The Lucky Duck Affair. Mel Gilden

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СКАЧАТЬ the bucking surface all her life. At last they were up the gangway and on the deck of the Lucky Duck, which by comparison seemed as solid as a continent.

      Miss Núñez led True and Polly through a revolving door that gave the impression it was the entrance to one of Los Angeles’ better hotels. Inside the illusion continued.

      “Not much of a crowd tonight,” True said as he looked up and down the beautifully appointed but empty hallway.

      “As I said,” Miss Núñez explained, “we’re having a private party this evening. You two are the last to arrive. Everyone else is in the main salon for dinner and dancing.” In the brightly lit hall True could see she had olive skin and an exotic face. She was wearing a green sheath that shown with golden highlights as she moved. Altogether, she was quite lovely. “This way, please,” she said and gestured for them to follow; they did so. True seemed to be fascinated by her rolling gait.

      “She has a movement like a fine watch, don’t you think?” Polly whispered.

      “I hadn’t noticed,” True claimed innocently.

      “Of course not,” Polly agreed with a more or less straight face.

      Miss Núñez showed them to adjoining rooms, leaving one bag in each room. “Call me if you need anything,” she said.

      “I have my tooth brush,” True said, “but you never know.”

      “I must see to our other guests,” Miss Núñez said. She smiled at him and escaped as True began to unpack. He finished and sat down on the bed to wait for Polly. When she came to the door a few minutes later, he could see that she had refurbished her makeup.

      “What now?” Polly asked.

      As if in answer to her question, someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” True called.

      A dark well-chiseled man entered. He looked like a high-ranking movie gangster; even in his tuxedo he couldn’t hide his muscles. However, his smile was pleasant and he met them cordially. “I am Marv Kepler,” he said, “Mr. Laird’s assistant.” They shook hands all around.

      “Welcome to the Lucky Duck,” Mr. Kepler said. “I will tell Otto that you are here. He suggested you have dinner, dance if you’d like, and look around a little. No hurry.”

      “When we spoke earlier, I got the impression that something was bothering him,” True said.

      “Otto will speak to you about that. This way, please,” Mr. Kepler said and made a gesture that suggested they follow him out the door. As they strolled along the hallway, music began and became louder. True recognized “The Way You Look Tonight.”

      Mr. Kepler led them to a large room tricked out like a nightclub. Over the door, in letters designed to look like seaweed it said Neptune’s Hideaway. The décor was a mix of items that suggested both the sea and the casino: sea shells caught in nets, paintings of sailing ships at sea, leaping fish, craps layouts, roulette wheels, card spreads—the result was a little confusing, but it let the guests know what sort of experience they were in for. In a corner, three waiters watched the scene glumly. The band, whose members were dressed like sailors, was doing its best to create some excitement, but only one couple was dancing on a floor big enough for basketball. The man, with a face that was florid from exertion, was large and round and much older than his partner, who was Clair de Lune, a strikingly beautiful woman wearing a low cut gossamer gown that left no doubt that she was female and had a terrific figure.

      “Will you dance with me, Amos?” Polly asked wistfully.

      “I’ll squire you around the floor,” True said. “But I make no promises that what I’m doing will be dancing.”

      There were forty or fifty small round tables scattered around the perimeter of the room, each with a small shaded lamp in the center. Most of the tables were empty, but at a few of them people were sitting and eating. At one table a handsome young man had food in front of him, but he ignored it in favor of watching the dancers with his arms crossed. Others were browsing at a long buffet table. Almost everyone was in formal evening clothes.

      “Who’s that wrestling with Clair de Lune on the dance floor?” Polly asked Mr. Kepler.

      “That’s Bernard Cathcart.”

      “Is he somebody?”

      “I believe he has money, Miss St. Jough.”

      “I suspect that everybody here tonight except us has more money than is good for them,” True guessed. “Is this a charity function? Otto didn’t say, but I wouldn’t think Miss de Lune would need charity.”

      “Still, in a manner of speaking, that’s what it is,” Mr. Kepler said. “Mr. Windsor,” he nodded at the unhappy young man sitting alone at one of the tiny tables, “and Miss de Lune are looking for people to invest in a new picture.”

      “I see. Well, let us at the buffet. We’d better eat before Otto remembers that I’m just a detective with limited resources.”

      Mr. Kepler laughed. “Have a nice dinner. Otto will speak to you soon.”

      True and Polly strolled across the room to the buffet table and began to put food on big plates. True accidentally bumped into a short chubby man with enormous features on a round deeply-lined face. “Excuse me,” True said automatically, and then broke into a smile. “Freddy! Is that you? Look, Polly, Frederick Peregrine.”

      “I’m surprised you remember me. You haven’t been down to the Fabulous Falcon Club in months.”

      “He’s been busy detecting,” Polly confided.

      “Oh, yes,” Peregrine said. “The two divas. I read all about it in the papers. That’s no excuse.”

      “I suppose not,” True said. “Interested in getting into pictures?”

      Before Peregrine could answer, a woman wearing a dark blue business suit and practical shoes turned to them. “I am,” she admitted in a good loud carrying voice. True, Polly, and Peregrine looked at her as if she were some new kind of animal.

      “I’m Ruth Booth,” the woman said, and waited as if she expected they would know her.

      True did the honors from his side.

      “Amos True, the detective!” Miss Booth exclaimed. “I’ve been reading about you in the papers. Very clever of you to figure out which diva was which.”

      “I feel sure I should know you, Miss Booth,” Polly said, her forehead wrinkling with thought.

      Miss Booth smiled. “I do my best to make it easy,” she said. “I write books for children: The Get-Around Family. It’s a series.”

      “I don’t have children myself,” Polly admitted, “but I think I heard you being wise and witty on one of the late night shows.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Shall we sit?” Mr. Peregrine suggested. “I think there will be enough room for all four of us if we push two of those tiny tables together.”

      “Very good,” Miss Booth said. She took СКАЧАТЬ