'I don't know, Al. Probably.'
'Who inherits?'
'I don't know that either. Ask my father.'
Then I drove back to the McNally fiefdom for the final time that night. I feared I'd have trouble getting to sleep but I didn't. First I recited a brief prayer for a noble lady. I consider myself an agnostic-but just in case. .
The weekend had started badly and didn't improve. The weather was no help; Saturday morning was dull and logy-just the way I felt when I awoke. I had an OJ, cinnamon bun, and coffee with Jamie Olson in the kitchen. He was wrapping a fresh Band-Aid around the cracked stem of his ancient briar. I had given him a gold-banded Dupont for Christmas, but he saved it for Sunday smoking.
'Heard about Mrs. Gillsworth,' he said in a low voice. 'Too bad.'
'Yes,' I said. 'It was in the papers?'
'Uh-huh. And on the TV.'
'Jamie, if you hear anything about enemies she may have had, or maybe an argument with someone, I wish you'd let me know.'
'Sure,' he said. 'You asked about that Mrs. Wil-ligan.'
'So I did. What about her?'
'She's got a guy.'
'Oh?' I said and took a gulp of my coffee. 'Where did you hear that?'
'Around.'
'Know who it is?'
'Nope. No one knows.'
'Then how do they know she's got a guy?'
He looked up at me. 'The women know,' he said, and added sagely, 'They always know.'
'I guess,' I said and sighed.
I went back upstairs to work on my journal. It was a slow, gloomy morning, and I couldn't seem to get the McNally noodle into gear. I was stuck in neutral and all I could think about was pink lemonade and strawflowers in twig baskets. It wasn't the first time a friend had died, but never so suddenly and so violently. It made me want to telephone every friend I had and say, 'I love you.' I knew that was goofy but that's the way I felt.
My phone rang about ten-thirty, and I thought it would be my father asking me to come fetch him. But it was Leon Medallion, the Willigans' houseman.
'Hiya, Mr. McNally,' he said breezily. 'Soupy weather-right?'
'Right,' I said. 'What's up, Leon?'
'Remember asking me about the cat carrier? Well, I found it. It was in the utility room, where it's supposed to be. I guess I missed it the first time I looked.'
'That's probably what happened,' I said. 'Thanks for calling, Leon.'
I hung up and the old cerebrum slipped into gear. Not for a moment did I think Medallion had missed spotting Peaches' carrier on his first search of the utility room. Then it was gone. Now it had been returned. Puzzling. And even more intriguing was the fact that I had mentioned the carrier's disappearance to Meg Trumble.
I was still diddling with that nonplus when my phone rang again. This time it was my father, announcing he was ready to return. He specifically requested that I drive the Lexus. He didn't have to say that; I knew very well he thought riding in my red two-seater dented his dignity.
He was waiting outside when I arrived at the Gillsworth home. He placed his overnight bag in the back and motioned for me to slide over to the passenger side so he could get behind the wheel. He thinks I drive too fast. But then he thinks motorized wheelchairs go too fast.
'I'm going to drop you at home, Archy,' he said, 'and then go to the office. Gillsworth wants me to inform his wife's relatives.'
'Shouldn't he be doing that, sir?'
'He should but he's still considerably shaken and asked me to handle it. Not a task I welcome. Also, I want to review Lydia's will.'
'Did Sergeant Rogoff question you about that?'
'He did, and Gillsworth had no objection to full disclosure. To the best of my recollection, she left several specific bequests to nieces, nephews, an aunt, and her alma mater. But the bulk of her estate goes to her husband.'
'Hefty?' I asked.
'Quite,' he said. 'I told the sergeant all that, and he asked for the names and addresses of the beneficiaries. He is a very thorough man.'
'Yes, sir,' I agreed, 'he is that. He wants me to continue my investigation of the poison-pen letters.'
'So he said. I also want you to, Archy. Lydia was a fine lady, and I would not care to see this crime go unsolved or her murderer unpunished.'
'Nor would I, father. Do you know where Rogoff is now?'
'He came to the Gillsworth home early this morning. He was driving his pickup, and with Roderick's permission he loaded the grandfather clock into the truck and drove off with it.'
'The clock that was tipped over during the assault?'
'Yes.'
'What on earth does Al want with that?'
'He didn't say. Here we are. Please take my overnight bag inside and tell mother I'll be at the office. I'll phone her later.'
I followed his instructions and then went into his study and used his phone to call the Glorianas' office. I wasn't certain mediums worked on Saturdays, but Frank Gloriana answered, and I identified myself.
'Ah, yes, Mr. McNally,' he said. 'About the missing cat … I intended to contact you on Monday.'
'Then you have news for me?'
'My wife has news,' he corrected me. 'When might you be able to stop by?'
'Now,' I said. 'If that's all right.'
'Just let me check the appointment book,' he said so smoothly that I was convinced he was scam-ming me again. 'Well, I see we have a very busy afternoon ahead of us, but if you can arrive within the hour I'm sure we can fit you in.'
'Thank you so much,' I said, playing Uriah Heep. 'I'll be there.'
Mother wanted me to stay for lunch, but I had no appetite at all. And besides, I had recently noted that the waistbands of my slacks were shrinking alarmingly. So I went upstairs and pulled on a silver-gray Ultrasuede sport jacket over my violet polo shirt. Then I went outside and jumped into the Miata for the trip to West Palm Beach.
As I've mentioned before, basically I'm a cheery sort of chap, and that black cloud that had been hovering over my head since I heard of Lydia Gillsworth's death began to lift as I drove westward. That doesn't mean I ceased to mourn, of course, or that I was any less determined to avenge her. But the world continues to spin, and one must continue to spin along with it or step off. And I wasn't ready to do that.
Actually, I hadn't called the Glorianas to inquire about Peaches. The fate of that miserable felid was small spuds compared to finding the killer of Lydia Gillsworth. But I reckoned the cat's disappearance would serve as a good excuse for seeing the medium again. Not only did I want to learn more about her relationship to Lydia, but the woman herself fascinated me.
When I entered the Glorianas' suite there was no crush of clients Frank had forecast during our phone conversation. In fact, he was alone in that mauve and aqua office, listlessly turning the pages of a magazine and looking bored out of his skull. He glanced up as I came in, put the magazine aside, and rose to greet me.
He was wearing an Armani double-breasted in taupe gabardine and sporting a regimental tie. It happened to be the stripe of the Royal Glasgow Yeomanry, a regiment of which I doubted he had ever been a member. We shook hands, and he reached to stroke the sleeve of my Ultrasuede jacket.
'Nice,' he said. 'Would you mind telling me what it cost?'
I knew then he was no gentleman. 'I don't know,' I said. 'It was a gift.' I think he guessed I was lying, but I didn't care.
He nodded and turned back to his desk. 'I'll tell Hertha you're here,' he said, then paused with his hand on
