Free McNally's Gamble by Lawrence Sanders Page A

and describe to me the ‘surprise’ it contains, I might be able to identify it in one of my reference books and answer your questions in more detail.”
    “That would certainly be a help, sir,” I said, wondering where my fabricated story was leading me and how I could finesse the dealer’s request. “I’ll certainly open the egg at the first available opportunity and report to you what, if anything, I find inside.”
    “Excellent!” he said with more enthusiasm than I thought my reply warranted. “I love investigations into the history of beautiful antiques, and I’ve become quite consumed with curiosity about this particular Imperial egg. Do keep me informed, dear boy.”
    He rang off and I replaced my phone thoughtfully. His interest in the Fabergé egg I had invented did seem to me excessive but that wasn’t the only oddity I found fascinating. Mr. Smythe had asked me to describe the surprise in my egg, and a few hours previously I had asked Mrs. Westmore to describe the surprise in her egg.
    Of course mine was imaginary and I still had to determine if the Fabergé egg being hawked by investment adviser Frederick Clemens was also whole cloth or actually existed. And if it did exist, was it authentic or a counterfeit being peddled by one or more villains who had selected Mrs. Edythe Westmore as their mark?
    I noted these puzzles in my journal along with a description of the Westmore estate and Mrs. Edythe’s comments anent Frederick Clemens. I interrupted my scribbling a few times to phone Binky but was informed by the Duchess’s houseman that Master Watrous had not yet returned home. I thought it strange. I could not believe his meeting with Clemens was still in progress. Unless the goof was regaling the investment adviser with a recital of birdcalls, including the peep of a titmouse.
    I showered and changed into casual duds before descending for the family cocktail hour. As we were sipping our traditional dry martinis I casually mentioned I had lunched with Mrs. Edythe Westmore and had met both her daughter and daughter-in-law.
    “Did you, Archy?” mother said, much interested. “Tell me, what did you think of Helen Westmore?”
    I was glad she hadn’t asked my reaction to Natalie! “Why, I think Helen is a very attractive woman in a flamboyant sort of way.”
    “Flamboyant,” the mater repeated. “Yes, it’s a good word for her.”
    “Do you know anything of her antecedents, mother?”
    “Oh, it’s a very romantic story. She was on the stage, you know, and played a role in a road company that gave a week of shows at the little theater Edythe helps support. Walter Westmore saw her in one of the performances and fell head over heels in love. The road company moved on but Helen remained, staying with the Westmores. She and Walter were married about a month later. It was love at first sight.”
    “Apparently so,” I said. “Do you happen to recall the play Helen was in when Walter was smitten?”
    She thought a moment, head tilted. “I think it was The Odd Couple,” she said finally.
    I thought I heard a muffled snort from father but I may have been mistaken.
    Dinner that night was Brunswick stew, a tasty concoction that usually contains the meat of game animals—squirrel, raccoon, boar, venison, etc. Ursi Olson’s version had only chicken and rabbit but to give it a little zip she had added small dumplings spiced with cracked black pepper. They did the trick; the stew was ready to erupt.
    I climbed slowly back to my aerie after dinner, happy the meal had been more than adequate compensation for Mrs. Westmore’s insipid lunch. I collapsed at my desk and had a wee brandy to soothe my inflamed uvula. I phoned Binky Watrous again and this time the wannabe sleuthhound was home. I thought his greeting was giggled.
    “Binky, are you potted?” I demanded.
    “Not quite, old boy,” he said, his words slushy. “Still upright. Still vertical.”
    “But not for long,” I predicted. “What on