McNally's Dare Read Online Free PDF

star.”
    Ursi’s “everyone” are the domestics along Ocean Boulevard for whom she acts as spokesperson, friend and advisor. Why my fifteen minutes made her feel like a celebrity I don’t know and didn’t dare ask.
    Father, scooping up his scrambled eggs, looked somber and morose.
    “How good you look in that jacket, Archy” Mother cooed. “I remember when all the men were wearing them.”
    Father, nibbling on a piece of dry toast, looked somber and morose.
    Jamie, who never says a word unless coaxed at gunpoint, didn’t say a word.
    Finishing my poached eggs on an English muffin I modestly quoted Lolly Spindrift. “Fools’ names, like fools’ faces, often appear in public places.”
    Jamie nodded, as if in agreement. Ursi dismissed it with a wave of her hand and mother cried, “Nonsense, Archy. You’re smarter than most of the men in this town, and far more handsome.”
    Father, sipping his coffee, looked somber and morose.
    When breakfast with the McNallys came to a close, Father rose, looked at his watch and announced, “I want to go on record as stating that I never owned a Lilly Pulitzer blazer and therefore could not have donated such a garment to a thrift shop.” With that he kissed mother’s powdered cheek and headed for the garage and his Lexus LS400.
    I gave Mother a wink and she giggled. Before leaving for the greenhouse to minister to her countless varieties of begonias, mother gently patted my face and said, “You’re not going to get involved in that poor boy’s death, Archy, are you?”
    “I don’t think so, mother. It appears to be a tragic accident.”
    “The papers say the police believe it’s a suspicious death. Poor Helen MacNiff. Do you think I should call on her?”
    I don’t know why we try to keep these things from mother, who is an avid reader and keeps up with current events. She may be a little forgetful but she certainly doesn’t forget to humor us in our attempts to cushion her from the facts of life.
    “I wouldn’t call on her until we have a clearer picture of what happened,” I advised. “I’m having lunch with Mr. MacNiff this afternoon and I’ll express your concern for him and his wife.”
    “Thank you, Archy. And you do look so like John Ford in that newspaper photo.”
    “I hope you mean Harrison Ford, Mother.”
    “Is there a difference, dear?”
    “One is a long-dead director, the other a handsome current film personality.”
    “Oh, dear. How confusing everything is these days. Well, I think you look like whomever you want to look like, Archy.”
    “Bless you, Mother.”
    As soon as the back door closed on my mother’s retreating form, Ursi brought her coffee to the table and took the seat opposite me. “So,” she began, “do you think the boy was murdered, Archy?” Ursi is a kind soul whose only vice is gossiping over the back fence. But, if that’s a vice, no one in PB could cast the first stone.
    “Still early days, Ursi. What do you hear?”
    “Well, I got a call from Mrs. MacNiff’s girl, Maria Sanchez, yesterday, as soon as she got the Mrs. to lie down with a cold compress, the madam was that upset, and can you blame her? Maria told me you were in conference with Mr. MacNiff.”
    So, as usual, the domestic grapevine had spread the news of Jeff Rodgers’s death minutes after it happened. Ursi was too polite to say, but I’m sure she also knew the nature of my conference with Malcolm MacNiff if he had discussed it with his wife and she, in turn, had discussed it with Maria Sanchez. Maria would have been on the horn with Ursi at the crack of dawn.
    “Maria called this morning,” Ursi went on, confirming my assumption, “and said the police asked Mr. MacNiff to report to the station house at his earliest convenience.”
    This meant I would get an earful at lunch but, with a little bit of luck, I might just get the jump on Nifty’s news and even go him one better.
    “I can’t see why any of the MacNiffs’ guests would want to do in