McNally's Bluff by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo Page A

wake me or to warn the drivers on the A1A that a man obsessed with getting to the office before nine is about to merge with those not in training for the Daytona 500.
    I gave my attire extra attention as the previous evening father had requested I attend his conclave with Laddy Taylor, which was to take place at three this afternoon. After hearing Laddy’s startling accusation against Carolyn coming on the heels of the PM findings on Marlena Marvel’s death, father thought I should be part of the encounter and I fully agreed.
    As I was to sit in on a high-profile meeting in the executive suite I decided to dress up rather than down, ergo I selected a tan gabardine single-breasted suit that I hadn’t worn in years. I took a deep breath and managed to get the zipper zipped, the fly button buttoned and a red, white and blue mesh belt (which wasn’t necessary) through the loops and buckled before exhaling. I felt slightly dizzy but such are the forfeitures of dressing up—not to mention foregoing my daily two-mile swim while making whoopie in Juno.
    A yellow silk shirt by Armani, no tie, and a pair of ankle-high boots completed the picture of a man to be reckoned with.
    In the kitchen Ursi was clearing away the breakfast dishes and Jamie sat at the table sipping coffee and leafing through his morning paper.
    “You missed Mack and Marge,” Ursi couldn’t wait to tell me. “And what a show it was. Witch Hazel and Count Zemo were the guests.”
    “Witch Hazel,” I gasped. “Are you sure you weren’t watching a commercial?”
    “No, Archy. Witch Hazel is a famous clairvoyant. She reads the tarot, tea leaves and palms on selected cruise lines all over the Caribbean. She studied in Haiti where the zombies come from and Mr. Macurdy was lucky to get her on such short notice.”
    I could not believe what I was hearing. Macurdy wasn’t only playing this angle for all it was worth, he was chewing the scenery in the process.
    “And what did Ms. Hazel have to say about Marlena Marvel?” I foolishly asked.
    “She knew her, Archy,” Ursi said with awe. “Witch Hazel knew Marlena Marvel.”
    And why not? They were in the same line of business, competing for the patronage of the suckers whose numbers are legion. “Did their paths cross in Tiffany’s while shopping for crystal balls?”
    “No,” Ursi said, setting me up with a place mat, napkin and silverware before pouring out a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. “They knew each other three thousand years ago in Egypt. It seems they were both concubines to a pharaoh who might have been a woman disguised as a man.”
    “Besides preposterous, Ursi, it sounds rather risqué. I hope you don’t believe any of this.”
    “Oh, it’s all in fun, Archy, and such a diversion from the dreary guests Mack and Marge have had on lately. But you have to admit these clairvoyants’ predictions come true sometimes and it’s enough to give you the gooseflesh.”
    Sometimes the weather forecaster’s predictions come true, but it’s never given me the gooseflesh.
    “Witch Hazel thinks Marlena was working on a new recipe,” Ursi carried on, “and went too heavy on the foxglove which we all now know is where the heart medicine comes from. Imagine doctors prescribing a witches’ brew for a bad heart.”
    And right there was the crux of why Mack Macurdy should be stopped from foisting this nonsense on the public. He had cleverly equated digitalis with foxglove with witchery in the minds of the gullible and unsuspecting. Not only would the police be getting crank calls, so would doctors and, no doubt, the clergy. I wondered what Marge thought of all this.
    “So how did she get in that maze?” Jamie said, not looking up from his paper.
    Speaking without being addressed was so unusual for our Jamie that both Ursi and I turned to stare at him. How
    Ursi got him to say “I do” is one of the more perplexing unsolved mysteries of our age.
    “What’s your take on all this, Jamie?”