Why do people think that the more upscale the periodical, the more credible those who peruse their Personals? It’s a myth on par with lightning not striking twice in the same place. It does, and more often than you think.
Lilian went public in her quest for a mate by stating in print that she was looking for a man who appreciated the classics as well as the comics a prudent romantic who enjoyed long walks. She got Antony who was a devotee of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Charles Spenser Chaplin a hiker who had been on a walking tour of Provence.
“But he was handsome,” Bianca admitted, ‘with a body to match. Lilian couldn’t take her eyes off him when he pranced around the pool.”
And, I guessed, neither could you, you little minx. Things were looking up.
Antony said he hailed from Texas, spoke with a drawl, and hinted at links with oil barons. Eyeing Lilian’s house, cars, help, and, lifestyle, he popped the question after a relationship of one month.
The foolish woman accepted. Six months later she was dead. Drowned in her pool.
“I told you how vain she was,” Bianca said, stressing the point. “She had a personal trainer and a room filled with exercise machines which were used, not for show. She had the figure of a woman thirty years younger and she was an expert swimmer. She did fifty laps every day, including Sunday, and dove like a professional. So how did she drown?”
“You tell me?”
Distressed, Bianca said it was believed that when diving, Lilian had hit her head on the bottom of the pool’s Gunite surface and was knocked unconscious. Only Tony was present. He was seated, having breakfast, and saw her dive. When she failed to surface immediately he was not concerned, because she often swam the length of the pool and back again, underwater.
“Is that true?” I asked.
Reluctantly, Bianca nodded. “When Tony finally realized that something was wrong he went in after her, but it was too late. He sounded the alarm and I called the police. In ten minutes the place was crawling with uniforms, ambulance crew, and even Lilian’s doctor. Tony had to be given a sedative to calm him. After a cursory inquest the police declared it an accident.
“The next day, when things had more or less settled down, I saw Tony going into the exercise room, carrying one of the small barbells. What had he been doing with it? Tony never exercised, and in the two years I lived with Lilian I never knew her to work out anyplace but in the makeshift gym. Don’t you see?” she cried.
“You think he took the barbell from the gym, used it to clobber his wife, after which he tossed her in the pool, hid the weapon someplace, and returned it the next day?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” she said.
“I’m afraid not, Bianca. Did you mention the barbell to Tony?”
“No. I was afraid. But I did tell the police. They didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual or suspect in what I saw.”
“Who inherits, Bianca?”
She didn’t like that and made no attempt to show her annoyance at the question. “That again. Okay. When Lilian relocated here, she didn’t have a will and her lawyer told her it would be very imprudent to die intestate. To please him, she made a will leaving everything to her favorite charities, thinking that she could always change it when and if she had other ideas about where to leave her money.”
“So Tony doesn’t inherit?”
“Oh, I think he’s entitled to something as her spouse, but not the bulk of the estate. I know he’s got lawyers working on his behalf, and he’s still living in the house.”
She looked so adorable when she pouted that I hated to zing her, but she knew it was coming. “So what’s Tony’s motive, Bianca?”
“Maybe he didn’t know about the will,” she said with little conviction.
“Murder is a serious business and Tony doesn’t sound like the type who would kill on speculation. Did Lilian Ashman ever promise to name you in a new will?”
“She did. And I know what you’re thinking. That I’m angry at her dying before she could keep her word and I’m looking for a scapegoat to blame.”
It certainly seemed that way and I had to agree with the police but that wouldn’t score me any points with Bianca Courtney. Being between cases I saw no reason why I couldn’t snoop around with Bianca as my guide. If nothing else, I would try to prove to her that Lilian Ashman’s death was an accident and set her mind, and Lilian, at rest.
Diving boards are known to be the bane of private pools. And it’s a fact that many pool suppliers advise against installing them.
Our coffee, practically untouched, had grown cold and I feared so would my welcome unless I gave Bianca some hope for her cause. Tell me,” I said, ‘did Tony ever make a play for you?”
This surprised her, but she didn’t shy from the question or pretend to be modest in her answer. “He did and I thought it was disgusting and I told him so. He laughed.”
“You don’t like Antony Gilbert very much, do you?”
“I hate him,” she replied with feeling.
An objective observer she wasn’t, which did little to help her case.
“So if you called and asked if you could drop by to pick up something you forgot he would not object?”
The hope in her eyes was worth my phony effort to help. “You mean..
.”
“I mean I would like to meet him. That’s all, Bianca.”
“I know you’re a professional investigator, Archy, but I haven’t much money.”
“I don’t expect to be paid because I don’t think you have much of a case. But I am willing to stick my nose in because I like you.”
I was rewarded with that fabulous blush and a smile but not a kiss.
However, all things considered, I had made progress in my courting of Bianca Courtney. This left me feeling like Oscar’s take on the English gentleman galloping after a fox the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.
“It’s none of my business,” I ventured, ‘but how is your cash flow?”
“Lilian gave me the car and I was able to save almost all my salary in the two years I was with her. I had no expenses other than some personal needs. She was most generous with me. When she shopped for herself,
she never failed to buy me something. I can get by for now if I’m careful and I’m on the lookout for gainful employment.”
I rose to leave and Bianca got up with me. I took out my wallet and give her my card. “Why don’t you call Tony and see what’s convenient for him and then coordinate with me.”
‘[I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Archy. I’m not out to get Tony, but I do think the police should have asked a few questions before writing it all off as an accident.” She had reached the door, and when she opened it for me she stepped back and exclaimed, “Wow.
Just look at that.”
The stretch limo was parked out front, blocking my Miata.
Twelve
I stepped out, telling Bianca to stay put and lock her door behind me.
Like a sensible girl she did as she was told. I hopped indifferently down the three steps as if the sight of a stretch limo at my doorstep was the rule rather than the exception. The driver was leaning against the limo, arms folded. He wore a black suit with matching tie and cap.
As I approached he straightened up. My eyes fell on the bulge under the breast pocket of his jacket. My guess was, it wasn’t a fountain pen.
When I had arrived at the Palm Court that morning I noticed that Al Rogoff’s carport was empty and had been glad of the fact. Now I wasn’t so glad.
“Mr. McNally,” the driver politely addressed me. “Would you mind stepping into the car for a few minutes?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course,” he answered. “But I hope you’ll oblige us. This isn’t what it seems, believe me. Mr. Cranston would like a few words with you.”
Cranston? Richard Cranston? Was it possible? This was too bizarre to be real, but unless Bianca had slipped me a mickey and I was now on my way to the Emerald City in a stretch limo it was happening. Or was it all a ruse? Was I about to meet my maker in return for some toes I had stepped on while pursuing my chosen profession? If so, did it have to be in a trailer park with the purchase of a microwave oven as my last recorded act? What a lousy way to go, and it was all the fault of Binky Watrous and his damn housewarming.