McNally's Chance by Lawrence Sanders

resolute nod of her head.
    I said, “And that’s it?” at the same time Connie said, “The press?”
    Mr. Pettibone gave us both a nod. “And don’t ask where he arrived at because he didn’t say.”
    “He originally told his daughter he was going south,” I reminded the Pettibones.
    “South of Sacramento goes all the way to the Argentine,” Connie informed us. Consuela Garcia is practical to a fault.
    “The plot certainly thickens,” I told them. “Well, keep us posted. I’d like to know what Lyle has gotten up to.”
    “So would I,” Mrs. Pettibone answered.
    The club was starting to fill, but I noticed that our favorite corner table was still vacant. “What’s Leroy tempting us with this evening?”
    A crown roast,” Mrs. Pettibone announced as she moved away with the remainder of the shrimp.
    Leroy’s crown roast is a couple of rib sections of a loin of lamb arranged in a circle and roasted with strips of bacon wrapped around the lower section and also covering the ends of the rib bones, to prevent them from being scorched while cooking. Stuffing the cavity of the crown is optional, but I knew that Leroy’s recipe called for an apple-and-raisin filling held together with cubed country bread and garnished with mace, sage, nutmeg, garlic cloves, and enough melted butter to soften a stone. When served, the tips of the rib bones are decorated with paper frills. Truly a feast for a king and therefore aptly named.
     
    Picking up our drinks I led Connie to our table and once settled I noticed the attractive diamond earrings and bracelet she wore. When I complimented her on her expensive taste she laughed and said, “You like them? They’re part of my collection of summer diamonds.”
    Now Palm Beach is the land of in-your-face ostentatious ness but summer diamonds? Tray tell, what are summer diamonds?” I asked.
    Thrilled with the chance to show her smarts, Connie blurted, “Some-are diamonds and some-are not. Get it?”
    “I’ll pretend this conversation never took place, if you promise never to call costume jewelry by any other name.”
    “The earrings are real, the bracelet is not, for your information,” she said, not hiding her displeasure. “You get so uppity when you break bread at ritzy diners. Were you at The Breakers with Sabrina Wright?”
    “So you’ve heard?”
    “Who hasn’t? Mrs. Marsden told Madam you were on the case,” Connie said.
    Mrs. Marsden is Lady Cynthia’s housekeeper and a confidant of our Ursi’s. Do you begin to see how Thomas Appleton got the message?
    “As a matter of fact, Archy, Sabrina Wright was one of the reasons I wanted to see you today.”
    “Really? And I thought you were pining to see me. Don’t tell me you want an autographed book.”
    “No. Madam wants to meet her,” she said.
    “So does half the world, I would imagine. What’s Lady C’s interest?”
    Connie rolled her eyes toward the Pelican’s ceiling, which was in need of a paint job. “It’s got to do with her latest project.”
    Lady Cynthia Horowitz had two passions in life: young, handsome, male proteges (and she’s a septuagenarian) and projects. She has championed the cause of nesting plovers, humpback whales, bald eagles, and hirsute violinists. Her last brainstorm was an ingenious scheme to install Art Nouveau pissoirs on Worth Avenue. Really!
     
    Cartier, Tiffany, Hamilton, and Verdura, among other local merchants, were appalled at the idea, but I understand many older gentlemen who spend countless hours trailing after their wives on that boulevard of expensive and useless merchandise joined Lady C’s committee in earnest.
    Priscilla breezed by and asked us if we were having the special. We were and I ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon to go with the meal.
    Then I said to Connie, “Okay, let’s have it. What has your boss got the wind up over this week?”
    “She’s going to write her memoirs,” Connie announced unhappily. “She thought she might get some helpful