McNally's Bluff (19 page)

“Twenty years ago,” she blurted.

Well, ain’t that a kick in the kimono. “I seem to have come in in the middle of the movie,” I said.

“No, Archy. You came in at the end of the movie as far as Marlena is concerned. Her end, and mine if Laddy has his way. Shall we lay our cards on the table?”

I opened my arms and offered, “I’ll show you mine, if you’ll show me yours.”

I got a vacant stare before she laughed, much to my relief. “Okay. It’s no secret that Laddy has been bad-mouthing me to anyone who’ll listen. He’s claiming that I killed his father, with Marlena’s help, and then I killed Marlena.”

I nodded. “He’s been to see my father about executing an order of exhumation. My father recused to act on his behalf.”

Now it was her turn. “Linton cut Laddy out of his will because Laddy had a problem with drugs and, regardless of what he told your father, he never got the monkey off his back. Linton and Laddy’s mother did everything they could to help him and he repaid them by forging and cashing checks, pilfering the ready cash they kept in the house, seducing a young Cuban girl they hired to assist the housekeeper and—need I go on?”

“I get the picture, Mrs. Taylor.”

Here came the unmistakable sound of water being disturbed. We both turned toward the pool. Billy, sampling the fruits of his labor, had dived into the sparkling clear water. A black pair of short shorts was clearly visible atop a white towel draped across one of the deck chairs. My, my.

When our eyes met again, she said, “You think I’m a dirty old woman.”

“Mrs. Taylor, my abiding motto is judge not, lest you be judged. I have been hired by Matthew Hayes to find out who murdered his wife, why, and how it was done. Besides, you’re not old.”

She laughed, tossing back her head and almost losing her hat. “You’re a bastard, Archy McNally.”

“But cute, Mrs. Taylor. Yes?”

“Not bad,” she conceded, still not telling me to call her by her given name. I guess I wasn’t as cute as all that. “Where were we?” she posed.

“Laddy Taylor was seducing the maid and robbing the poor box.”

“He left home when his mother died because the poor woman, as mothers will, kept him in cash and clean underwear,” she continued. “Over the years that followed, Linton tried to find his son and reconcile with him. He hired a detective agency who traced Laddy and each time they did, sweet Laddy told his father to go...”

I could see why the lady preferred sailor hats.

“Linton cut the boy out of his will, for good reason, and now the ungrateful [censored] comes home to claim his right and accuse me. I was a good wife to Linton Taylor, Archy, and made his final years happy. His son made him miserable.”

“When did Laddy come back to Palm Beach?”

“About a week ago. Shortly after I notified him that his father had died.”

“He told me you contacted him via a mail drop,” I said.

“That’s true,” she answered. “A few years ago he wrote his father for money. What else? He give Linton the postal box number for the mail drop. Linton sent him a sizable check. I used that address and he received my letter.”

“He and Tilly certainly got acquainted in record, time if he’s been here only a week,” I pointed out.

Carolyn Taylor saw nothing strange in the instant coupling. “Birds of a feather, Archy. They attract like magnets.”

“How did Laddy manage to get invited to Hayes’s bash? Surely Tilly didn’t put him on the list.”

“No. Lolly put him on the list. Marlena told me Hayes had hired Lolly to put together an A list for his amazin’ party—excuse the jest. Lolly had written that Laddy was back in town and not knowing who would prevail in our family feud, Laddy or me, he put us both on the list. Dear Lolly takes no risks.”

The gathering, trust me, was as far from the Palm Beach A list as A is to Z and Carolyn knew it. And how about the way she sits there dishing Lolly, when she stole the guy puttering about in her pool from dear ol’ Lol. I guess it’s all
trés
sophisticated—and how I love it.

“Mr. Hayes told me Tilly was very loyal to her mistress,” I said.

Carolyn laughed. “Did he now? She was very loyal to Matthew Hayes, and all that implies. Marlena detested her and the only reason she accompanied Marlena when we met was because Marlena couldn’t drive.”

You know the old cliché. Let a dozen people witness an event and write about it. No two will agree on what they saw. Hearing what Tilly and Carolyn Taylor had to say on the same subject was very similar. Did the truth lie somewhere between their versions, or were they both trying to lead poor Archy up the garden path?

“If Marlena didn’t trust Tilly wasn’t she afraid Tilly would tell Hayes about your meetings?” I asked her.

