Show Business Is Murder by Stuart M. Kaminsky

the padding. “Just checking.”
    Judd Franklyn came over to her as the two detectives left. “Some punk got himself killed last night so they’re checking with the casino owners. One of my chips was in his pocket and they came here. No cash on him. It was probably just a robbery.”
    â€œDid you know him?”
    â€œNot by name. They showed me his picture and I think he was here a few times. Hell, am I supposed to remember every face I see?”
    She performed the rest of her appearances until midnight, then received her week’s check from Judd. “Maybe I’ll take off next week,” she said, testing the waters.
    â€œTake off? You can’t do that. We got a contract!”
    â€œDo you really need me?”
    â€œDamn right I do! I got customers only come here on your nights.”
    â€œWe’ll see how I feel on Monday.”
    She walked out to the bar and was surprised to see Minnie Brewer at the wheel, placing a bet on the spin of the whitevolleyball. “I didn’t get here in time to see you tonight,” she told Wanda. “I was over at the Sands.”
    â€œYou didn’t miss a thing.” She asked the bartender for a tonic. “Sorry to hear about your friend.”
    Minnie gave her a puzzled look. “Which friend is that?”
    â€œSam Dole, the man who was killed. I saw you talking to him one night.”
    â€œYou make friends fast around a roulette wheel, especially this one. Watching you is like, I don’t know, watching an Olympic gymnast.”
    Wanda laughed, deciding it was meant as a compliment. “Well, thanks.”
    â€œAnyway, I didn’t know that Dole person you mentioned. If I was talking to him it was just idle conversation.”
    Wanda nodded. “Can I buy you a drink?”
    â€œThanks but I just finished one. Got to concentrate on the numbers.” She put some chips on Even and was rewarded when six black came up.
    Wanda got her cape and went out to the car. The traffic always seemed heavier on Friday nights and it was close to one o’clock before she turned into the apartment parking lot. Someone was waiting in the shadows near her door and she grew apprehensive until she recognized young Rick Dodson.
    â€œWhen’s the article going to appear?” she asked, repeating her usual question.
    â€œSunday, I think. Can I come in?”
    â€œIt’s pretty late for socializing.”
    â€œI’ve got another question for you.”
    â€œAll right. Come on in.” She unlocked the door and turned on the lights, tossing her keys and purse on the table. “Do you want a drink?”
    â€œNo, no thanks.”
    She settled down on the couch opposite him. “Now what’s your question?”
    He took something from his pocket and showed it to her. It was a blindfold, a mate of the one she’d worn for Sam Dole. “Do you want to keep on, working with me instead of Sam?”
    Wanda took a deep breath. “You killed him, didn’t you? You were never a reporter writing a story. You were getting information on me for Sam, so he could decide if I’d be likely to go along with his scheme.”
    â€œForget about Sam,” he told her, waving away her words.
    â€œWhy did you kill him, Rick?”
    â€œI’m the one who thought of the idea and he was cutting me out of my share. I was supposed to bet the final five thousand but he was on the other side of the wheel placing a bet, too. We won sixteen grand, not eleven, and he wouldn’t give me the cut he’d promised.”
    â€œI should have known when I saw you there again the other night. You were Sam’s betting partner. I thought it was a young woman he was talking to.”
    â€œSam was always talking to young women. That was another problem between us. But never mind him. Are you in this with me?”
    â€œNo, not when there’s been a murder. You’re on your own.”
    He took the knife