McNally's luck (28 page)

I was still pondering the medium's motive for snitching when I arrived home, saw the Lexus in the garage, and knew my parents had returned from church. When I entered the house, my father was standing in the open doorway of his study.

"Are you acquainted with a woman named Mrs. Irma Gloriana?" he demanded. It was almost an accusation.

"Yes, sir, I am," I replied.

He nodded, beckoned, led the way into his study, and closed the door. He sat behind his desk and motioned me to an armchair.

"I think you better tell me about her," he said.

"It's a long story, father."

"Dinner will not be served for another hour," he said dryly. "Surely that will be sufficient time."

Usually mein papa does not question me about details of my discreet inquiries. I think he suspects

I cut ethical corners-which I do-and he'd rather not have knowledge of my modi operandi. Successful results are really all that concern him.

But since he wanted to know about Mrs. Irma Gloriana, I told him. And not only Irma, but husband Otto, son Frank, and daughter-in-law Hertha. I also gave him an account of the seance I had attended and related how I had managed to locate Peaches in Cabin Four of the Jo-Jean Motel. I concluded with a brief report on my most recent meeting with Hertha Gloriana and Meg Trumble. In fact, I told him everything you already know.

He listened closely and never once interrupted. When I had finished, he rose and walked slowly to the sideboard where he carefully packed one of his silver-mounted Upshall pipes. I took that as permission to light up an English Oval. He regained his swivel chair and held his loaded pipe a moment before flaming it.

"Then I gather you and Sergeant Rogoff believe the Glorianas are guilty of criminal behavior," he pronounced.

"I cannot speak for the sergeant," I said, "but I am convinced that Frank Gloriana connived with Laverne Willigan to steal the cat and hold it for ransom. I also think Otto Gloriana, probably Irma, and possibly Frank were involved in the murders of Lydia and Roderick Gillsworth. But I have no idea as to their motive."

He finally lighted his pipe. When he had it drawing freely without a gurgle, he blew a plume of smoke at the coffered ceiling. "Perhaps we'll learn tomorrow," he remarked.

I was astonished. "Tomorrow, father?" I said.

He nodded. "Shortly after returning from church,

I received a phone call from Mrs. Irma Gloriana. A very forceful woman."

"Yes, sir, she is that."

"She wishes to see me tomorrow. She said it was an important matter concerning Roderick Gillsworth. I thought it best to listen to what she has to say. We're meeting in my office at ten o'clock. I'd like you to be present, Archy."

"Of course," I said, grinning. "Absolutely. Looking forward to it, sir. May I tell Sergeant Rogoff about the meeting?"

He considered that request a long, long time. I had learned to wait patiently, knowing that eventually his mulling would end and he'd come to a decision.

"Yes," he said at last, "you may tell the sergeant. And he will be informed as to the results of the meeting if circumstances and ethics allow. It may possibly aid his investigation. You say this woman was formerly the madam of a brothel?"

"Yes, sir. According to the Atlanta police."

"A coarse woman?"

"No, sir, I would not say that-although Al Rogoff might possibly disagree. As you said, she is a forceful woman. I find her almost domineering. Very sure of herself, very heavy in the willpower department. I see her as the Chief Executive Officer of the Gloriana family, the dynamo, with perhaps a tendency to tyrannize." I hesitated a second. Then: "There is something else. In my opinion she is a disturbing woman. Physically, that is. She exudes a certain sensuality. I believe she is aware of it and uses it. I put her age at close to sixty, but there has certainly been no diminution of her sexual attractiveness."

One of my father's hairy eyebrows slowly ascended. But all he said was, "Interesting."

But then, as I rose to leave, he added, "I usually find your reaction to people very perceptive, Archy."

Praise! How sweet it was.

That evening I called Al Rogoff, reported on my meeting with Hertha Gloriana, and informed him of my father's Monday morning appointment with Mrs. Irma Gloriana.

"Oh boy," Al said. "I have a feeling the lady is about to drop a bomb. Keep me up to speed on what happens, Archy."

"Did you get your spies into the Jo-Jean Motel?"

