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

Todd hadn’t a clue as to the connection between Jeff’s alleged windfall and Lance’s arrival in Palm Beach and I wanted to keep it that way for now.
    “Todd,” I said, “I’m sure the police asked you if you know anyone who wanted to harm Jeff, but I can’t leave without asking the same thing.”
    “I have no idea, Mr. McNally. I swear to you, I don’t. We all smoke a little pot, you know that, and we’ve all tried the trendy pills like Ecstasy now and again, but none of our crowd, including Jeff, is into any heavy scene in that direction. What I’m saying is, Jeff wouldn’t be in debt to a dealer.”
    “What about a jilted lover, woman or man?” I probed.
    “If Jeff was hustling, I didn’t know it.”
    “Did you see anyone go from the tennis courts to the pool after Jeff went on his break, about the time we talked?”
    “Negative,” he responded before asking, “Are you looking into this on behalf of Mr. MacNiff? I mean because it happened on his turf.”
    “I am, Todd, but I would rather it wasn’t common knowledge.”
    “I understand,” he said. “I know it’s your job, but the police have been over all this with me and the entire catering staff.” With that note of mocking innuendo he added, “Have they questioned the guests?”
    “I’m sure they have, and it’s still going on. In fact, I’m waiting for my call. Even Jackson Barnett has been told not to leave town.”
    At the mention of Jackson Barnett, Todd and Monica exchanged a look that told me the name was of profound interest to one or both of them. Verifying the thought, Monica said, “Todd wants to ask you something.”
    “About Jackson Barnett? All I know about him is what I read in the sport pages and gossip columns.”
    “Me, too,” Todd said, “so I know he’s going to do a film for a major Hollywood studio. Lolly Spindrift wrote that Jackson was staying on Phil Meecham’s yacht, and that the studio is sending a crew here because Jackson can’t go to Hollywood for the preliminary tests, and Meecham has invited the crew to stay aboard the Sans Souci.”
    When he paused to catch his breath, I said, “So I’ve heard.”
    “You know Mr. Meecham,” Todd stated rather than asked.
    With a sigh, Monica brought the painful scene to a head, saying, “He wants to ask you if you’ll help him get a job on Meecham’s yacht so he can be discovered.”
    “Can it, Monica,” Todd advised.
    I like Todd Brandt and he had been a great help to me today. Not wishing to rain on his parade, I didn’t say I believed Lolly’s story was more hyperbole than fact, but told him I would try to get him aboard the Sans Souci when and if the cameras began to grind.
    “I would be more noticed if I was working for Meecham. Bartender, deck boy, anything like that.”
    “I don’t think I would like to see you join Phil’s crew, Todd. Believe me, it’s not your kind of gig.”
    He grinned charmingly. “I know all about Meecham and his boys and girls, Mr. McNally, but I can take care of myself.”
    “Really, Todd? I strongly suspect Jeff Rodgers believed he could take care of himself, too.”
    I had a lot to think about on my drive back to Palm Beach, not the least of which was envisioning Jeff Rodgers’s frame of mind the day he was murdered. Know thy victim. “A wiseguy and a malcontent.” The malcontent must have been seething as he watched his boyhood chum, now come into millions, cavorting among the Palm Beach elite with a beautiful and mysterious older woman on his arm, while the wiseguy was plotting his revenge.
    Passing the GulfStream on my approach to the bridge, I thought of Denny and what a great story this was going to make for his avid readers. If rags to riches was a popular theme—rags to riches to rags would get Darling a movie deal. Pauper meets prince, pauper loses prince, pauper dies because of what he learned about the prince. Nice plot, except the prince did not kill the pauper and there was a ten-year span between