5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

BLOOD, SWEAT AND JEERS heard it too, milled that way to watch a couple of customers scrambling on the floor after their loot. Kelly drifted along, just to identify the happy winners. Every now and then they would have trouble with a character who knew how to spill a jackpot with a piece of hooked wire. It was a good idea to keep track of people who played the bandits and won —too often. By the time Kelly was satisfied these two lucky customers weren’t pros, he had forgotten about his boss and Myron Chase. ... The death of Doris Mellani made only a minor splash in the press. After Cor- oner Liebert held his inquest and stated he’d found the cause of death to be acci- dental, there wasn’t a lot of news in the facts. Except for a small item planted by a local correspondent for a Los An- geles paper, nothing. This notice, and the inquest, caused a mild stir around the hotel but, as near as Kelly Wilson could tell, there was no loss of trade because of it. People seemed to be as anxious as ever to try to beat Lucky Starr’s tables and slots. They stood just as good a chance of doing so. iil I. WAS three days after Doris’ death that Ellen Mellani hit the Rancho Club. The way the day clerk told it, she trotted briskly up to the desk and demanded to see the man who had murdered her sis- ter. She spoke loud enough to be heard over the entire lobby, and wasn’t at all vague. She said, “I want to see Baron Starr. He murdered my sister.” A real conversation stopper, this kid. Lobby gossip dried into about fifty ex- pectant leers. The clerk told the girl he was sure she was mistaken about Mr. Starr. She said she wasn’t. The clerk saw the mob dragging its collective ear to catch every word. He thought fast, ushered her into a small business office in back of the desk, and sent a bellhop chasing after Kelly Wil- son. Kelly walked into the office without knowing what he was in for. The clerk had just said this young lady seemed to be off her rocker. She was on him, her claws out, before he had the door closed. Kelly defended himself as best he could, finally caught her wrists and held them. She tried to kick him. He spun her into a chair, held her there sputter- ’ ing some uncomplimentary things about his family background. Only it wasn’t his background, he realized when she called him Starr for the third time. He said, “Slow down, baby! You’re wasting this on the wrong man. I’m not Baron Starr. My name’s Kelly Wilson. I sort of look after things for Mr. Starr.”’ She stopped fanning her legs in wide arcs, trying to spin the chair so she could get at him again. He took a large chance and let go of her. She stayed put. “You’re not Mr. Starr?” She eyed him suspiciously. “What do I have to do?” he asked. “Show you my Social Security card? No. I am not Baron Starr, by about thirty years and thirty million dollars. I’m just a hired hand.” He turned his back on her and walked around the desk, sat down behind it. “IT said I wanted to see Mr. Starr,” she said, her voice rising. “He’s particular about people he meets,” Kelly told her. “Especially crazy people. If you'll tell me why you want to commit mayhem on him, what this is all about—”’ She froze to the chair. Her lips stiff- ened, then she blurted, “He killed my sister!” Her hands were clenched in white, sharp fists in her lap. “You’re all wet, honey,” soothed Kelly Wilson. “Or someone has been giving you some bum dope. Mr. Starr hasn’t killed anyone. Not recently.” She took her handbag off the floor be- side the chair, snapped it open and re- moved a neatly folded news clipping. She threw it on the desk in front of Kelly. “I suppose this is bum dope!” she said. Kelly glanced at it—the story of Doris comiclooolkks 17