novice. Your insurance company would scour the pawn shops and jewelers all over the state of Florida and no doubt find it and trace it back to said person.

“So said person goes to Serge Ouspenskaya and, in return for a generous gratuity, said person tells Ouspenskaya how he can be the hit of the Fairhurst ball and pick up an array of wealthy followers. As they say, Hanna, one hand washed the other.”

Hanna, staring at William as he cut through the cool water with the precision of Johnny Weissmuller in his prime, hung on to my every word. After giving my hypothesis considerable thought she expelled a most audible hiccup and said, “William was in London with friends the week the clip went missing and returned after the Fairhurst ball.”

“Oh,” I said.

In the detective business, you win some and you lose some.

The Lake Worth Playhouse is located on Lake Avenue and, according to the PB Chamber of Commerce, is one of the most respected community theaters in America. A young woman in the box office told me I could find the general manager by going to the stage door and asking directions.

I walked into a scene that was reminiscent of a Warner Brothers backstage musical, circa 1939, with one glaring exception: The chorus girls and boys looked to be not more than ten years old. An adult in bell-bottom jeans and a St. John’s University sweatshirt directed me up a flight of stairs where I followed my nose to the office of the theater’s manager.

The office door was open and the man seated behind the desk was on the phone but he waved me in when he spotted me outside his domain. The walls of the small room were covered with playbills and autographed photos of actors of both sexes, many of whom I recognized. I didn’t notice if Freddy McNally and Lolly Pops were among them, but I did spot a playbill announcing
A Star Is Born,
featuring Janet Gaynor, Fredric March and Adolphe Menjou.

Gaynor was the recipient of the first Academy Award ever handed out for her role in
Seventh Heaven.
Garland should have gotten an Oscar for the musical remake of
A Star Is Born
but got a Joey, her son, instead. The theater must have functioned as a film palace at one time.

“I have to think about it,” the manager was saying to his caller, “and get back to you. Yeah, sure, before next week.” With that he rang off.

“Are you a father?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” I responded.

This drew a smile if not a laugh. “As you must have seen, our children’s workshop is rehearsing a musical. I thought you might be a parent demanding a solo number for your budding Travolta or Streisand. What can I do for you?”

“The name is Archy McNally and I want to know how difficult it would be to learn the name of the acts that played here in 1924.”

“Not difficult at all. Our archives are complete and readily available. Are you writing a thesis? Most requests like yours are from students working on term papers or their Ph.D.s.”

“I’m afraid I’m not,” I said, without stating my true purpose for the inquiry.

“Funny you should mention 1924. It was the year we opened as the Oakley Theater, a combination movie and vaudeville house. As you can see we’ve come a long way since then.”

He was more eager to expound on the merits of the theater than to learn the purpose of my visit. I came away knowing that the theater had acquired its present name, Lake Worth Playhouse, in 1953 and was now a year-round operation presenting musicals, comedies and dramas in their three-hundred-seat main auditorium. It also contained a seventy-seat black box theater that regularly featured contemporary plays and cabarets. It boasted a children’s theater group, workshops and classes that encouraged student performances.

“I understand the Palm Beach Community Theater is going to put on
Arsenic and Old Lace
this season,” I told the gentleman whose name I never learned.

“Bet you’ll never guess who the star will be.”

“Lolly Pops?” I offered.

That got a laugh. “Say, how do you know Lolly?”

“I heard her on the radio.”

I went to the PB library and checked out a copy of
Arsenic and Old Lace.
Then I went to a video shop in West Palm and rented the screen version of the play. I had seen the Warner Bros. film at the MoMA cinema in New York, where I had spent more time than in any lecture hall at Yale, and wanted to refresh my memory. Neither was going to tell me much about Serge Ouspenskaya but all work and no play makes Archy a dull boy. I learned that
Arsenic and Old Lace
was produced by Howard Lindsay and Russell Crouse and opened at the Fulton Theater in New York on January 10, 1941. The
dramatis personae
was as follows:

Abby Brewster (The lead spinster)

Martha Brewster (Abby’s sister)

Teddy Brewster (The insane nephew)

Mortimer Brewster (The smart, urbane nephew)

Jonathan Brewster (The evil nephew)

Dr. Einstein (Jonathan’s lunatic friend)

Elaine Harper (Mortimer’s future bride)

Rev. Harper (Elaine’s father)

M
INOR
P
LAYERS
:

Mr. Gibbs

Officer Klein

Officer Brophy

Officer O’Hara

Lieutenant Rooney

Mr. Witherspoon

Desdemona Darling would no doubt play Abby Brewster and Buzz and Fitz would portray Mortimer and Elaine. This left a number of roles still to be cast. Having given the plum assignments to Desdemona and Buzz, I wondered who the Creative Director had in mind for the also-rans—especially the role of Martha.

Historical note: The Fulton Theater was later renamed the Helen Hayes in honor of the beloved actress. A group of diehards protested, stating that the actress should have changed her name to Helen Fulton.

A
T BREAKFAST THE NEXT
morning I gave Father a progress report on my investigation of Serge Ouspenskaya, detailing my interview with Hanna Ventura and my visit to the Lake Worth Playhouse. “As I suspected, anyone could peruse the theater’s archives and learn who had appeared there and when they did so,” I told him. “I find Mrs. Ventura’s story interesting, however.”

