Cover-Up Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

There was menace in Bart’s darting look, and it stayed when he turned the look back to Crystal. ‘Where were you later last night?’ he demanded. ‘You weren’t in your room.’
    â€˜She was with me, Bart,’ Lou-Ann cut into the awkward silence quickly. ‘In my room. We were playing gin rummy.’
    Bart looked at them both suspiciously. ‘I didn’t know you were so fond of gin rummy.’
    â€˜Sometimes the notion takes me,’ Crystal drawled.
    â€˜Yeah?’ He still wasn’t sure whether he could believe them, but they were presenting a united front. ‘Sure musta been an interesting game. I kept calling your room about every ten minutes till way after two in the morning.’
    â€˜You should have called my room, Bart,’ Lou-Ann said softly. Her face was wistful. Bart ignored her.
    â€˜There goes your cue,’ Sam said in a tight voice. ‘You’d better get on stage.’ His face was dead white, he didn’t look directly at anybody.
    So that was where Crystal had been last night! No wonder Little Brother was falling down on his watching brief. He was too busy playing with fire.
    With Bart onstage, Uncle No’ccount put away his harmonica and moved closer to us. He gave Lou-Ann a meaningful little nod – at least, it must have meant something to her. She flushed and smiled slightly.
    Sam had turned to face the stage, still pale, with slow fury smouldering in his eyes. I began to wish I hadn’t bothered to come this morning. This set-up was worsening every time I saw it. My sympathies were with Sam, of course. Even if we hadn’t been friends from away back, I’d have been on anyone’s side against Black Bart.
    â€˜Looks like you have your hands full,’ I said to him. Onstage, the Cousins were gesturing with their instruments again.
    Sam winced and nodded glumly. ‘Nathan wants me to get the act more sophisticated before the Agency shows it to the Client. He wants the boys to be more like the Sons of the Pioneers, and less like sons of bitches.’
    â€˜Then why didn’t –’
    â€˜We need a photographer.’ The evasive note was back in Sam’s voice. ‘To be on duty for a couple of weeks. Snapping candids. For the fan magazines back home.’
    â€˜That can be arranged.’ Gerry didn’t have all that much to do, and he was good with a camera. ‘I’ll bring one along to the opening.’
    â€˜Fine.’ He didn’t sound happy; but, like me, he probably wouldn’t be until this assignment was over and Black Bart was just a memory to haunt our nightmares on dark and stormy nights.
    Meanwhile, we were blocking the way. Lou-Ann had to push past us to get on to the stage. Sam caught her arm as she passed and looked at her searchingly.
    â€˜I can’t.’ She pulled herself free. ‘Bart wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t like it at all. You heard him.’
    Sam lost the colour he had been regaining as we watched her stumble onstage. She took a pratfall and sat there, the broken daisies bobbing wildly on her hat. Cousin Homer came forward and, with exaggerated courtesy, pulled her to her feet. She overbalanced and flew past him, offstage into the wings on the other side.
    There was a flat pause, probably filled with a laugh during the actual performance. She gave it a count of five, then staggered back onstage, eyes popping, mouth open. It was overdone.
    Women shouldn’t be knockabout comics. I’ll grant them equality in everything else, but they sacrifice too much when they compete in that field. A few have managed it, but they’ve had enough finesse to work some pathos into their acts, and enough femininity to make sure of at least one scene where they appear in full glamour regalia. All the cards were stacked against Lou-Ann, and it wasn’t fair.
    â€˜Come on,’ Sam said abruptly, ‘we don’t want to watch