5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

DEATH TAKES one that Ed gave me shortly after we were married. He was a nut on shoot- ing, a swell shot, and he thought I ought to learn. But I was scared to death of it. I only fired it twice in my life.” He looked down at her, and her gray- blue eyes met his appealingly. Harrigan took a deep breath. “Boy,” he said, “either I’m the prize sucker or you’re telling the truth. I don’t know which and right at this moment I don’t seem to care. You’re behind the eight ball and you need a lawyer, bad. Know one?” She nodded. “Yes. Phil Scott.” Harrigan blew out his cheeks thought- fully. “Is he any good?” “He’s one of the trustees of my son’s estate,” she said. Harrigan shook his head. “Ixnay. You want a lawyer that never even heard of the Gaudels. This Scott is out.” “You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Harrigan,” she pleaded. “Scott is no friend of Father Gaudel or of Morton. He was Mrs. Gaudel’s lawyer, and they tried to break her will. He’d fight them from dawn to breakfast.” “That,” said Harrigan, “is exactly what we need. Gimme his number.” He moved to the phone just as Thomas came back into the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” The deputy’s horse-face had gained two shades of color. Harrigan was unperturbed. “I’m go- ing to call her lawyer.” “Oh, no, you’re not.” Thomas reached out one hand and planted it on Harri- gan’s shoulder. Harrigan reached up, caught the wrist and without apparent effort, removed the hand. “Don’t paw me,” he warned. “I don’t like it.” He turned without another word and went over to the phone. COTT sounded excited when Harri- gan told him what had happened and said that he would be right over. Har- rigan hung up and went back to the girl. NO HOLIDAY 75 There was a disturbance at the door and two men came in. Harrigan recog- nized them from newspaper pictures. He sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip. The girl stiffened and rose slowly to her feet. Harrigan muttered, “Take it easy, beautiful, I’m right behind you.” One of the men was old. He walked with a cane and his slight form was bent as if the weight of years was too much for his frail shoulders. He paused in front of the girl and shook a bony fist under her little nose. “Murderess!” he cackled. “Murder- ess! You’ll hang for this if it takes every dollar I have.” The girl did not move. Her eyes had deepened until they looked almost black in the smooth whiteness of her face. Harrigan stepped between’ them. “Take it easy, Grampaw. Calling names never got anyone anywhere.” The old man stared at him for a full minute from beneath heavy white brows. His eyes, despite the multitude of wrin- kles surrounding them, were still sharp and very shrewd. Anger glinted in them as he raised his heavy cane. “Get back, get out of the way!” he shouted and swung the cane at Harri- gan’s head. Harrigan caught the de- scending stick in one large hand and wrenched it from the old man’s grasp. The old man would have fallen had not Harrigan caught his arm. Morton Gaudel was a powerful man. The thick-lensed glasses he wore gave him a deceptive appearance of weak- ness, which was belied by his roar as he charged forward. “Take your hands off my father!” He grabbed the detective’s shoulders with both hands, meaning to spin him around, but something happened so rap- idly that none of the watchers could follow the action. Harrigan turned as Morton grabbed him. His big body shifted sideways so that Gaudel was be- hind him, then he caught the man’s right wrist and flung him over his shoulder. The next instant Gaudel was lying on MICLOO (C(O) (C S