Eyes wide, she looked at me as if she didn’t have a clue as to my meaning, and I believe she was being sincere. “But I’m sure Marlena told her husband about our girl coffee klatches,” she said. “Why shouldn’t she? He knew Marlena and I were old friends.”

“Tilly got the impression that it was all very clandestine due to the rather offbeat venues you selected for your meetings.”

Carolyn put her elbows on the table, clasped her hands together and rested her chin on the resulting platform. “I see,” she said sagaciously, “of course, it’s all as clear as mud—the kind you sling at your opponent. Tilly is being briefed by Laddy, who wants the police to believe we met in secret and exchanged recipes for foxglove cocktails. What gall.

“Listen to me, Archy. Marlena and I were roommates in Des Moines. We were both waitresses in a joint called the Cockatoo Lounge.”

My face must have given me away.

“Don’t look so smug, Archy. It wasn’t as bad as all that. We didn’t offer lap dances.”

“Judge not, lest you be judged, remember?”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed. “Where was I?”

“At the Cockatoo Lounge in Des Moines.”

“I left shortly after Marlena, who was then Molly, teamed up with Hayes. By the way, he didn’t accidently land in her lap as his press clippings claim. He met her at the Cockatoo, started dating her, and together they conceived the plan and hired a photographer to record the phenomenon.”

Clever, I mused, and typical of the man who Georgy labeled a control freak. Was he in control the night his wife was poisoned? I believe he was. Could I prove it? Not yet. Was I sanguine? No.

“I met Linton on a world cruise,” Carolyn told me. “Very chic, very expensive. The ship was full of rich widows and poor Linton was practically accosted every time he stepped out of his cabin. I was one of the hostesses and we hit it off. He would hide in my cabin to get away from his ardent pursuers. This was frowned upon by the captain but who cared? He invited me to visit in Palm Beach. I did and the rest is Palm Beach history. Linton didn’t know about my past in Des Moines and I didn’t tell him.”

She went on to say that when Marlena arrived in town she called Carolyn, who told Marlena frankly that in her new life as Mrs. Linton Taylor, she, Carolyn, didn’t want it known that she once shared digs with the now rather infamous Marlena Marvel.

“Marlena, bless her, understood and we met in secret. So tell Tilly to take a long walk off a short pier,” Carolyn exclaimed. “She and Laddy are pure trash, Archy. Lord knows what he promised her to get her to lie on his behalf.”

But where does Hayes fit into this? I pondered. If he knew that Marlena and Carolyn were old buddies, why didn’t he tell me? Or the police? Regardless of whom one believed, Tilly or Carolyn, all roads led to Matthew Hayes.

“I got more news for you, Mrs. Taylor. Tilly claims you were upstairs the night of the party. She says she saw you on the second floor just before Marlena went on as Venus.”

The lady’s tan glowed red and I thought she might burst something vital, like her aorta. It’s a good thing I left out the water in the percolator, waiting to be tampered with.

“That is a bald-faced lie, and I can prove I never left the first floor. Billy was with me until we went out to search for the goal, and then I was joined by the reporter, Joe Gallo. They will both swear I never left the first floor of that house.”

This was true, and Joe would be thought an impartial witness, but not Billy Gilbert. I didn’t tell her that.

“Mrs. Taylor,” I said, rather slowly, “you realize I must tell the police what Tilly told me. Playing fair, I came to you with Tilly’s accusation before going to them. And I will have to tell my client, Matthew Hayes.”

Her red glow turned ashen. I really felt sorry for the woman. “Do I need a lawyer, Archy?”

“You might want to talk to my father, Mrs. Taylor.”

She looked pensive and then said, “Marlena called me a few days ago and said she wanted to see me because she had something amusing to report.”

“Amusing?” I repeated.

“Marlena had a macabre sense of humor,” Carolyn said.

“And what did she have to report, Mrs. Taylor?”

Carolyn shook her head. “I don’t know, and will never know. I think she called a few days before the party and I thought I would get a chance to speak to her that night. As you know, I didn’t.”

But did her curiosity impel her to sneak upstairs for a quickie private chat with her ex-roomie? And what amusing news did Marlena have for Carolyn?

“Hayes never said anything to you about Marlena and me?” Carolyn wondered.

“No, ma’am. And he doesn’t seem to know about Tilly’s sighting—at least he never mentioned it to me.”

She leaned forward as if to stress her point. “That little bastard knows everything, Archy. He’s a rascal and Marlena was tired of his bossing her and his philandering. She was getting ready to dump him.”

