Free McNally's Folly by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo Page A

lemonade is really vodka and tonic so if you are not opposed to an alcohol libation before lunch just pour yourself a toot.”
    As she spoke she removed the cover from an ice bucket and pulled out a glass, filling it with crescent-shaped cubes before passing it on to me. “I told Margaret, she’s the new girl, to bring us lunch after a while. Nothing formal. Just a shrimp salad and warm biscuits. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
    I poured my libation but before I could state that I had not had a bite since breakfast, Hanna went right on. “Margaret is new. It’s so hard to keep help, don’t you think? Most of them are college girls who take jobs down here in season hoping to catch a rich husband. Ever since that Rockefeller boy married the au pair they all want a shot at the brass ring. Well, who am I to talk?”
    Who, indeed? But talk she did. I wondered if I would ever be required to join in. Shaded by the umbrella and enjoying my drink—although I preferred my vodka and tonic with lime, not lemon, but I suspected the lemon wedges were to fool the likes of Margaret—I sipped and listened attentively. I had come to discuss other worlds and found myself in one—the land of Loony Tunes.
    “Now tell me, was last night your first meeting with Mr. Ouspenskaya?”
    Hanna went from subject to subject without benefit of a connecting line or two. Just as well. What Hanna did not need was an extra line or two. I waited long enough to be sure she wanted an answer before answering. “Yes, it was.”
    “And he contacted your grandfather. Is that correct?”
    “It is.”
    “Now tell me, Archy—I may call you Archy?—did you ever meet Mr. Ouspenskaya before last evening? Do you have any friends in common? Anything like that?”
    “No,” I told her, “but don’t jump to conclusions. There are many tricks to the psychic trade. My grandfather, as I’m sure Mrs. Tremaine told you, was on the stage. A public figure, easily traceable if one knows where to search for the facts.”
    “But you said you never met Mr. Ouspenskaya. You have no friends in common. Why would he look up your ancestor?”
    I couldn’t tell her what I suspected so I had to confess I didn’t know, but it was becoming very clear that Hanna Ventura wanted to authenticate, not invalidate, Serge Ouspenskaya. “He did know I would be at the séance. I’m told he requires a guest list before agreeing to a sitting, as he calls it.”
    She jumped on this like a duck on a June bug, as they say where Hanna comes from, which my guess was Georgia via Arkansas. “But he didn’t know I would be at the Fairhurst party. He looked right at me and said, ‘Something is troubling you, young lady.’ And before I could answer he said, ‘You have lost something of great value—both financial and personal—is that not correct?’ I said I had, but I never told him what it was. Never. He said I should go straight home and look carefully at a pile of clothing I had put together for the Goodwill people. He said my consideration for the less fortunate would be rewarded. I remember every word, Archy. It still gives me goose bumps.”
    “And you came home and found the diamond clip?” I concluded for her.
    “Not right away. You see, I was certain I had taken the clip off the dress the night I wore it for the last time.”
    Finally, something interesting. “Are you certain of that, Hanna?”
    “I thought I was, but I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
    “Please, tell me what you thought you had done with the clip. It may be important.”
    “You wouldn’t have a cigarette on you, would you?”
    Reaching for my English Ovals I proffered them to her. “What are they?” Hanna asked, taking one.
    “English Ovals. You’ll like them. And I’ll join you.” I struck a match, held it for her, and then lit my first cigarette of the day.
    “James doesn’t like me to smoke so I don’t keep them around. James is my husband.”
    “I’m trying to quit,” I confessed. “I have