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

get a bail hearing as soon as this afternoon, but I doubt that will happen. However, I’d rather have her lawyers here when we go before a judge.”
    So, if she’s not let out on bail, McNally & Son won’t be held accountable. Shrewdness, like class, will also tell. “Very good, sir. I thought I would stick with Veronica, Miss Manning, that is, and help her get back to her home without being bamboozled by the press.”
    “Very noble, Archy, I’m sure. However, I need you here at precisely twelve noon.”
    “Nothing that could be postponed?” I asked hopefully.
    “Afraid not, Archy. We have an appointment with John Fairhurst the Third.”
    Well! No wonder mon père was jubilant. McNally & Son suddenly held Melva Ashton Manning Williams and John Fairhurst III in tandem, so to speak, and all in one day. John the First was a mogul on par with the Messrs. Morgan, Gould, Carnegie, Mellon, and Frick. I could see my father twirling his mustache as he spoke the name. John Fairhurst III was Palm Beach’s most distinguished citizen and its richest, although to Prescott McNally those attributes would seem redundant.
    “ We have an appointment, sir? Surely you don’t mean Discreet Inquiries.”
    “I think I do. Mr. Fairhurst was a bit vague on the phone, which, from past experience, makes me believe that he’s in an embarrassing situation.”
    “Surely not like Vance Tremaine,” I protested, perhaps too ardently.
    “We won’t jump to conclusions until we hear the man out. Now leave the girl in your mother’s care and get here as quickly as you can. And Archy, do dress properly for this meeting.”
    I was rudely awakened to run to the aid of a rich man caught with his pants down and instead of a thank-you I was served a backhanded slur on the appropriateness of my choice of apparel. If I didn’t need the job I would have gone back to bed; however, my bed went with the job, or, put more bluntly, if my job went so would my bed—and board.
    I showered, shaved, and stood in my T-shirt and briefs—the ones depicting rabbits in pursuit of rabbits—contemplating my wardrobe when the phone rang again. Before I could say, “Archy here,” Lolly Spindrift assaulted me with “Is she still with you?”
    “Who’s she, Lol?”
    “Don’t get cute with me, Archy. You owe me. Remember Vance Tremaine?”
    “I also remember The Alamo and The Sands of Iwo Jima. Both starring John Wayne.”
    “You’re holding Veronica Manning,” Lolly insisted.
    Geoff’s murder couldn’t have made the early editions, but Lolly’s editors must have called him as soon as the news hit the wire services. Lolly, after all, was their society editor, and Melva Ashton Manning Williams was society with a capital S.
    “Holding her under lock and key? Never.”
    “You’re at your worst when you try to be clever, Archy. Veronica is with you, I know.”
    “Flattery will get you noplace, Lol, and how, pray tell, do you know Veronica is here?”
    “I talked to Binky Watrous.”
    “Since when is Binky Watrous a prime source for your gossip sheet?”
    “Since one of my spies among the young set told me he saw Binky and Veronica at some ghastly party last night. I know Melva is in custody and I can’t get to her yet, so I tried to contact Veronica but couldn’t get through. I think the phone at the Williams manse is off the hook. I called my informer on the off chance that he knew something and struck pay dirt.”
    The Palm Beach grapevine was in overdrive and only luck had prevented Lolly’s spy from seeing me at that ghastly party, but thanks to Binky this didn’t prevent me from being fingered as Veronica’s guardian.
    “Binky, by the by, is in a foul mood,” Lolly added. “He says he’s in need of a rabies shot, thanks to you.”
    Rabies? Was I to be spared nothing this wretched morning? A glance at my desk clock forced me to put Binky, rabies, and child spies on a back burner. Wishing to do the same with Lolly Spindrift, I ceded, “Okay,