Read Online Merryll Manning Is Dead Lucky by Johm Howard Reid - Free Book Online

“He wouldn’t dare! He’d have to come clean that he’d loaded and fired a crossbow at me with intent to wound – or even to kill me! Even if he didn’t come clean, a suspicion like that would kill his career. So what’s his address now? No more excuses!”
        She made more demurs of course, but finally, she gave me the bastard’s address. She still wanted the last word though. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she grumbled. “What if Sedge or Monty or “Ace” or someone like that saw you? You could always have asked me over the phone.”
        Like hell I could, sweetheart! I thought to myself. “There’s something else I want from you. Give me an audience ticket for the next six Monday nights. Now there’s something even Mrs. Oscar Varnie would thoroughly approve of.”
        “Why didn’t you ask him then?”
        “I didn’t think of it at the time. But you can run it by any member of the Strike a Fortune crew, if you must have an authorization. They’ll all be mighty pleased to see me – you can bet your bottom dollar! But put me in the back row.”
        “As a rule, we only allocate tickets to parties of more than one.”                      
        “So give me two tickets then for each show. I’m not shy. I can always grab someone to accompany me. How about you, for instance?”
        “I’ll be busy on the set. But I do have a girlfriend though. Gloria. Do you think you can remember that name? You’ll need to tell it to the doorman.”
        “Sure thing!”
        “Now are you through?”
        “Just where is this crossbow now? I’d like to look it over.”
        “That’s a good question. You’re improving!”
        “You gave it back to Brunsdon?”
        “He wanted it back, of course. But that’s just the problem. We couldn’t find it.”
        “And where did Brunsdon see his crossbow last?”
        “He says he put it down on the floor beside his table. Somehow it got moved.”
        “Maybe Security saw it on the floor after the show and locked it up somewhere?”
        “No joy in that direction. We’ve already asked.”
        “Asked about what?” came a voice from behind.
        It was my friendly floor manager, “Bingo” Frobisher.
        “Brunsdon’s hellish crossbow,” I replied.
        “Don’t stir up that warpath for God’s sake! Brunsdon’s threatening to sue us if we can’t produce his hellish bow.”
        “Maybe I can help you there, Mr. Frobisher.”
        “Call me Bingo . Everyone else does.”
        “Maybe I can help you there, Bingo? I’ve a good idea who took it.”
        “Bring it back and you’ll earn our undying gratitude.”
        “The promise of a steady job would be nicer – if I don’t win the $80,000, that is.”
        “I’m sure I could convince Mr. Varnie.”
        “A monetary reward would also be nice! Any more of those warning little 2x3 cards turn up in the mail boxes?”
        “Not that I know of.”
        “I think one person is responsible for both the wayward bow and the destabilizing threats.”
        “That’s exactly the way I think too!”   
     
     
     
     
     
     
    6
     
    I finally ran Dune-Harrigan to ground at one of California’s lesser universities where he was officially billed as the curator of a so-called Archaeological Museum. Third-choice palaces of learning can’t afford too many guards, so the gates were wide open and the attendant was only too happy to spark a bit of excitement into his Friday afternoon by giving me detailed instructions where to park my old Ford and how to find the Lanzkov Museum.
        As I expected, the museum was deserted. I threaded my way through a maze of dusty display cases to the curator’s office. Seated behind an enormous barrier of a desk, old D-H was studying details in an 8x10 photograph with a magnifying glass. True to form, D-H wouldn’t be caught dead