McNally's Folly (23 page)

“Look at it this way,” I said. “Holmes hires me to prove Ouspenskaya is a phony and expose him. Ouspenskaya is aware of this for reasons I have yet to learn. Next, Holmes calls Ouspenskaya yesterday morning and tells him he will no longer finance his wife’s quest for a can of film some joker claims to possess.”

“So he knocks off Holmes with poison,” Al picked up my story, “and then he calls Lady Cynthia the next morning to tell her all about it. You have to do better than that, pal. And how did he get the arsenic in Holmes’s glass? According to Lady Cynthia and Desdemona Darling, Ouspenskaya was nowhere near Holmes when they passed out the wine.”

Priscilla was once again upon us with our order of burgers and fries and a bonus helping of kosher dills and pickled cherry peppers. I asked her to bring us two more drafts.

“Did they say who was near Holmes?” I asked.

Al put down the ketchup long enough to dig a crumpled piece of paper out of his pants pocket. “Your friend Binky. Your girl, Connie. Some guy named Joe Anderson. Elizabeth Fitzwilliams and a Buzz Carr. They were in the front row of spectators, along with the victim.”

That tallied with my list except for Buzz, but he had been up front with Lady Cynthia along with Binky, Connie and Joe, so it was only natural that he ended up in the front row and you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that Fitz was there because Buzz was there. “Did Lady Cynthia tell you she served Holmes the wine?”

“She did, but how do you know?”

“Joe Anderson told me. He was standing next to Holmes. He’s our mail person at McNally and Son, in case you don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me he’s in your show, too?”

“He plays the old codger the ladies try to poison. How’s that for a plot?”

“Like
Hamlet,
Archy. A play within a play. But that’s a good piece of info. The ladies didn’t know exactly who was standing where.”

“The girl, Fitzwilliams, was standing on Holmes’s other side. They call her Fitz, by the way.”

“And you saw the ladies pour the wine?”

“Like everyone else, I was watching them, Al, but I wasn’t scrutinizing them. I’m sure you remember the patio was in semidarkness thanks to those lanterns, but even with that disadvantage someone would have noticed if either of them had deliberately emptied a vial of poison into one of the glasses. And how could they know which glass Holmes would take? They put four or five glasses on their trays and moved out into the crowd. People picked their own glass, they weren’t told which one to take.”

“If we put Ouspenskaya on a back burner and forget about how the arsenic got in that glass, who else do you think had it in for Holmes?” Al proposed.

It didn’t take me a nanosecond to respond, “Desdemona Darling, because Holmes threatened to cut off her cash flow. Then there’s Buzz Carr. He’s counting on the show to help his nonexistent career and he’s currently shacked up with Lady Cynthia, who’s the driving force behind this season’s community theater. He would want to protect Ouspenskaya to keep his patron and the show’s star happy. But he’s a long shot, Al. The guy is a hustler but I don’t think he’d have the nerve to say boo to a goose.”

Al polished off the last of his fries and forked up a cherry pepper. “Suppose the wrong guy got the right glass. Who else in that crowd was carrying baggage?”

“Who wasn’t? And you’re going to love this, Al. Low sex in high society. Buzz is getting it off with Fitz so Lady C would not lose sleep if Fitz suddenly vanished. Vance Tremaine is also sniffing after Fitz and his wife doesn’t like it. William Ventura is also hot for Fitz and Arnie Turnbolt is hot for William.”

“Poor Fitz,” Al mumbled.

“If you saw her, Al, you’d join the bread line. Did I mention that Hanna Ventura and her stepson, William, are usually at each other’s throats and that Buzz used to live on Phil Meecham’s yacht before Lady C lured him into her nest?”

“You’ve got more going on backstage than onstage,” Al said, spearing a pickle with his fork.

“It’s not unusual for a theatrical company,” I informed him. “It keeps them on their toes like in the ballet.”

Al produced a toothpick and began chomping on it. Gauche, but it was preferable to the butt of a used cigar. This, incidentally, triggered a craving for a cigarette but I had left my box of English Ovals in the Miata. “You have no idea how Ouspenskaya knows what he knows?” Al mused.

“My theory is that he operates with a network of spies who report to him, like gossip columnists use stringers and press agents.”

