Free McNally's luck by Lawrence Sanders Page B

been a bit surprised. She was so insubstantial, you see.
    "Mr. McNally," she murmured, voice low and breathy, "Frank has told me why you are here. Perhaps I can help. Perhaps. But I cannot promise. You do understand that, don't you?"
    "Of course," I said, trying to determine the exact shade of her eyes. Periwinkle blue, I finally decided. "I would appreciate your trying."
    "What is the cat's name?"
    "Peaches."
    "Female?"
    "Yes."
    "What breed?"
    "Persian, I believe."
    "Describe her, please."
    "Plump. Silver-gray with tabby markings."
    "How old?"
    "I don't really know," I confessed. "Perhaps five years."
    "Affectionate?"
    "Not really. Not with strangers."
    She nodded. "Please leave your address and phone number with my husband. If I'm able to do anything, he will contact you."
    Apparently our consultation was at an end, but she continued to stare at me. Our eyes were locked, and her gaze was so intent and unblinking that I wanted to look away but could not.
    She came close. She was wearing a light floral scent. She put a hand gently on my arm. "You are troubled," she said.
    "About the cat? Well, yes. This close friend of mine is very-"
    "No," she interrupted, "not the cat. You, personally, are troubled."
    "Not really," I said, my short laugh sounding nervous to me. "Nothing I can't handle."
    She continued to stare. "Two women, two loves," she said. "That is troubling you."
    I wasn't impressed; it smacked too much of a fortune teller on a carnival midway. Many men-at least many I know-are frequently involved with more than one woman. It's hardly a unique situation, is it? Mrs. Gloriana was not demonstrating any special clairvoyant talent.
    She stepped back and smiled: a tremulous smile, very vulnerable. "Do not worry," she told me. "The problem will eventually be solved."
    "Glad to hear it," I said.
    "But not by you," she added. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. McNally. I'll do my best to get a message about Peaches."
    "Thank you," I said and turned away. I was at the door when I looked back. I hadn't heard her move but she was seated again in the high-backed wing chair, regarding me gravely. I made up my mind.
    "Mrs. Gloriana," I said, "Lydia Gillsworth has told me of the meetings she attends during which you are sometimes able to contact those who are- who are-"
    "Dead," she said.
    "Yes," I said. "I was wondering if I might possibly sit in at one of your gatherings. I find the whole concept fascinating."
    Her stare never wavered. "Very well," she said softly. "Ask Lydia to bring you to our next session. She knows the time and place."
    "Thank you," I said again and left her sitting there, distant and complete.
    There was a middle-aged couple in the waiting room, holding hands. And Frank Gloriana was seated behind the desk, impassive and doing nothing.
    "Your wife said she'd let me know if she is able to help," I told him and handed over my card.
    He glanced at it. "You wish to be billed at your office, Mr. McNally?"
    All business, this lad.
    "Please," I said. "Thank you for your assistance."
    I went out into the corridor. I had a lot of impressions I needed to sort out, but there was something I wanted to do first.
    When I had entered the office, Frank Gloriana had stalled me by saying the medium was busy with a client. Then, after a period of time, he reported she was now available. But I had seen no client leave the office.
    That was understandable if there was another exit from the Gloriana suite. Psychiatrists frequently have such an arrangement to protect the privacy of their analysands. I mean, it would be a bit off-putting, would it not, to enter a shrink's office and bump into your spouse, lover, or boss coming out.
    So, before I pushed the elevator button, I roamed the fourth-floor corridor looking for another doorway to the Gloriana offices. There was none. Which probably meant that Hertha had not been busy with another client when I arrived.
    There were several innocent explanations. Frank Gloriana's prevarication might