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

I asked him.
    “The papers say she died of this digitalis poisoning and was moved after she expired, so someone carried her to that maze.”
    “I’m with you, Jamie,” I told him.
    “Well, gentlemen, tell me how it was done with a houseful of people and no one seeing her moved?” Ursi said in triumph. “And Count Zemo, who’s an astrologer for one of those tabloids, cast Marlena’s horoscope for the day she died and it said she was to expect the unexpected.”
    “As she didn’t expect to drop dead I guess you have to hand it to Count Zemo. Now, Ursi, do you think I can have a cup of java and breakfast without Mack and Marge?”
    “What would you like, Archy?”
    In my gabardine girdle I thought it best to go easy on the victuals. “I think one scrambled egg and a slice of dry rye toast.”
    “You feeling sick, Archy?” Ursi inquired.
    “I’m trying to lose a few pounds so I can fit into my suit,” I admitted.
    “Which suit is that, Archy?”
    “The one I’m wearing.”
    Before leaving I stopped to visit with mother in the greenhouse which is more an ICU for her begonias than a botanical incubator. I so enjoy seeing her in this setting where the morning sun, filtered through the tinted glass, casts her in an angelic glow. Here, going about her work in straw bonnet, apron and gardening gloves, her smiling face reflects a serenity her medication can’t duplicate.
    She tried to brash a smudge from her cheek as I bent to kiss it and only succeeded in making it worse. “Oh, what a lovely shirt, Archy. Yellow is my favorite color, you know.”
    I also know that any color I choose to wear suddenly becomes her favorite hue. “I hope you’re not paying any attention to the nonsense Ursi tells me is being beamed into unsuspecting homes this lovely morning. Remember what I said last night about Mr. Mack Macurdy.”
    With a wave of her gloved hand, she boasted, “I’ve lived long enough to know when my leg is being pulled. I grew up when we all had our own personal fortune teller called a Ouija board. It said I was going to marry a prince.”
    “Well, you certainly married a man who thinks he’s one,” I teased.
    She laughed and pretended to chide me for poking fun at father. “I’m glad you’re taking this for what it’s worth,” I said. “The mystery of poor Marlena Marvel will soon be resolved with nary a ghost nor, goblin figuring in the final solution.”
    Putting down her miniature hoe she looked up at me and said, “You know, Archy, we mustn’t think all things can be explained scientifically, either now or in the future. We’ve all had experiences that defy the laws of logic. My mother and grandmother talked of strange occurrences in then-lives they credited to divine intervention. Miracles are the foundation of most religions, remember, so don’t stick your nose in the air at all things mystic because you might end up tripping over a sleeping gnome and falling flat on your face.”
    The woman I had come to reassure at a time of mass hysteria had summed it all up in a few well-chosen words.
    Keep an open mind, and in matters of faith always hedge your bets. “I will remember that, Mother, but I doubt if a gnome carried Marlena from her bedroom to the maze. She was a very large lady.”
    “Will you be involved?” she asked yet again.
    “I honestly don’t know, Mother, but let’s hope the police have it all wrapped up before the day is over. I understand they’re giving this top priority, so keep your fingers crossed—or shouldn’t I say that?”
    “It can’t hurt,” she maintained.
    When I bent to kiss the smudge, she wanted to know if I had made my plane reservations for the trip north.
    “I don’t think I’ll book a flight, Mother.”
    “Then how will you get there?”
    “I thought a broomstick built for two would be just the thing.”
    “Off with you, Archy McNally, and do bring Georgia to dinner before too long—and Connie, too, I think—Oh, I’m so