McNally's Chance by Lawrence Sanders Page B

“One must use these, which allows for a private viewing. The two computer stations you see are connected to the Internet. With them, visitors are able to surf Web art sites worldwide via a list provided by the museum. The Lounge is the concept of our new director, Michael Rush.”
    “The medium is the message,” I quoted.
    Thomas Appleton looked like Kriss Kringle, clean shaven and out of uniform. Round face, ruddy complexion, and a shock of white hair combined to give the impression of a jolly gent more inclined to be an insurance salesman than a multimillionaire bon vivant, sportsman, and sidekick of presidents and kings. I had heard he was usually under par on the golf course, but judging from his waistline I would imagine he was more a devotee of croquet than tennis. In Palm Beach, croquet is taken quite seriously with teams competing from other states as well as the land-of-the-game’s origin.
    Being early, the New Media Lounge was empty except for us and knowing Appleton wanted to conduct our business as quickly and as privately as possible, I thought it prudent to get down to the particulars before he changed his mind or was spotted by someone he knew, in which case I would have to play the guy who came to service the earphones.
    “It’s all very interesting, Mr. Appleton, but not the reason for our meeting,” was how I approached the delicate subject.
    “Very true, Mr. McNally, and I respect your directness. Time, as they say, is money.”
    I could have said that not being officially in his employ, time was bleeding my wallet, but one didn’t talk that way to an Appleton without being blackballed from places that didn’t solicit my business. It was a no-win situation and one in which I felt very much at home.
    “I understand that you represent the author Sabrina Wright,” he finally stated.
    “Represented, sir. My business with her has been concluded as of yesterday.”
     
    Was it my imagination or did those ruddy cheeks lose their glow? “Are you saying Sabrina, that is Ms Wright, has found what she came here looking for?”
    “I am, sir.”
    I knew what the guy was thinking, but did he know I knew? For a moment I thought about putting that heretofore jolly face at ease by telling him he was among friends, but I didn’t know how much Appleton was ready to ‘fess up to, and, more to the point, I had not forgotten my prediction that knowing the identity of Gillian Wright’s father could be dangerous. He had invited me here, therefore the onus was on him to say why he wanted to see me.
    In the ensuing silence Thomas Appleton stared at the three television screens as if he were waiting for the commercial to end and the show to begin. He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and finally said, “The girl, Gillian, ran off with a man, came here, and Sabrina hired you to find them. Is that correct, Mr. McNally?”
    It was the story I had spread around but the fact that he was asking for confirmation suggested that he didn’t believe it. No fool, Mr.
    Appleton.
    With a show of surprise I poured a little oil on the fire and stated,
    “You’re familiar with Sabrina’s daughter’s name.” What the hell, I liked the ambiance of the PBICA but I had no intention of spending the entire day here.
    To be sure,” he said. “It’s no secret. I mean the woman and her daughter do get their names in the press.”
    If he insisted on shadewboxing I would simply leave the ring. “I’m sorry, sir, but client confidentiality is sacrosanct even after I’ve closed the books on a case. If your purpose, for whatever reason, is to learn why Ms Wright hired me I’m afraid I’ll have to abort this meeting.” I half rose to prove my resolve.
    Appleton restrained me with a hand on my elbow. “Of course, Discreet Inquiries. Friends have told me the name factually delineates your work ethics. My compliments, Mr. McNally. But the truth of the matter is, I did ask you here for just that reason.”
    “Then I can see no further