Al responded to this with a wave of his toothpick. “He arrived in town a few months ago. Are you saying he came with his own network of spies? Forget it, pal.”

I would be happy to forget it if I had another theory to go on. “How are the police going to proceed on this one?” I probed, hoping for some inside poop.

“We’re going to begin by questioning everyone who was on the scene when Holmes was done in. You’re on the list, pal, so don’t leave town.”

“You have my word. And I think you should know that Lady Cynthia is issuing a press release saying she and Desdemona think the poison got into Holmes’s glass by accident. An unsterilized glass supplied by the caterer.”

Rather than laugh, Al said, “You know what, Archy? After hashing out everything we know about this case, that could be the most plausible explanation.”

I drove the Miata directly home and, yes, I lit an English Oval along the way. Once in my penthouse lodgings, I dialed the number Mrs. Trelawney had given me to contact James Ventura. A very efficient secretary told me I had reached the offices of Ventura Enterprises. That could mean it was anything from a booking parlor to the home-away-from-home of a millionaire who liked to get away from home. When I gave her my name I was immediately connected to James Ventura.

“My father said you wanted to see me, sir.”

“I do, but I’m not looking for a part in your show,” he assured me.

I like a man with a sense of humor to equal my own. “All the roles are spoken for, sir, and both your wife and your son portray policemen.”

“Does that mean Hanna can’t show her legs?” he laughed.

Neither can your son, I wanted to answer, but I didn’t want to test the limits of Ventura’s sense of humor. “We’ll see what we can do about that. How may I help you, sir?”

“You can start by calling me James, but never Jim or Jimmy.”

“James it is. How may I help you, James?”

“Nothing I can discuss on the phone, I’m afraid. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

“I can make myself free,” I said, implying that I had a lunch date I would have to break.

“Good. What about the Amaranth at one?”

The Amaranth is this season’s “in” restaurant. Even more “in” than when it was called the Arcadia last season. It seemed James liked to travel first class and who was I not to go along for the ride? I’ve been known to wear white tie and tails to Burger King so putting together a costume for Amaranth did not dismay me in the least. “I’ll be there, James.”

According to Hanna, young William was a loose cannon with a short fuse. I was certain the boy was the reason I’d be making my debut at the Amaranth.

Then I called Kate Mulligan and got her answering machine. “I’m out for the evening. Please leave a message and I’ll return your call in the morning. Thank you.” Was I the first Lothario to get the telephonic equivalent of the cold shoulder? If so, I wouldn’t be the last. I did not leave a message.

To give a boost to my ego I donned a pair of cerise Speedos with a matching terry cardigan and stepped into a pair of espadrilles just for the hell of it. One of the advantages of this outfit was that it instantly stopped traffic on the A1A, making for a safe passage from shore to sea. I had my swim, one mile north, one mile back, and returned to my room to enter the latest developments on “Serge the Seer” in my journal.

The man professed to be in constant touch with those who had crossed over but the last thing I had anticipated when I took this case was to witness one making the crossing—least of all my own client. Pseudo psychics and bogus fortune-tellers seldom, if ever, resort to violence when working a scam. Their art is to foster confidence in the credulous, bilk the mark and exit, leaving behind a few bruised egos now poorer but wiser for their brief encounter with the hereafter. Ouspenskaya had the most obvious reason for doing in Richard Holmes but both his profession’s modus operandi and his lack of opportunity logically ruled him out as the heavy.

But was he connected with the murder of Richard Holmes? That is, if Ouspenskaya had not arrived on our island this season, and Desdemona and Richard Holmes had, would Holmes be alive today? How did the arsenic get into that glass and why did Holmes take the tainted glass off Lady Cynthia’s tray? You would have to be a magician to do the former and a psychic to know the latter. And I was right back to square one.

I recalled Desdemona Darling’s party and found myself once again looking through that kaleidoscopic sea of humanity. Richard Holmes shoving Ouspenskaya away from DeeDee as William Ventura looked on with glee. Penny Tremaine crashing the party and confronting Vance and Fitz; Phil Meecham arguing with Buzz Carr and cursing Arnie Turnbolt when he tried to break it up. I knew the picture wasn’t complete the minute I finished my mental sketch but I could not compute the missing element. Experience had taught me that the more I rummaged around my memory, the more nonplussed I would become. So I let it go and turned my thoughts to matters more ethereal but not less pressing.

