McNally's Dilemma by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo

the hindmost in the form of Geoffrey Williams.
    Meecham, who had to be three score at least, was still in good shape, with a leathery complexion, thanks to years spent on the deck of his yacht under the Florida sun, and only a few threads of gray visible among his thinning, sand-colored hair.
    In contrast, Lolly Spindrift guarded his complexion with the diligence of a Southern belle. Lolly was a firm believer in Helena Rubinstein’s admonition that “a woman should never allow a ray of sun to touch her naked skin.” Along with Count Dracula, Lolly and Helena kept the faith. Today, Lolly wore a white, wide-brimmed creation that had him looking like an extra in Panama Hattie.
    Behind the welcoming committee stood the first mate, and damned if he didn’t look like Cary Grant aboard the True Love. He greeted Veronica with a peck on the cheek which I thought a bit forward for the hired help, but on the Sans Souci such lapses in etiquette were not only tolerated, but encouraged. Phil beamed at the beautiful youngsters, his predilection being boys and girls together. The mate’s name, by the way, was Buzz. (Give me a break!) What a caper this was turning out to be.
    As Buzz prepared to hoist anchor, Phil led us into the grand salon, which was larger than my entire third-floor suite, and offered us drinks. He mixed a batch of Bloody Marys for which we were all thankful, except Veronica, who insisted on a Virgin Mary. Was she trying to tell us something?
    I suggested Lolly and Veronica remain in the salon for their chitchat and excused myself, taking Meecham with me. As we stepped on deck the big craft lurched away from the dock, and I grabbed the railing for support.
    “How are your sea legs?” Meecham asked, and grinned, hoping for the worst, I’m sure.
    “They would be happier resting in a deck chair.”
    “Let’s go to the fore, Archy, so we can see where we’re going rather than where we’ve been. It’ll keep your mind off the ship’s roll.”
    “Does pretty boy know how to drive this tub?”
    “I may be a sucker for the young and the bad, Archy, but I’m not a fool when it comes to my safety. Buzz is a qualified yachtsman, both sail- and engine-powered. He got his training in Newport with the best of ’em.”
    Of course. Young men like Buzz were a staple in places like Newport, the Hamptons, both East and South, Martha’s Vineyard, and other fancy watering holes around the world. Their appeal was to both men and women who could afford to pander to their more base desires, and Buzz and his ilk could respond to either sex because the loot, not the gender, was the attraction.
    I would say that our Buzz was twenty-somethingish, giving him a few more years to catch the brass ring. If he didn’t, and few do, he would join the roster of some seedy escort service along with his has-been female counterparts until the advancing years once again forced him to move on—forever downward. But right now Buzz’s star was on the ascendant. As Meecham’s first mate, he was performing Veronica Manning a unique service in her hour of need, and hoping one or the other would return the favor in kind. Don’t count on it, Buzz. Meecham goes through pretty boys like nobody’s business, and Veronica’s guardian is Archy McNally, who might have his own plans for the young lady.
    “Does Buzz know where we’re going?” I asked.
    “Certainly. When Lolly called and told me the plan, Buzz checked the location of the house and mapped out a water route. Don’t worry, we’re in capable hands.”
    We eased into deck chairs, and I was content not to have spilled a drop of my drink on the way fore, which turned out to be the front of the ship.
    “We’re moving north on the Intracoastal Waterway, which runs through Lake Worth. Straight ahead you can just make out the shoreline of Peanut Island at the mouth of Lake Worth Inlet,” Meecham explained. “There, we’ll go east and enter the inlet flanked by Palm Beach and Singer