McNally's Luck by Lawrence Sanders

Author:Lawrence Sanders [Sanders, Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9824-4
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 2013-01-23T19:16:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I SET OUT DETECTING on Thursday morning sans beret—which was certainly more socially acceptable than setting out sans culotte. It was my intention to visit the remaining three animal hospitals on my list, and I feared outré headgear might tarnish the image I wished to project: a worried swain seeking his lost love and her ailing cat.

But first I had a small chore to perform and phoned Roderick Gillsworth.

“Good morning, Rod,” I said. “Archy McNally. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Archy,” he said. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to be home.”

“Rough time?” I inquired.

“Rough enough,” he said. “I meant to call you Tuesday night after the funeral, but I had a duel with a bottle of California brandy. The bottle won.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “There was nothing new to report anyway. Rod, I’d like to return your house keys. Will you be home this morning?”

Short pause. Then: “Only for another half-hour. I have some errands to run—supermarket shopping and all that. Including a liquor store so I can return your vodka.”

“Don’t worry about that. Could I pop over now? It’ll just take a minute; I won’t linger.”

“Sure,” he said, “come ahead.”

When I arrived at the Gillsworth home, his gray Bentley was parked on the bricked driveway. I admired that vehicle. Subdued elegance. A bit staid for my taste but undeniably handsome.

I rang the bell, Rod opened the door, and I blinked. He usually wore solid blues, whites, and blacks, nothing flashy. But that morning he was clad in lime-green slacks with yellow patent leather loafers, complete with fringed tongues. And over a pink polo shirt was a Lilly Pulitzer sport jacket.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with that garment, but about twenty years ago it was de rigueur for the young bloods of Palm Beach. Ms. Pulitzer doted on flower prints, and a jacket of her fabric made every dude a walking hothouse. Rod’s was a bouquet of daisies, mini carnations, and Dolores roses.

He saw my surprise and gave me an embarrassed smile. “A transformation,” he said. “What?”

“Quite,” I said.

“Lydia found the jacket in a thrift shop,” he said. “A perfect fit, but I never had the courage to wear it. I’m wearing it now for her. You understand?”

I nodded, thinking that chintzy jacket had to be the world’s strangest memorial.

“Come on in, Archy,” he said. “Too early in the morning to offer you an eye-opener, I suppose.”

“By about two hours,” I said. “But thanks for the thought.”

I moved inside and we stood talking in the hallway.

“Here are the keys, Rod,” I said, handing them over. “Everything all right in the house when you returned?”

“Shipshape. Thank you for your trouble. And you’ve learned nothing new about the investigation from Sergeant Rogoff?”

“Not a word. The poison-pen letters Lydia received have been sent to the FBI lab for analysis. Rogoff should be getting a report soon.”

“Do you think he’ll tell you what the report says?”

“Probably.”

“Then I wish you’d tell me,” he said, and added testily, “That man simply refuses to let me know what’s going on.

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