"Yep. Man and woman in Cabin Five, right next to Otto's pad. They've already reported by radio. He's had two visitors so far. I make them as Frank and Irma. Be sure to call me tomorrow after your father's meeting."

"Wait a minute," I cried. "Don't hang up. Those erotic poems Gillsworth wrote-did he mention any names?"

"No one you know," Rogoff said.

"Come on, Al," I said, "don't play games. What names did he mention?"

"Just one. Astarte. I looked it up. Goddess of fertility and sexual love."

"I know her well," I said. "She lives in Miami Beach."

Then he did hang up.

But that long, aggravating day had not yet ended. Later that evening I was in my sanctum, working on my journal, when Laverne Willigan phoned.

"Another ransom note, Archy," she told me. "It was slipped under the front door sometime tonight."

"Uh-huh," I said. "Will you read it to me, please?"

She did. The letter commanded Harry Willigan to assemble fifty thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, unmarked with no numbers in sequence. Then he or his representative would deliver the money to a messenger. That was the term used: "Messenger." He would be waiting in the parking area of a twenty-four-hour convenience store on Federal Highway at midnight on Monday. The address given, I judged, was about a mile from the Jo-Jean Motel.

After the ransom had been handed over, the messenger would leave, but Willigan or his representative was ordered to remain in the parking area. When the fifty thousand had been counted and the bills examined and approved, Peaches would be delivered, hale and hearty.

Laverne continued: "It also says if the messenger sees or suspects the presence of the police, Harry will never see his pet alive again."

"I don't like the setup," I said immediately. "What if the fifty thousand is handed over to the messenger, he disappears, and Peaches is never produced? It seems to me they're asking Harry to take a horrendous risk."

"He doesn't have much choice, does he?" Laverne said. "Not if he wants to rub noses with Sweetums again. I called Harry in Chicago and told him what the letter said. He cursed a blue streak but finally said he'll play ball. He's going to phone his Palm Beach bank in the morning and tell them to get the cash together. The bank will call me when it's ready. Then I'll phone you. Harry wants you to deliver the money and get Peaches back. Will you do it, Archy?"

"Of course," I said. "It's the least I can do after failing to locate the catnappers. Let me know when the bank has the cash ready. I'll pick it up from them. And sometime tomorrow I'll stop by your place and get the letter. If you're going out, leave it with Leon."

"Thank you, Archy," she said briskly. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine."

"I think so, too," I said. "Harry will be back on Tuesday?"

"Yes. Early in the morning. By that time you should have Peaches."

After she hung up I phoned Al Rogoff again to alert him to this new development. But I was unable to locate him and decided it could wait until the morning. Then we'd devise a plan to thwart the villains.

Monday was shaping up as a hellacious day. I only hoped I'd live to see Tuesday.

I awoke Monday morning with a dread feeling of having forgotten to do something I should have done. I recognized my lapse while scraping my jowls, and if it hadn't been a safety razor I might have nicked the old jug, I was that mortified. What I had disremembered was to phone Connie Garcia on Sunday as I had promised. Not for the first time did I wonder why I treated that dear woman with such thoughtless neglect. I suppose it was because I knew she was there.

I had roused in time to breakfast with my parents in the dining room. While scarfing my way through a stack of buckwheat pancakes, I informed the governor of Laverne Willigan's phone call the previous night.

He glanced up from The Wall Street Journal long enough to gaze at me speculatively. "You actually intend to deliver the money to the catnappers yourself, Archy?"

"Yes, sir. I expect Sergeant Rogoff will come up with a plan for a trap."

He nodded. "When you receive the fifty thousand at the bank," he advised, "count it before you sign a receipt."

I sighed. "Yes, father," I said. Sometimes he treated me as if I were the village idiot. I do have a brain, you know, even though occasionally I choose not to use it.

Before leaving for the Willigan hacienda, I phoned Al Rogoff at his office and found him in a surprisingly lively mood.

"What are you so chirpy about?" I asked him.

"It's all coming together, old buddy. I'll fill you in later. What's up?"

I repeated what Laverne Willigan had told me of the catnappers' letter and the instructions as to how the ransom was to be paid.

