McNally's Chance by Lawrence Sanders & Vincent Lardo

Author:Lawrence Sanders & Vincent Lardo [Sanders, Lawrence & Lardo, Vincent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781453298329
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

“I’LL JUST GO POWDER my nose. Won’t be a minute.”

That exit line could account for at least a dozen chores milady was on her way to performing while her gentleman caller cooled his heels. When he took her home, if all went well, she would excuse herself with, “I’ll just slip into something comfortable.” Or did that happen only in the movies?

I was cooling my heels in Bianca Courtney’s parlor on cement blocks, sipping a white wine that had never been within a mile of a cork. It was dreadful. Bianca did not keep hard liquor in the house, owing, no doubt, to her mother’s caution, “Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.” I reflected sadly upon why I was sitting in a railroad car decorated in buttons and bows, boxed in by Al Rogoff’s sleeper and Binky Watrous’s caboose. Final answer: pure lust. Bianca’s idea of decor was to bring the outside inside. Every piece of fabric had a flower motif, many with birds and bees and butterflies, all on the wing. I would happily trade the wine for an antihistamine nasal spray.

Bianca had greeted me dressed in peach linen slacks and a blouse just a shade lighter. The blouse was of a material so gossamer that as she moved, one caught glimpses of her bra. I found this distracting. The outfit, accessorized with a pair of finely crafted leather sandals and a tiny matching baguette bag, bespoke not only a casual chic, but expensive taste. If these trappings were due to the largesse of the late Lilian Ashman Gilbert, I could see why Bianca was incensed at the lady’s passing, but not a reason to point a finger at poor Mr. Gilbert.

Seeing her peach ensemble, I was glad I had avoided pastels for the occasion and had chosen instead white jeans with a button fly and a boat-neck cotton pullover from JHG in navy. I thought it befitting for a shore dinner, and besides, it made me feel like Gene Kelly dancing with Jerry the mouse. Knowing when to compete and when to withdraw, my T-shirt was not visible beneath the pullover.

Upon returning, Bianca had added a lightweight pashmina wrap to her costume, but not a discernable trace of powder to her pretty nose. “I’m ready, but we can wait if you want to finish your wine,” she said.

“No, no,” I protested. “Let’s go. Our reservation is for eight and they do get testy. It’s a popular joint. I’ll just leave this in the kitchen.” Where it might discourage night crawlers, and I did not mean Binky and Al. When the summer sun sets, Florida vibrates with the pitty-pat of many-footed creatures of the night.

I had parked in Binky’s space—was there no limit to my brass?—and once again lucked out with Al Rogoff’s carport empty. He was at work today, so he was most likely at some highbrow offering this evening, incognito. Last winter Al attended the Jacques Thibaud String Trio at Dreyfoos Hall in the Kravis Center and was in ecstasy for weeks.

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