Free McNally's Risk by Lawrence Sanders

horribly disappointed and possibly take up the lute to express my weltschmerz in musical form.
    Meanwhile, I had a job to do and when duty calls, yrs. truly can never be accused of shlumpery. I called Information and obtained the phone number of Hector Johnson. I had prepared a scam that, I felt, included sufficient truth to convince the most worldly-wise pigeon.
    "The Johnson residence," a man's voice answered. Deep and resonant. A very slight accent. Midwestern, I guessed.
    "Mr. Hector Johnson, please," I said.
    "Speaking. Who is this calling?"
    "Mr. Johnson, my name is Archibald McNally, and I am associated with McNally and Son, a law firm located on Royal Palm Way. I had the pleasure of meeting your lovely daughter during a recent art exhibit at the Pristine Gallery."
    "Ah, yes," he said. "I'm afraid Theo is busy at the moment."
    "No, no," I said. "It is you I'd like to talk to. Mr. Johnson, I am assigned to the real estate section of McNally and Son, and we have a number of very attractive properties for sale or lease in the Palm Beach area. Rather than deluge you with brochures and listings, I am taking the liberty of calling to ask if you have any interest in a Palm Beach estate, either as a residence or an investment."
    "Not right now, thank you," he said. "But quite possibly at some time in the near future."
    "In that case," I said, continuing to act the role of a pushy real estate hustler, "could I meet with you personally and perhaps get some idea of what you might be looking for? We have properties that range in asking price from a half-million to twelve, with financing readily available, I assure you. They are located on the beachfront, inland, and with Waterway frontages. Rather than try to sell you a particular offering, I'd much rather learn what you prefer, either now or, as you say, in the near future."
    "That makes sense," he said. "You say your name is Archibald McNally?"
    "That's correct, sir. Everyone calls me Archy."
    He laughed. "Don't complain. Everyone calls me Heck. Who put you on to me, Archy?"
    "Lady Cynthia Horowitz suggested I call," I said boldly. "She was quite impressed by your contribution to her latest effort at civic beautification."
    I was hoping he would be impressed, and he was. "I was happy to help," he said. "And if you're a friend of Lady Horowitz I'll be glad to meet with you. When would you care to make it?"
    "At your convenience, sir."
    There was a brief pause. Then: "Well, I have an appointment with a business associate at three this afternoon, but if you could come by at, say, two o'clock, we should be able to get to know each other in an hour's time. How does that sound?"
    "Splendid," I said. "I'm looking forward to it, and I promise you, no high-powered sales pitch."
    "I'll hold you to that," he said, laughing again. "See you at two, Archy."
    "Thank you, Heck," I said.
    He gave me his address, and we hung up. I sat a moment staring at the dead phone and thinking of what a personable guy he was, how he projected warmth, confidence, good humor. Some people sound like duds when their voices come over the wire. Hector Johnson sounded like a political candidate who is absolutely certain he's going to win.
    My second phone call was to CW's office. His secretary informed me that Mr. Smythe-Hersforth had departed that morning for a bankers' convention in New Orleans and was not expected back until Thursday morning. I thanked her, grateful that I could postpone for three days another go-around with a man silly enough to certify a proposal of marriage in writing.
    I had time to buzz home and change into a costume more befitting a sober, industrious, and sincere real estate agent. I bounced down to the kitchen for a spot of lunch and found Ursi Olson preparing a Florida bouillabaisse that was to be our dinner that evening. But she paused long enough to make me an open sandwich of Norwegian brisling sardines with slices of beefsteak tomato and shavings of red onion on her home-baked sour