McNally's Dilemma by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo Page A

upstairs maid who knew her way around a gentleman’s bedroom, I would have given the matter a sly wink and a yawn. Seth Walker was the reason I wanted to pay a call on Fairhurst. I hadn’t tipped my hand at the meeting because I like to play my cards close to the vest—preferably my green and blue tattersall.
    I was still astounded over the number-one Fairhurst’s indiscretion, as number three had labeled it, but as I sped along in my red Miata, I changed gears, literally and figuratively, and shifted into a Melva Williams mode. At Discreet Inquiries, when it rains it pours, although you couldn’t prove this by the weather. When I drove out of our underground garage, small patches of blue were poking holes in the gray ceiling. A good omen for what I had in mind for this afternoon’s adventure.
    I was going to attempt to K two B’s with one S. Not an easy kill, especially if the birds are capricious and the stone small. Unlike David, I didn’t own a catapult, but I did have a few strings I could pull to my advantage. Archy the puppeteer.
    I found Veronica in the kitchen, where Ursi was readying lunch. Daylight did nothing to diminish my charge’s ethereal evening beauty, and Dora’s jeans and sweatshirt, both a tad too small, helped to accentuate the positive. My only surprise was that her elegant evening purse had obviously contained a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses, which Veronica now wore to pore over the afternoon paper. Melva’s face, staring out from the front page, was the only disquieting note in a room redolent with an aroma that promised grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches.
    “Any word of my mother?” Veronica asked as I came into the kitchen.
    “One of our lawyers is with her and her legal people are on their way here. My father has been in contact with them since early this morning.” Being aware that I wasn’t going to be complimented on my attire, I turned to Ursi and pleaded for a beer.
    Veronica pushed the newspaper aside and questioned me further as I took the chair opposite her. “When can I see her, Archy?”
    “We tried for a bail hearing this afternoon, but I don’t think we’re going to get it. Tomorrow, I imagine. When bail is set, she will be free to come home.”
    “Why can’t I go to her now?”
    “Because they won’t let you see her and I don’t think you want to fight your way through the reporters waiting outside the police station and the courthouse. Not to mention the picture you would make in those jeans and that sweatshirt. We want to play down lust, Veronica, and play up family values.”
    She smiled reluctantly, annoyed with herself for not being able to resist the compliment. Had I found the path to her heart? Did I want to find the path to her heart? A dilemma, but one I might enjoy sparring with.
    “Would you like a drink, Miss Veronica?” Ursi asked as she served my beer. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes.”
    “If you bring another glass, I’ll share Archy’s beer.”
    “Perhaps you ought to bring another beer, Ursi,” I advised. “Archy is thirsty.”
    Veronica’s hand rested on the newspaper, one finger stroking the image of her mother’s cheek. “It’s horrible, Archy.” She dug into the pocket of Dora’s jeans and came up with a crumpled handkerchief that looked as if it had been put to use all morning. I reached out to cover her hand with mine, but Ursi returned with another beer and another glass, so instead of holding Veronica’s hand I poured her beer.
    I hate watching a woman cry, especially when it’s not in my power to stem the flow. “Drink,” I ordered. “It’ll do you good.”
    She sipped the brew and used her handkerchief to blot the foam from her upper lip. “It’s awful,” she repeated.
    “The beer?”
    This got me a grimace rather than a smile. “No, silly. This.” She tapped the newspaper with her forefinger.
    “Last night I asked you if you wanted me to tell you that everything was going to be just fine,