"I don't like it," Al said at once. "Too much risk of a double X."

"I told Laverne that but she said Harry has no choice and is willing to shell out the fifty grand."

"Which makes her and the boyfriend happy- right? Okay, Archy, I'll start working on a snare for midnight tonight."

"After I collect the money from the bank, do you want to mark the bills?" ›

"Haven't got time," he said. "And too dangerous if they've got a lamp to read the markings. We'll make a list of the serial numbers; that'll hold up in court. Stay in touch; it's going to be a rackety day."

"Tell me about it. Al, do you think you'll be able to keep Laverne Willigan out of it?"

He was silent a moment. Then he said, "It depends," and I had to be satisfied with that.

Then I buzzed down to the Willigan manse. Leon told me the lady of the house was busy with her pedicurist, but he handed me the latest ransom note in its white envelope.

"I guess Peaches is coming home," he said.

"Looks like it," I agreed.

"And I start sneezing again," he said mournfully.

"If you don't like cats," I said, "why don't you buy yourself a koala or a wallaby? Just to remind you of down under."

"I've been down and under since I got here," he complained. "Florida is the outback with oranges."

Have you ever noticed that some people aren't happy unless they're unhappy?

Then I scooted for the McNally Building somewhat in excess of the legal speed limit. I arrived in time to smoke a cigarette before joining my father. I noted my hands weren't exactly shaking, but I would not have selected that moment to thread a needle. It was amazing how the prospect of a meeting with Mrs. Irma Gloriana rasped my nerves.

I went up to my father's office a few minutes before ten o'clock.

"I think it best, Archy," he said, "if you serve as a witness, a silent witness. Please let me ask the questions. If you are addressed directly, of course, you may respond. But I would prefer the conversation be limited to Mrs. Gloriana and myself."

"I'll be a fly on the wall," I assured him.

"Exactly," he said with his wintry smile.

His phone rang, and he glanced at the antique railroad clock on the wall over his rolltop desk. "The lady is prompt," he said. He picked up the phone. "Yes, show her in, please."

Mrs. Trelawney opened the door and stood aside to allow Mrs. Irma Gloriana to enter. Then the secretary closed the door softly.

Father was standing at his desk and I was across the room next to the bottle-green leather chesterfield. Irma took two steps into the office, her eyes on my father. Then she became aware of my presence, stared at me for a beat or two, and turned back to father.

"What is he doing here?" she demanded.

"I am Prescott McNally," he said in a plummy voice, "and I presume you are Mrs. Irma Gloriana. Since you are already acquainted with my son, I have asked him to attend this meeting as witness and adviser. You may be assured of his discretion."

Irma shook her head angrily. "It won't do," she said. "I don't need a witness and I don't need an adviser. I insist on a private, confidential conversation between you and me."

"In that case," my father said, "I suggest this meeting be terminated forthwith. Good day, madam." (He accented the "madam" ever so slightly.)

How I admired his tactics! Not only was he establishing his command of the situation but he was determining her anxiety level. If she marched out, then she felt she held a winning hand. If she remained, then her role was that of a supplicant, anxious to cut a deal.

She stood a moment in silence, and I reflected it was the first time I had seen her irresolute.

She was wearing a tailored suit of pale pink linen with a high-necked blouse. It was certainly a conservative costume, but not even a chador could conceal that woman's sexual radiance, and I wondered if my father was aware of it. I suspected he was. He might be stodgy but he was not torpid.

We waited.

"Very well," Mrs. Gloriana said finally. "If you wish. ."

Father gestured toward an armchair upholstered in the same leather as the chesterfield. He sat in his swivel chair, turned to face his visitor. I remained standing in a position where I could observe them both without making like a fan at a tennis match.

"Mr. McNally," she said crisply, "I understand you were the attorney for the late Roderick Gillsworth."

"That is correct."

"Then I suppose you're handling his estate?"

He inclined his head, and she took that for assent. In addition to a black calfskin handbag she was carrying a zippered envelope of beige suede, large enough to hold legal documents. She opened the three-sided zipper with one swift motion and withdrew two sheets of white paper stapled together.