McNally's Dare by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo Read Free Book Online Page B

Archy?”
    “Hanging in, as they say”
    “That’s all we can do these days.”
    We finished the last of the wine and ordered coffee and the caramel custard for dessert.
    “I almost forgot,” Nifty said holding a spoon full of custard aloft, “Lance’s foot.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “His foot,” Nifty repeated. “When he was a boy his foot was injured in some freak accident. I believe the chauffeur accidently slammed the car door on it when the boy was climbing in. A toe had to be amputated. I believe the small toe on his right foot.”
    “I take it you haven’t...”
    “Asked to see his foot? Good Lord, no. I thought you might have a go at it.”
    When I got back to my office, which is about the size of your handkerchief if you don’t go in for bandannas, the little red light on my answering machine was blinking. Yes, I have succumbed and entered the new century, not by choice but on orders of the executive suite, which consists of Father and his secretary, Mrs. Trelawney, the bane of my existence on Royal Palm Way.
    She of the gray polyester tresses has been urging me to install voice mail since declaring herself too busy to intercept my calls and take messages for the firm’s most expendable employee. To this end she had Father sign a memo stating that all personnel of McNally & Son would be obliged to install such a device on their desk phones if they hadn’t already done so. As I was the only personnel person who did not possess the odious thing, it was clear whom she meant. Trelawney had won the battle, but not the war.
    I pressed the button and heard:
    “Archy? It’s Connie. Lady Cynthia is furious because Phil Meecham has snared Jackson Barnett. She wants you to get the athlete out of Phil’s clutches and into hers. Pronto.” Click.
    “Archy? Georgy girl. I heard you played tennis with Joey Gallo. Doesn’t he have great legs? What do you know about the murder? I’ll be home tonight. Call me.” Click.
    “Mr. McNally? This is Dennis Darling. I am stopping at the GulfStream hotel just over the bridge in Lake Worth. Please call me at your earliest convenience regarding the death of Jeffrey Rodgers. Thank you.” Click.
    I pulled the plug on the bloody machine. How much can a healthy American boy take in one afternoon?

SEVEN
    T HE ROUTE 802 BRIDGE does not separate Palm Beach Island from Lake Worth, but links Lake Worth to the Lake Worth Municipal Beach, which is on Palm Beach Island. The Pier contains several shops that cater to tourists and a coffee shop the hungry queue up in front of every morning for their bacon and eggs fix. The area is a favorite hangout for teen surfers and as I approached it to hang a right onto the bridge I thought of Jeff Rodgers and wondered, as I had been doing since listening to Darling’s urgent message, if his summons would end up shedding light on Jeff’s murder.
    The bridge exits on Lucerne Avenue, which is one way, west, and skirts the Lake Worth Municipal Golf Club. The course is popular with Palm Beachers and boasts a new clubhouse. The par-70 spread was a favorite of baseball great Babe Ruth and is now home to the Nine Hole Club, a merry group of golfers who discourage competition with the motto, “Low handicap players need not apply.”
    The GulfStream Hotel is at the foot of the bridge on Lake Avenue, which is one way, east, forcing me to go up Lucerne, cross over, and come down Lake to arrive where I had just about started.
    The GulfStream is a first-class hostelry that offers guests a great panorama of Lake Worth and the southern end of Palm Beach. Daniel’s Lake Avenue Grill is the hotel’s restaurant, situated just off the lobby and features an outdoor terrace that fronts Lake Worth. It also features an oval-shaped bar that runs almost the entire length of the big room, keeping the two lovely barmaids it engulfed on the run this cocktail hour.
    My experienced eye judged the crowd to be a mix of tourists (shirts embossed with palm trees and