Read McNally's Dilemma for Free Online Page B

teeth. Here was a topic to which my friend could instantly warm. “Some dish,” he informed me.
    “Like I said, Binky, I came for the cuisine.”
    It takes Binky a few moments to get the drift of my verbal acumen, but when his brain made the connection he let out an appreciative chuckle and patted my shoulder. “Is she here?” I asked.
    “I talked to her a while ago and then I saw her go off to one of the chat rooms.”
    “The what rooms?”
    “Private chat rooms, just like on the World Wide Web. In case you haven’t noticed, it gets a little noisy in here, so if you connect with someone and want to get it on, one-on-one, you just slip off to a chat room. I tell you, Archy, this place has everything.”
    Another Watrous statement better left undisputed. Instead I queried, “Was Veronica with someone when you saw her head for a chat room?”
    “You don’t go to a chat room alone, Archy.”
    “What about people who like to talk to themselves?” Before Binky could utter yet another profound observation I told him to point in the general direction of the chat rooms where those connected could get it on, one-on-one. I am proudly computer illiterate, but I know the difference between a World Wide Web and a spiderweb.
    Moving in the general direction of Binky’s protruding forefinger, I walked down the dark passage beyond the staircase and came to a small hall and three closed doors. What I guessed was the dining room was to the right, and what must have been called the sunroom, with a panoramic view of the lake, to the left. Another door, directly under the staircase, I was sure would open to reveal a flight of stairs leading down to the kitchen and pantry. I would wager my weekly stipend that the kitchen was connected to the dining room by a device once known as a dumbwaiter, a label that has surely been deemed politically incorrect for obvious reasons.
    I chose the dining room, opened the door, and looked in. The room was lit by a chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling and dimmed by a rheostat to feign the warm glow of candlelight. Veronica’s hair, blond and shoulder length, shimmered in the flattering light, and her slim body was silhouetted against a curtainless window.
    “Room’s taken,” a masculine voice belonging to the shadow facing Veronica advised me.
    “I’m looking for Veronica Manning,” I advised the voice.
    “What do you want?” The shadow was annoyed.
    “Archy?” Veronica spoke. “Is it Archy McNally?”
    “In person.” I advanced into the room. The chandelier looked large enough to have once graced a table that could seat twelve. Someone had removed the table but had left the accompanying chairs and placed them haphazardly about the room. Much to my relief, there was not a bed in sight.
    “Archy?” Veronica called again. “What are you doing here?”
    “If I said I was here for the cuisine, would you believe me?”
    “Who is this guy?” Veronica’s one-on-one was not pleased with my presence.
    I couldn’t see his face clearly enough to pick him out of a lineup, but the voice told me he was young and cocky, and his outline suggested someone tall, and (by de facto reasoning) dark. I wondered if he was the young man Connie had seen Veronica with at Lady C.’s reception.
    “He’s Archy—” Veronica began, but I interrupted. I didn’t fancy my name resounding through the unhallowed halls of Hillcrest twice, in rapid succession.
    “I’m a friend of Veronica’s mother and my business is with Veronica.”
    “Look, buddy...” The shadow took a step forward, but Veronica put out her hand to restrain him.
    “But how did you know where to find me, Archy?” A note of apprehension crept into her voice.
    “Melva told me you would be here.”
    “My mother?” Veronica cried. “My mother sent you here, Archy?”
    “She did.”
    “Why? What’s happened?”
    She came toward me and the young man was wise enough to stand his ground. I touched her bare elbow and said,