“What?” I cried. “Tilly said...”

She laughed, a little hysterically I thought. “Don’t believe anything that bitch told you. Marlena said she was ready to leave Hayes and take most of his money with her. I will swear to that on a stack of bibles.”

If true, it gave Hayes a motive for getting rid of his wife. My gut instinct told me to believe Carolyn and distrust Tilly, Laddy and Hayes. Prejudicial, the sire would accuse, and he would be right.

Before taking my leave I attempted to learn what Carolyn Taylor and Alex were up to. “Apropos of nothing, Mrs. Taylor, it’s been rumored that you and the Miami newspaper columnist and political activist, Alejandro Gomez y Zapata, were seen at a marina in Miami. I ask only to ascertain if this has anything to do with my case and to warn you that people have seen you with him and are talking.”

“By people do you mean that old hag, Cynthia Horowitz? She’s been after Alex ever since her secretary, Connie Garcia, introduced them. She’s a menace, that woman. Looks down her nose at me with five dead husbands to her credit and a past that makes the Cockatoo Lounge look like a nunnery.”

Hell hath no fury like a woman looked down upon. I knew Carolyn and Lady Cynthia weren’t kissin’ cousins, but I never dreamed the rancor had reached the name-calling stage. Old hag? I couldn’t wait to tell Connie.

“No, ma’am. Lolly told me,” I confessed.

“He doesn’t miss a beat, that amusing man,” she said, then proceeded to tell me an outrageous lie. “I’ve taken an interest in sailing and Alex is something of a yachtsman. We went out in a rental a few times and we intend to go again. Would you care to join us?”

Alex a yachtsman? Since when? Carolyn Taylor was full of surprises—not to mention baloney. Who to believe in this amazin’ case?

“And where did you meet Alex?” I didn’t realize I had vocalized the thought until I heard myself asking.

“I introduced them.”

We both turned to see Billy Gilbert in our midst. Absorbed in our fervent one-on-one, neither of us had seen him approach. Thankfully he was wearing the black shorts. His blond hair was damp, his skin a golden tan, his physique exemplary and his manner supercilious.

“I was tending bar at a club in South Beach,” he went on, “and Alex was a steady customer. That’s how we met and I introduced him to Carolyn.”

“I wasn’t being nosy...”

“I’m sure you weren’t,” he cut me off.

The guy was a punk.

“This is Mr. McNally,” Carolyn said. “And this is Billy Gilbert. Mr. McNally is working for Matthew Hayes.”

Billy didn’t extend his hand, and neither did I.

“Are you going to question me, Mr. McNally?” Billy asked.

“I’ll leave that to the police, Mr. Gilbert.”

Opening his arms wide, he said, “As you can see I have nothing to hide.”

Judging from the grin on Carolyn Taylor’s face I had to assume that she found this amusing, but who’s to account for taste in matters of the heart?

Billy was now questioning me. “Are you related to Paddy McNally?”

“Not that I know of. Is he a local?” I questioned back.

“Hardly,” Billy said, as if I should know better. “He owned a ski lodge in the Swiss Alps known as the Castle. Very big with the Brits. He preceded the prince in Sarah Ferguson’s affections. She played hostess at the Castle before she played Duchess in London.”

The guy was a pretentious punk.

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“Of course not. I wasn’t even born at the time, but I thought you might know him as you have the same name.”

And are the same age, he implied.

The guy was a pugnacious, pretentious punk.

I rose to take my leave and Carolyn said, “I’ve asked Mr. McNally to join us on our next outing with Alex.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Billy complained.

Carolyn shrugged. “Why not? Alex is bringing Connie Garcia.”

Billy yielded to his benefactress, reluctantly I thought, and invited me to bring a date. “I wouldn’t want you to be odd man out. We sail in two days.”

“Thank you,” I said, biting the proverbial bullet. “I may do just that. I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Taylor.”

She rose and, taking my arm, led me off the terrace and toward the front door. “You mustn’t mind Billy,” she pleaded. “He’s insecure and responds, by being pompous. I told him that bit about Paddy McNally. Linton and I met Paddy in Switzerland, and the Castle’s true name was
Les Gais Lutins
but Billy can’t remember that.”

“Nor can he pronounce it,” I ventured, not caring what she thought, “and he needs a good, swift kick in the rear of those abbreviated shorts.”