McNally's Dare Read Online Free Page B

have a case of murder or misadventure.”
    If it was murder, as I strongly suspected, I might presently be the only person who knew when it occurred. When I took that drink from Todd’s tray I glanced at my watch and both of Mickey’s hands were pointing at three. Todd said Rodgers had gone on his break a half hour before, so the boy headed for the pool about a quarter to three and was found dead at a quarter to four, giving you a window for the time of death between 2:45 and 3:45.
    “Let’s hope for misadventure,” Father offered before turning to matters closer to his heart. “So you met the Talbot boy. What did you think of him?”
    “Met might be an exaggeration. We played the required three sets together and then exchanged a few words.” I didn’t mention Talbot’s comment on my interview in today’s paper because I didn’t know if Father had seen it. Nor did I know if the pater would approve. Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you is one of my favorite edicts.
    “He’s a handsome boy, about twenty I would guess,” I added. This had me thinking that he was about the same age as the late Jeffrey Rodgers, the two being as close in years as they were distant socially.
    “I was hoping he might consider taking us on as his legal representatives,” Father said. “Malcolm was a good friend of the boy’s grandmother. In fact Malcolm was the executor of Mrs. Talbot’s will. As we represent Malcolm I thought young Talbot would follow suit.”
    “I understand the boy carries his maternal grandmother’s name because he was born out of wedlock and his mother never said who done her wrong.”
    Father tugged on his mustache. A sure sign of his displeasure. “So I’ve heard, but naturally that’s none of our business.”
    Pushing the envelope, I ventured, “And they say he’s involved with a lady named Holga von Brecht who’s at least twenty years his senior. I met her, too, on the courts.”
    Father gave his whiskers another yank. “That, too, is not our concern. What is, is the fact that Talbot has come into a fortune conservatively estimated at five hundred million.”
    Half a billion. I didn’t whistle because that would be uncouth. No wonder Holga followed him here all the way from Switzerland. I assume she was Mrs. von Brecht. Or, more likely, the Baroness von Brecht. So where was the Baron? Perhaps sulking in the schloss with the drawbridge raised, but for a half billion in American currency Holga would have swam the moat.
    I did not ask Father if he wanted me to put in a good word for the Talbot account over lunch with Nifty, as that would be de trop. As I did not go all the way at Yale (no pun intended, there was a little streaking incident), my sole function at McNally & Son is to assist those who come to me with problems they would rather not read about in the shiny sheet.
    In case you don’t know, or don’t care, the shiny sheet is the sobriquet of our local daily that chronicles the what, where, when and the who, how and why of the denizens of our little island. The name comes from the paper on which it’s printed, which prevents madam from getting her hands soiled with printer’s ink as she keeps up with the Joneses and, of course, the price of alligator pumps on the Esplanade.
    During my briefing of the afternoon’s events, I mentioned Dennis Darling and Father, puffing contentedly and perhaps dreaming of young Talbot’s patronage, asked me what I thought of the man.
    “As with Talbot, sir, it was a brief encounter on the tennis court. Lolly told me the man is here to write on Palm Beach for his magazine, Bare Facts.” Father winced at the name and tossed back what was left of his port. I got up and refilled our glasses.
    “Is he here to make trouble, Archy?”
    “I hope not,” I answered, thinking of the man chatting into his portable recorder following the discovery of Jeff Rodgers’s body in the pool and the mayhem that followed. “He’ll dig up all the old scandals