The Lucky Duck Affair. Mel Gilden
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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 Mr. Peregrine’s arm and steered him to an empty table. True and Polly followed. By the time they arrived, Miss Booth had pushed another table up to the first one. Even with two tables, the seating was intimate, and they had to be careful with their knees and elbows.
“Who is that man over there?” True asked. The man had very short hair, and his darkly tanned face was drawn, almost skeletal. He wore a sport coat, slacks, and a collared powder blue shirt without a tie. Before him was a plate of raw vegetables, which he picked up a piece at a time and nibbled on, rabbit-like.
“I don’t know him,” Mr. Peregrine said.
“I believe that’s Art Field,” Miss Booth said. “You know, of Field’s Gyms?”
“You certainly are well-informed, Miss Booth,” True said.
“I like to stay on top of things,” she declared. “I live life.”
“Certainly the best thing to live,” Polly agreed.
“Yes,” Miss Booth said as if she were unsure exactly what Polly meant by that.
“He doesn’t look very happy to be here,” True said as he nodded in the direction of Mr. Windsor.
“You can’t please everybody,” Miss Booth said.
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