The sun was setting, the surf was rising, and I celebrated the passage of Helios and the rise of Luna by lighting my second English Oval of the day and brooding over life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness—my life, my liberty and my happiness. An evensong for Archibald McNally. Twilight had this effect on me. So did a case in which my prey eluded me in every encounter.

I blew smoke rings at the moisture spots on my ceiling (courtesy of the leaky roof) and reflected on the sudden death of Richard Holmes. This encouraged me to reaffirm my resolve never to take a world full of pestilence, violence and happenstance seriously. I would continue to drink every drink and grab every bit of pleasure as if it were the last. However, the certitude left me feeling like the woman of song, Rose of Washington Square, who had no future but oh what a past. At moments like this, I felt that the answer to all life’s mysteries, including Ouspenskaya’s parlor tricks, was as obvious as my puss in a mirror. So why did I draw a blank at every turn?

Should I re-call Kate and leave a reconciliatory message? Should I call Connie and see if she was free this evening? I ended up calling Binky Watrous and telling him to assemble the cast tomorrow night to receive their rehearsal instructions.

“Where?” asked Binky.

“Call the Creative Director and ask her,” answered I.

Then I dressed for cocktails and dinner with the family. Always a safe bet and never a tab.

Nice to have you with us,” Father said, serving our martinis.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, Archy,” Mother gushed, her face flushed with excitement, “that man’s death at Lady Cynthia’s was all the talk at our C.A.S. meeting this afternoon. They all saw your picture in the newspaper, trying to resuscitate him. I was quite the star.”

The C.A.S. is the Current Affairs Society, of which Mother is a faithful member. They meet once a month and listen to a lecture by experts on such diverse subjects as global warming, political unrest in Tibet and the joys, trials and tribulations of same sex parenting. Mother is the group’s former sergeant-at-arms.

“They said,” Mother continued, “that he was poisoned and your father tells me this is true.”

“I’m afraid it is, Mother,” I said.

“How terrible,” she lamented. “This sort of thing never happened in what I like to think of as the good old days, when you and your sister were just children. The whole world has gone crazy.”

“Have you heard anything new?” Father asked me.

“I spoke with my police contact, Sergeant Rogoff, but he didn’t have much to add to what we already know. And I called James Ventura, as you requested, sir. I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

“Good,” Father said. “I’ll fill you in on what Saul Hastings had to say later. Right now I think we should engage in happy talk to go along with our happy hour.” As always, Father wanted to protect Mother and the serenity of our household from the more tumultuous aspects of our business. For this I admired him.

“Cheers,” Mother cried and I seconded the motion.

When we went downstairs to dinner we discovered that Ursi had prepared my favorite mixed grill (lamb chops, tournedos, medallions of veal), accompanied with julienne vegetables and crispy roast potatoes. Father produced a fine red Bordeaux for the menfolk and Mother, as usual, stuck with her sauterne. We ended the repast with Black Forest cake and coffee.

Mother and Father settled in front of the television and I climbed the stairs to my room to work out a rehearsal schedule, pour myself a marc and light my third English Oval of the day—but who’s counting?

Jinxed. Priscilla had said our play was jinxed and I couldn’t stop the word from running amok in my head as I took the first step in getting
Arsenic and Old Lace
on the boards.

J
AMES VENTURA WAS A
man who had made his fortune early enough to retire to Palm Beach in what he probably considered his middle age, although I doubted he knew many men who were a hundred. His physical appearance made it clear that he could still partake in a bracing game of golf or tennis and, having met Hanna, I knew he was virile enough to enjoy the pleasures of a wife just past the legal age of consent.

There were now silver threads among the black hair and a decided thickening about the waist, but the configuration of his dark good looks made him immediately recognizable as William’s father. He wore a lightweight gray business suit and the traditional blue and red silk rep tie. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me, Archy,” he said, extending his hand as the maître d’ seated me at his table. “I hope this is not inconvenient, but I find the food better than the club’s and the diners less inquisitive.”