5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

14 other look at those nylons of Miss Mel- lani’s. If the torn dress was supposed to give the impression Doris had been fight- ing for her honor, the nylons queered it. Kelly had little personal experience with such things, but he couldn’t feature how the old man managed to peel the dame out of her nylons at all, and without put- ting a run in either one of them! Kelly began to feel a lot better. He told the old man so. “I think we’re going to get you off the hook,” he said. Starr had aged a lot since Kelly had been there. He looked stooped, feeble. He eyed Kelly suspiciously, grunted, “You damn well better!” Kelly explained about the nylon stock- ings. “I’ll admit they aren’t a lot to be jubilant about,” he continued, “but at least, another talking point.” The old man nodded. Kelly started to prowl the house. He didn’t score again, or even get his hands on the ball. Every- thing seemed to be very much in place. He returned to the living-room, sat down to wait for the sheriff. He watched the old man tramp back and forth be- fore the picture window which looked out over the valley, the road cutting a straight line across the desert. The road over which the sheriff would be driving. Starr’s Japanese houseboy came up the hill to start breakfast. Lucky sent him away, then, a couple of minutes later, turned and smiled sheepishly at Kelly, said, “Do you know how to make coffee?” Kelly did. He went out to the kitchen, brewed a big pot. He and the old man were on their fourth cup when the sher- iff got there. Tufts was a slight-built young guy, a cotton-top. White eyelashes and brows gave him an eager look. Pale blue eyes, almost china blue eyes. He was wearing faded khaki riding pants stuffed into the tops of black Western boots with red in- laid flowers. He had on a small range hat. The back of his khaki shirt was stained with sweat. Kelly met him at the door. He said, “Come right in, Sheriff.” FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE il HE sheriff’s deputy towered over Tufts as they clumped across the bare boards in their high-heeled boots. Tufts took off his hat, wiped the sweatband with a handkerchief, his face. Across the cheek-bones, he was burned a crisp red. He had a pleasant smile. He said, “What seems to be the trou- ble, Mr. Starr?” Lucky was bearing up with as much dignity as he could spare. He looked to Kelly to carry the conversation. Kelly led the sheriff to the body, say- ing, “Mr. Starr found her like this when he woke up. I threw the rug over it. Otherwise, not a thing has _ been touched.” Tufts flipped a corner of the rug back, squatted on his haunches beside the body. “Been dead some time, hasn’t she?” he remarked. He stood up. “What can you tell me about her?” he asked Starr. Lucky sighed, repeated for the sher- iff’s benefit the same story he’d told Kelly. The deputy scowled—black. He seemed about to pounce, only waiting for a sign from Tufts. The sheriff was not over-free with signs. He kept his pas- sions under control, listened carefully, before he turned to Kelly. “You’re an ex-homicide aren’t you, Wilson?” Kelly agreed that he was. “Then, you ought to have some hunch about this.” “TI have,” Kelly declared. “But before I unveil it, there’s something upstairs I’d like to have you see.” They went to the bedroom and Kelly showed the Sheriff the girl’s torn dress, undergarments, the nylons. “I don’t want you to get the idea I’m trying to do your thinking for you, Tufts,’ he said, “but you asked for my hunch. It’s this— Doris Mellani, according to the old man, came to see him about a job as a shill. I never saw her before her body turned up inspector, MICLOOKS (C(O)