"Ron Goulart - Groucho 3 - Elementary, My Dear Groucho" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

The buildings were all of the popular cream-colored stucco and red tile roof school. There were several stretch
bright green lawn and rows of assorted kinds of palm trees. "Marker's produced a string of screwball comedies," I rem
him, stopping to let a starlet decked out as an aviatrix cross the street. "Crazy About You, This One's on Me, That Wa
Wife. Irene Dunne came near getting an Academy Award nom-ination for one of them."
"The best of the bunch," said Groucho, lighting the cigar and exhaling smoke, "contained, and I'm quoting an exhau
study conducted by the Greenwich Observatory, five laughs during its entire length. And the heartiest one came wh
audience read the name of the musical director in the opening credits."
My Ford looked to be the least expensive car in the row I parked in, possibly the least expensive in the whole damn
When I mentioned that to Groucho, he said, "True, but you have the curliest hair."
"My hair isn't curly at all."
"Well, gee, Penrod, you don't have to bite a guy's head off when he's only trying to cheer you up."
We were scheduled to meet Marker over at Soundstage 4, where he was going to be sitting in on the shooting of sc
for his latest comedy, She Married the Butler.
We never made the appointment.
As we were walking past Soundstage 2, the big metal door slid open with a clattering bang. A pretty blond
woman came running out, pale under her tennis court tan.
She was wearing white slacks and a dark blue cable-stitch pullover sweater. "In there," she called to us, waving her
in the direction of the doorway she'd just come stumbling through. "A dead man."
"We could, Rollo," suggested Groucho, "continue on our way and ignore this entirely."
"But we won't," I said, running toward the frightened girl.



Two

The blonde thrust both her slim arms around me, pressing hard against my ribs, then leaned her head against my che
"They shot him," she murmured in a low, choked voice. "He's all bloody."
"Are they still in there?" I asked as I pushed her, gently, back a foot or so from me and nodded at the open doorw
the shadowy soundstage.
"He's dead. I'm certain he's dead." Her hand was shaking as she brought it up to brush a tangle of blond hair back
her forehead. "I came looking for him, you know, because he wasn't in his office and I had to ask him something abo
script revisions. Somebody's shot him. I don't know who."
Putting both hands on the shivering woman's shoulders, I said, "Take it easy now. Tell me who it is that's dead."
She straightened up some, looking into my face. Her mas-cara had run from the crying and her eyes were unders
with sooty blurs. "Do you work here at the studio?"
 "Although noted far and wide for my patience and stoi-cism," said Groucho, moving closer, "I would like to know
it's going to be my turn to get hugged?"
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Marx," said the young woman. "You probably don't remember me, but I used to be a script
MGM back when you were still active in the movies."
"Somebody else who missed seeing Room Service." He slipped out of his flamboyant sports coat, shimmying quite
in the process, and draped it over the shivering girl's shoulders. "The important thing for a shock victim is to keep
That's a little something I learned during my years as a den mother with the Brownies. Soon as the Saint Bernard show
we'll give you a slug of brandy."
I asked him, "You know her?"
"Whilst trotting over here, I reflected to myself that the rear view was deucedly familiar." He shrugged. "Alas, the
escapes me."
"I'm Isobel Glidden." She was shivering less. "I've been a script girl here at Mammoth for close to a year, Mr. Marx
"Don't be so formal, my dear. You can call me Hopalong."
"Okay, Isobel," I said, "Let's get back to this dead man- do you know who it is?"
"Yes, of course." When she nodded, Groucho's jacket started to slip down off her right shoulder. "It's Mr. Denker."