Free McNally's Dilemma by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo Page B

thought the situation over and decided it would be easier, and less humiliating, for poor grandfather to play dead rather than to confess to what he had done. Why end a celebrated life on a less than venerable note?”
    Unable to contain the thought, I exclaimed, “How did your grandfather manage to keep the fact that he was not dead a secret?”
    “Not as difficult as one would suppose,” Fairhurst answered. “Grandfather was far from young when he married, and sired a son at the end of his natural life. He lived only a few years after the Titanic went down. His widow, with her infant son, observed a long period of mourning in complete seclusion, which was not unheard of in those days. They were attended by an English couple who had been with them for years. When Grandfather died, in return for their silence, the couple were pensioned off and returned to England, where they lived rather lavishly in a charming home in Kent. Grandfather was never very social and I think he enjoyed his life as a recluse, surrounded by his books, pursuing his love of ancient Greek lore, and watching his son grow.
    “I also think Grandfather was ashamed of his cowardly act and perhaps thought of his confinement as penance,” Fairhurst explained.
    Father and I listened attentively but made no comment. John Fairhurst went on to extol his grandfather’s extraordinary business acumen as if to make up for the man’s shortcomings.
    “Grandfather was once a partner of Andrew Carnegie, don’t-you-know. Broke with him early on and started up a few smelteries of his own and turned the heat up on old Andy, he did. Ha, ha.”
    Like Andy Carnegie, I was not amused.
    “So he lived out his life in quiet comfort and seclusion, and when Grandfather died a second time, he was the first Fairhurst to be cremated. Interment, don’t-you-know, would have been a bit awkward,” Fairhurst concluded.
    John Fairhurst III knew how to turn a phrase, I’ll say that for him. I didn’t ask how they managed to get a death certificate for the old boy because I knew money could buy anything, including death certificates and love. Or should that be especially death certificates and love?
    “Mr. Fairhurst,” I began, “by coming to us I assume you have no intention of paying to keep this a secret.”
    “Correct, Archy. For several reasons. The first is that I am certain this person would not stop at the requested amount. It would be the beginning of a lifetime annuity.”
    “I’m glad you are aware of that, sir.”
    “Also, in compensation for Grandfather’s moment of weakness, the Fairhurst Foundation was founded as a charity devoted exclusively to the care and education of needy children. For three-quarters of a century our foundation has given millions to orphanages, endowed children’s hospitals, provided scholarships, funded medical programs, and much, much more. We have paid, many times over, for the seat on a lifeboat Grandfather may have taken from a poor boy or girl. I wish neither to make a mockery of this largesse nor see it become an embarrassment that might make it necessary to terminate the foundation. I want you to find the culprit and stop him before he brings down the Fairhurst Foundation.”
    I thought mon père was going to stand up and applaud. To his credit, he didn’t.
    Quickly assaying the situation, I concluded that the letter was a useless clue as to the blackmailer. Typewritten on what appeared to be copy-machine paper, it could lead to the villain only in a television police procedural. Besides, Fairhurst had made it very clear that the letter could be shown to no one, including an expert who might tell us the make and model of the typewriter used and not much more. This was a case for a bloodhound, and it seemed the best place to start sniffing was in Fairhurst’s own backyard.
    “Mr. Fairhurst, who besides yourself knows about this?”
    “The letter, or my grandfather’s indiscretion?”
    “Both, please.”
    “Only my wife