With his usual sangfroid the don asked, “What part of her story do you believe, Archy? That she actually removed the clip from her dress or that she dreamed she did?”

Over my eggs scrambled with caramelized onions and smoked salmon, I said I believed she had removed the clip in fact and not in fancy.

“Then who returned it to the dress?”

“When I learn that, sir, I will have solved the mystery of Serge Ouspenskaya.”

“The sooner the better,” he said. “People like Ouspenskaya are more of a nuisance than a serious threat to the well-being of our community.”

Unless it’s your money the nuisance is playing free and easy with, I thought but did not say. Archy, the pragmatist.

Father, as usual, was dressed in a three-piece business suit while I had elected to deck myself out in chinos, cord jacket and a lavender silk shirt that was a perfect match for my lavender suede loafers. Father might look at me askance but he seldom commented on my attire. I returned the favor.

Refusing Ursi’s offer of a second cup of coffee and pressing his linen napkin to his lips, the master rose and asked if I wanted to drive to the office with him. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll take my car. I may need it this afternoon and it would expedite things to have it in the office garage.”

I accepted Ursi’s offer along with a slab of freshly baked sourdough bread, toasted and spread with butter and her homemade beach plum jam. “Is Mother in the garden?” I asked Ursi.

“Oh, yes, Archy. She went out right after breakfast, like always.”

“Is Kate Mulligan due today?”

“She is,” Ursi told me. “I understand she’s to come in every morning for a few hours to work with Mrs. McNally before she takes over when they leave for the cruise.”

Mother never looked lovelier than When she was puttering about her greenhouse. The morning sun, filtered through the structure’s glass walls, gave the array of colorful blooms and the gentle woman tending them the surreal air of a watercolor.

“Oh, Archy,” she said as I entered. “I was expecting Kate.”

“I just wanted to say goodbye before I left for the office, Mother.”

“That’s nice of you, dear. Your father did, too. How lucky I am with the men in my life.”

“That’s because you deserve it, Mother. How are you getting on with Kate Mulligan?”

“Very well, Archy. She’s such a lovely woman and she seems to know her business. Of course, I instruct her on how I want things done and she jots it all down.”

“That’s as it should be, Mother. You’re the boss.”

“I’m afraid I do ramble on a bit but she doesn’t seem to mind.”

“You ramble all you want,” I said as I bent to kiss her cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I could just about make out the label, printed in Mother’s hand, on the earthenware pot holding the enormous begonia Kate had admired yesterday. It read,
EYELASH.

Leaving Mother to her labor of love, I headed for my Miata and met Kate Mulligan in our driveway just getting out of a new yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Mother’s station wagon and Hobo were both missing so unless we had been carnapped and dognapped, Jamie was out with both the Ford and the pooch.

“I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those,” Kate said, admiring my red Miata.

Now there was an invitation if ever I heard one. I recalled an old college drinking toast that counseled, “If you don’t do it, when you come to it, may you never come to it, to do it again.” I took its sage advice and answered, “Would you like to fulfill the longing this evening?”

I must say she looked fetching in a denim skirt and white blouse. Again, the sensible Top-Siders did not distract from a fine pair of gams, which were two good reasons why Kate Mulligan never seemed to wear pants. “Will you take me for a ride?” she called, walking toward the house.

“Even better, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“And if I refuse will I be fired?”

“Of course. I come with the job.”

She had stopped now and seemed to be considering my offer. “The bane of the working woman,” she sighed, but retraced her steps back toward her car and me. “Only on the condition that I pay my own way.”

“A liberated woman?”

“No, Archy, a smart woman. I don’t like being beholden to anyone. Especially men. And what makes you so sure I’m not married, or don’t you care?”

“Oh, I care, Kate. But I noticed yesterday that the third finger of your left hand holds not a ring but a band of white flesh the sun has not yet darkened. Newly divorced?”

“You’re very observant, Archy. I’m impressed.”

I would have liked to tell her that I was even more observant than she realized. “I take it I’m catching you on the rebound, Kate,” I said instead.

“I didn’t know I had fallen.”

She was quick on the draw and feisty. A combination that went a long way in egging me on. Giving her my hundred-watt smile I told her, “I invited you and I’m paying. Take it or leave it but remember, this is the only red Miata in Palm Beach.”

“What should I wear?” she asked by way of accepting my offer.

I repressed the reply that came immediately to mind and said, “Something informal. I’m not as rich as my father. Do you like Tex-Mex?”

“I never met a man named Tex I didn’t like. I’m not so sure about Mex.”

“Cute, but I’m supposed to make the not-so-witty puns. Shall we say seven?”

She gave me the address of her apartment in West Palm, near Currie Park. Not bad. Neither was the new VW. Kate Mulligan didn’t do badly as a part-time gardener, or was it her alimony that kept the wolf away from her door? Well, one was going to come a-knocking this evening. I beeped twice as I pulled out of our turnaround and Kate Mulligan gave me a wave and a smile as I drove off. The lady was a flirt, but then, who’s perfect?