Chapter 3

The night had passed without incident. I had been able to sneak my .45 into the boarding house last night and out again this morning without being found out by Mrs. O'Grady. She was a dear old lady, but she didn't realize the way some things were these days. I had splurged using some of what was left of Miss Sykes' expense money. I had bought a radio for my office. If I'm going to get killed on this case, I might as well go out first rate.

I was listening to Tommy Dorsey's lyrical trombone in 'On Treasure Island' with vocals sung by Edyth Wright, when I heard a tentative knock on the door. I turned the radio off and said, "Come in." When she opened the door and came in I was struck dumb. The first things to enter were her exquisite legs. Clad in black stockings, they shimmered as they moved. The rest of her was aces as well. This babe was a looker, a butter and egg fly. She stood in front of my desk waiting for me to invite her to sit down. I was dizzy with the dame and couldn't make my vocal chords work. I finally croaked out something which she took as an offer of a chair. She was like poetry in motion when she folded her svelte body into the chair and stared at me. When she started to speak her voice was like honey and I was the bee.

I didn't catch what she said at first and she had to repeat herself, "Mr. Malone I need your help. I've gone to the police but they said they can't help. I'm at wits end and have no where else to turn."

It was time for me to say something and I didn't want to come off like a genius, so I stuck to what I knew. "Those coppers are all wet. They think they can flash their buzzer and the baddies will just fold up and blow. Tell me what your main pain is and I'll be your knight in shining armor."

She smiled at me and I thought I was gonna melt. "My father just passed away and left me a ranch out in Texas. Apparently, the foreman and his brunos are trying to chisel me out of my rightful inheritance. I need a strong man to represent me and look after my interests there. I'm sure that it would not take more than a couple of months to sort it all out." She gracefully rose out of the chair, dropped a card on my desk and floated out.

God, she had reminded me of Laurel. The fine sculpted face, the melodious tones coming from her mouth, the long blonde hair coiffed just right; she had it all! If Laurel hadn't raked me over the coals, I would have fallen for her café society flimflamm hook, line and sinker. This Richard Marks would have gotten me out of his hair for at least a couple of months, maybe forever. I took the card with her number on it and threw it in the trash. Nobody plays Stan Malone!

I turned the radio back on in time to hear:

"Animated by the desire to contribute increasingly, in the interests of the general cause of peace and security, to the betterment of relations between them and between all the Mediterranean Powers, and resolved to respect the rights and interests of those Powers; Britain and Italy signed a pact to maintain the status quo in the Mediterranean.