James Chase - Miss Shumway Waves a Wand

“Hold everything,” I said waving my hand to the door.

“Snatch a peep at that.”

Myra was standing by the bar waiting for me to spot her. I’ve told you from time to time that this kid was a looker. I don’t want to keep on at it or you’ll think I’ve got something to sell. But I’ll put this on record. She made anything that Earl Carrol had ever put up to dazzle the tired U.S. business men look like a wallflower in red flannel.

Maybe it was the dress. It was gold lamé and the full skirt was lined with scarlet so that as she moved the scarlet showed in sudden unexpected flashes, making the dress look as if it were on fire. From the knees up, it clung to her curves like a nervous mountaineer.

She practically caused a riot. The men sitting around paused in their conversation like someone had jabbed them with a skewer, while the women radioed hate on a short wave length.

Myra didn’t care. She came over, took the seat I offered her and settled herself with all the self-assurance in the world.

I said, “I’d like you to meet Paul Juden of the Central News Agency. Miss Myra Shumway,” I went on to Juden.

He was like a man cut off at the knees. He managed to get to his feet and when Myra sat down, he collapsed into his chair. But he didn’t seem able to say anything.

“He’s not always like this,” I said to Myra. “As a matter of fact he has a pretty good head on him.”

“So have some umbrellas,” Myra said. “But, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Now, look, sunshine, don’t let us have any unpleasantness, Juden is suffering from delayed shock He thought you were in New York.”

“I hope we’re not going to have all that all over again,” Myra said.

The barman came over and stood admiring her.

“Something that would resurrect a corpse, please,” Myra said, smiling at him. “Nothing small. Serve it in a brandy glass.”

The barman blinked. “Yes, madam,” he said, and went away.

“I’m going to get tight,” she went on to me in a confidential undertone. “I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I haven’t been tight for years. I am pandering to my whims tonight.”

By this time, Juden began making croaking noises. “Twins,” he said feebly. “Twins.”

Myra looked at him with interest. “No wonder you look like such a sad man,” she said.

“Should I congratulate you or buy you a wreath?”

Before I could stop him, he gave her the photograph. There was a long electric silence while she looked at it. Then she turned to me. “Who’s this delightful little blonde trollop?” she asked, pointing with a trembling finger at the girl in the photograph.

“To all intents and purposes,” I said as gently as possible, “it’s you.”

Myra drew a deep breath. “Have you ever seen me wear such an expression on my face as this over-dressed, sex-ridden, over-ripe, two-face hag is wearing?” she demanded, furiously rattling the photograph under my nose.

Even Juden shrank away from her fury.

But like all women, she had hit the nail on the thumb. That was the difference between this girl in the photograph and Myra. Whereas Myra had character, this girl had none. She had that loose, cruel expression on her face that you so often see in the face of a wanton woman. Make no mistake about it, this girl was bad right through, but it wasn’t until it was pointed out to me, that I realized it.

“Take it easy,” I said. “The red light’s showing on your pressure gauge.”

“So this is the hooker who’s impersonating me,” Myra said, controlling herself with an effort.

She studied the photograph intently. “And look at that smug, I’ve-got-the-bone expression on my dear parent’s face. This is some of his work. I’ll make him suffer for this!”

Juden was clawing at his collar nervously. He quite expected that she would turn on him at any moment.

“Well, P. J.,” 1 said. “Do you see how Maddox’s been fooled now?”

“What can we say to him?” Juden groaned. “You know Maddox. The other papers would rib him for weeks. Besides, he wouldn’t believe it.”

“He wouldn’t?” Myra twisted round in her chair so that she faced Juden, who shrank as far away as he could from her. “Don’t you think I could persuade him?”

“You might,” Juden returned feebly. “Yes, I guess with your character you could do pretty near anything.”

“And that’s what I think,” Myra said ominously.

“It’s going to be difficult,” I said, finishing my drink. “If your father says she’s you, you’ll have a hard job convincing anyone.”

The barman brought Myra’s cocktail. There was a lot of it in a large brandy glass. He put it on the table beside her. “It is my own invention, madam,” he said.

Myra picked up the balloon glass and took a long pull from the blue-green liquor. Then she shut her eyes, held her breath and her feet traced quick little patterns on the carpet. When she could speak, she said faintly, “Any smoke escaping from me?”

“You like it, madam?” the barman asked anxiously.

“That is the wrong word,” Myra said, putting the glass on the table and staring at it. “You don’t like a thing like that. A corpse doesn’t like embalming fluid, but it does it good. What do you call it?”

“The breath of a Tiger,” the barman said, not knowing whether to be complimented or not. Myra shuddered. “I’m glad it’s only his breath,” she said. “Somehow, I don’t think I could have managed the tiger itself.”

“If madam does not like it, I will bring her something else,” the barman said, looking hurt.

“I have another specialty which I call the Panther’s spit.”

Myra waved him away. “Some other time perhaps,” she said, and he returned behind his bar with a puzzled expression on his face.

Doc AńselI and Bogle came into the bar. They were wearing tuxedos. Bogle looked like an

Eastside waiter.

“There you are,” Ansell said, drawing up a chair. “We’ve been having a little trouble with Whisky, otherwise we’d’ve been down before.”

I introduced Juden who nodded vaguely.

Myra examined Bogle thoughtfully. “What you need is an ermine dicky, Sam,” she said. “It would set off that dress suit.”

Sam was looking at her with undisguised admiration. “Gee!” he exploded. “That dress you’ve nearly got on is the horse’s hoofs!”

“Never mind that,” I broke in. “We’ve got a little brain work ahead of us,” and I gave Ansell the photograph.

He studied it and then passed it to Bogle. “That’s Mr. Maddox handing over the reward, I suppose,” he said.

I nodded. It surprised me he didn’t say anything about the girl in the picture. He just glanced thoughtfully at Myra, pursed his lips and then studied his small brown hands.

Bogle, however, had plenty to say. “What’s she doing in this picture?” he demanded. “How did she get to New York anyway and if she’s got the cheque, where is it?”

“That isn’t me, you dope,” Myra snapped. “Haven’t you got eyes in your head?”

Bogle blinked. “Sure,” he said. “Well, if it ain’t you, that dame’s certainly borrowed your geography. Who is she?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Myra returned grimly. “And when I find out, even a plastic surgeon won’t be able to put her right.” She reached for her drink and lowered a good two inches of the liquor down her throat.

I looked over at Juden. “We’ve got to do something, P. J.,” I said. “For one thing, if I don’t put myself right with Maddox, he might have a grudge against me. I wouldn’t like that to happen.”

“He’s got one already,” Juden returned. “You may as well know, Ross. I’m sorry, but you’re out.”