Brett Halliday - In a Deadly Vein

Just in time, he saw that Joe’s right hand held a heavy rock which he had picked up on his last trip to the ground. He waited for Joe’s lunge, ducked a vicious swing of the rock, then buried his fist in Meade’s midsection. Joe doubled forward with the breath driven from him. He went to his knees, hugging his solar plexus.

From behind Shayne, Casey asked interestedly, “What’ll I do with this she-wildcat? She still thinks it would be fun to christen you queen of the festival.”

With his eyes on Meade, Shayne said, “Take the bottle away from her and let her go.”

Joe was getting his breath back. He crouched forward on hands and knees like an animal.

Christine rushed to him and dropped to her knees beside him, begging, “Tell them, Joe. You haven’t anything to hide.”

Meade snarled an oath and flung her aside. Shayne saw his hand groping for another rock. He stepped forward and put his foot on Meade’s wrist and ground hard. Joe yelped with pain and sank back on his haunches. The madness went out of his eyes, but his face remained surly.

He muttered thickly, “What’s this all about, anyhow?”

“It’s about Nora Carson.” Shayne towered above him on widespread legs. “Where is she?”

“How do I know? I’m not Nora Carson’s guardian.”

Shayne said, “But I am. Start spilling what you know.”

“You can’t do this to me,” Meade complained. “There must be some law around here.”

Shayne laughed shortly. “I’m beginning to get the western viewpoint. I might do all right out here after I get the hang of things. I heard you tell Miss Forbes that you were responsible for Nora Carson’s absence from the theater tonight. I don’t give a damn about that angle, but I want to know where she is.”

“I didn’t say anything like that. I just said—”

“I heard every word of it. You said that Miss Forbes needn’t worry about Nora coming back. That she was in for good. That you’d fixed it that way.”

“I didn’t,” Meade repeated sullenly. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’ve got a bad memory.” Shayne scowled and doubled his right fist. “Maybe I can repair it for you.”

Christine flung a protective arm around Joe’s neck. She flared, “You can’t hit a man when he’s down.”

Shayne’s upper lip came back from his teeth. “I can kick his face to a pulp if he doesn’t start talking.”

“Don’t you dare, you big bully,” the girl screamed. She laid her cheek against Joe’s and begged, “Tell him, Joe. It doesn’t matter. Tell him where Nora is.”

Meade averted his face and muttered, “Can’t you get it, Christine? I don’t know anything about Nora. I was just — well, I just wanted you to think I’d fixed it to put you over. I was crazy for fear you’d forget me after you became successful. I’m nuts about you, honey. I couldn’t stand that. I thought if I could make you believe I’d arranged for Nora to miss her cue you’d be grateful to me and — oh, hell, I was just putting up a front. See?”

She sobbed, “Oh, Joe. I’m so glad.” Her arms tightened around his neck. “I’d have hated you forever if you’d done a thing like that.”

“You would?” He sounded incredulous. “I’m damned if I don’t believe you mean it.” He turned his head and kissed her.

“That’s a pretty fair sneak-out,” Shayne observed sourly. “But it doesn’t prove a thing to me. You’ll get something else on the kisser if you don’t come across with the truth. You sounded mighty sure that Nora Carson wouldn’t be back to take the role away from your girl. How could you know that if you don’t know what became of her?”

“You misconstrued what you overheard,” Meade declared. “I meant that Christine didn’t have to worry about Nora any more. If you saw her tonight you’d know what I meant. She was so damned good she put Nora in the shade.”

Shayne didn’t say anything. The hell of it was, Joe Meade sounded convincing. He might be telling the truth — and he might not. Shayne snorted and turned away, stalking ahead of Casey around the end of the wall.

Phyllis was waiting at the table, and when he flung himself into his chair she asked acidly, “What were you two bullies doing behind the wall with that nice young couple? It sounded like a riot from here.”

Casey said, “Mike was promoting a little game of post office, but the other guy got the wink.”

“Do you have to brawl, Michael — and on our vacation?” Phyllis wailed. “Couldn’t you ever, just once, solve a case with your brains instead of your fists?”

Shayne regarded her intently, then said in a sour tone, “I’ll always wonder whether that guy would have come clean if I had kicked him in the face. That’s your doing, Phyl. Marriage has softened me. Next thing I know, I’ll be starting, by God, to raise a fund for indigent murderers.”

Casey nodded happily. “’Tis a regular cream-puff you’ve turned into, Mike. I’ve seen the day when you’d have strung that bucko up by the thumbs and put lighted matches between his toes.”

“Michael! Did you ever do that!” Phyllis cried, horrified.

Shayne shrugged and moodily ordered another drink. While he waited for the drink, he repeated the conversation he had overheard between Joe Meade and Christine Forbes, with Phyllis prompting him and dragging it out of him.

“Which gives us just one more headache,” he ended in disgust. “I gather that Joe is a frustrated playwright who might well think up a plot like that to give Christine her chance. On the other hand, he may be an opportunist who seized on Nora’s absence to put himself in solidly with the girl he loves.”

A waiter brought drinks for the three. Shayne seized his avidly, muttering, “I need this.”

Phyllis propped her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. “With all this dither about Nora Carson, aren’t you forgetting her father? He’s the corpse in the case. I thought you always concerned yourself with the murderer to the exclusion of everything else, Michael.”

Shayne was staring straight in front of him. He mused, “In this case, I’ll ask nothing more than to keep the murders down to one.”

Phyllis nudged him by placing her foot on his under the table. “Look — Michael!” she whispered.

Sheriff Fleming said, “Pardon me, Mr. Shayne,” lifting his broad hat from his silvery hair. “I heard there was a rumpus out here.”

Shayne turned his head slightly. “Yeh. There was, sort of, sheriff.”

Phyllis smiled up at him brightly. “Wherever there’s a rumpus, Sheriff Fleming, there you’ll find Michael Shayne.”

Shayne stood up. “You remember my wife, Sheriff. And this is Pat Casey, of the New York police.”

“I remember Mrs. Shayne, all right,” the sheriff drawled, bowing slightly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Casey. New York police, eh? On business or pleasure?”

Shayne grinned and said, “He came on business and stayed for pleasure, after meeting my wife. Anything new on Nora Carson?”

“Not a thing. Looks like she just flew the coop without telling anybody. Her husband has been giving me fits.” Fleming paused, then continued diffidently, “I’ve been checking around on Screwloose Pete like you said. I reckon you’d be interested to hear what Cal Strenk’s got to say. That’s his partner I told you about. If you’re not busy right now—”

“I’m not.” Shayne reached for his brandy glass and emptied it. He shook his head at Phyllis when she started to get up. “I wish you’d stick around, angel, and try to get acquainted with Christine Forbes — and with Celia Moore. Get them to talk if you can. It shouldn’t be hard, with so much informality at this hour. You needn’t tell Christine you’re the wife of the guy who had a run-in with Joe Meade”