McNally's Dare by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo

grew cold.
    “Jeff was a four-flusher, Mr. McNally. Always pointing out the guys and gals he was chummy with in his days at the Day School and telling anyone who would listen what he knew that could embarrass them. I think it was really frustrating for him when he worked parties they attended or served in restaurants they patronized. But I have to tell you, the way he was bragging these past weeks I started to believe that he was really coming into big money. He said if I came north with him, he would get me into the Actors Studio. Big deal. Who needs the method when you got a mug as cute as mine?” He laughed to tell me he was only kidding, but I knew better.
    I was glad it was Todd who had brought up the Day School. It saved me from having to initiate the topic. Recalling our phone conversation, I said, “So what was the likes of Jeff Rodgers doing at the Day School?”
    “Lance Talbot,” Todd said, not having the slightest idea of the consequences of his disclosure.
    I wanted to shout Bingo! but that would be gauche as well as premature. If I was about to learn the tie-in between Jeff Rodgers and Lance Talbot, my return on the cost of a pizza and a six-pack was bullish, indeed. The last thing I wanted was for Todd and Monica to guess my mission and go blabbing to their crowd that Archy McNally suspected Lance Talbot of Jeff’s murder. My clients, the police and last, but most important, my father, would not be amused—nor would Lance himself, who would hire a lawyer to press a libel suit against me. Good grief, would Father offer his services? I suspect he would.
    This was my first break in the case and of interest to both my clients. My job now was to look, listen and make no moves until I was certain I was treading on solid bedrock and not quicksand.
    “The story goes,” Todd explained, “that Jeff’s father was the Talbots’ chauffeur. Jeff and Lance were about the same age and the boys became buddies, sharing the same sandbox on Ocean Boulevard. They were so tight that when Lance was enrolled in the Day School his mother sent Jeff along with him, picking up Jeff’s tuition.
    “Mr. Rodgers drove the boys to and from school and I bet from kindergarten on Jeff didn’t want the other kids to know the chauffeur was his father. Given this was in Palm Beach, I would say everyone knew it.
    “Then, when the boys were about ten, Lance’s mother took off for Switzerland, taking Lance with her and ending Jeff’s glory days at the Palm Beach Day School.”
    “Incredible,” I uttered, and meant it. It was a story even the soaps would find too hokey to air. I could see Jeff at the bottom of the MacNiff pool, a half-smoked cigarette floating over a dead body; then I saw a ten-year-old being booted out of the only school he had ever attended. The chip on Jeffrey Rodgers’s shoulder must have weighed a ton.
    Was Jeff’s father the chauffeur who accidentally closed the car door on young Lance’s foot, causing his little toe to be amputated? I doubted if Todd knew anything about this and didn’t volunteer the information. I was here to take, not give.
    Thinking aloud, I heard myself saying, “Did Jeff see Lance when he returned to Palm Beach?”
    Todd drained his can of beer before shaking his head and answering, “I don’t know, Mr. McNally. If he did, he didn’t mention it to me.”
    “But you do know Lance Talbot was at the MacNiff benefit you guys worked the afternoon Jeff was shoved into the pool.”
    “Sure I know,” Todd said.
    “Did Jeff have anything to say about Lance that day?”
    Again I got a shake of the professionally cut mop of hair. “We were busy, Mr. McNally, and had little time to do anything but our usual bitching and moaning.”
    I wanted to ask if he saw Jeff and Lance exchange any words that afternoon, or even if he noticed them in close proximity to each other, but didn’t. I had learned enough and more talk of Lance Talbot and Jeff would only arouse suspicion. It was obvious that