Brett Halliday - Stranger in Town

“Your sister, eh?” The white-haired man’s voice was sympathetic. “I did hire a new girl this morning. We’ve been short-handed for a week and I didn’t bother much about references. You know how it is getting help these days. She said her name was Marion Smith. Would that be her?”

“She probably wouldn’t give her right name. Mom’s terribly upset, and if I don’t get her to go home with me…”

Then he saw her. She pushed through swinging doors at the rear carrying a heavily loaded tray held out stiffly in front of her gripped tightly in both hands. She was wearing a white uniform like the other waitress and her head was bent forward, gaze fearfully fixed on the loaded tray as she came with short, mincing steps toward the party of four waiting for their dinner.

“That is Jean,” Shayne said swiftly to the man. “Imagine her coming here and getting a job. I hope you don’t mind if I…”

Jean Henderson lifted her gaze from the tray at that moment and looked directly at Michael Shayne. Her eyes widened and her mouth made a big O, and her hands let go of the tray.

It crashed to the floor with a clatter of broken crockery, and Jean stood stiff and frightened for a moment, then whirled about frantically as though to escape.

But Shayne was striding toward her, and he leaped over the broken food and dishes on the floor to catch hold of her wrist and jerk her back.

A little whimper of anguish broke from her lips as she tried to tug away, but Shayne inexorably drew her close and tucked her arm through his.

“I’ve come to take you home with me, Sis,” he said loudly, and pulled her toward the cash register while getting out his wallet with a free hand.

He grinned with embarrassment at the proprietor and proffered a ten-dollar bill. “I hope that’ll pay for the damage, Mister. And maybe another five for the uniform she’s wearing, huh?” He laid another bill on top of the first one. “Don’t want to let her loose even to change now I’ve found her. Aren’t you ashamed of going off like that and frightening Mom half to death?” he went on severely to Jean. “You come right on home and apologize.”

She stood beside him laxly, staring straight ahead with a blank look on her face and with her lips tightly compressed.

“Well, sir, I guess that’ll cover it all right,” said the proprietor uncertainly, scooping up the bills. “If she’s a minor, I reckon I don’t blame you any, wanting to take her home.”

Shayne said, “Sorry for all the trouble. Come along, Sis.”

She moved beside him through the door like an automaton, as though she had no will of her own, like a small child bewildered and frightened by the inexplicable rage of an adult and timidly afraid to question the cause of it.

Shayne held her arm firmly locked inside his and hurried her toward Main Street. The light changed on the corner as they reached it, and he crossed to the other side where his car was parked in the place he had left it when he had first sighted Flo.

He led her around to the left-hand side, not trusting her to sit quietly while he got in, opened the door and thrust her in under the wheel roughly, maintaining his grip on her wrist.

He said quietly, “Move over so I can get in and don’t try anything, Jean. I’m not in a mood for arguments right now.”

She stiffened and jerked her head around and her eyes were wondering and puzzled as he spoke the name aloud. She said, “Is… that my name? Are you… my brother?”

“Don’t you remember?” Shayne kept his voice casual. He got in beside her and inserted the key with his left hand, started the motor and put the automatic transmission in gear.

She went to pieces then, and sank back against the seat sobbing piteously. “I don’t remember… anything. You’re not my brother, are you? You can’t be. You’re the man that I… that I saw in the bar last night. What are you going to do with me?”

With the car moving in traffic toward the hotel, Shayne let go of her wrist and glanced at her appraisingly. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. And her bewilderment and distress seemed genuine. He said, “We’re going to have a long talk. About lots of things.” He was nearing the hotel and he saw an alleyway running back along the side of it with a sign that said: PARKING FOR HOTEL GUESTS.

On an impulse, he turned into the alley and drove back where there was a lot of empty space in the rear. And, as he had surmised, there was a rear entrance into the hotel for the use of guests who left their cars there.

He stopped and let Jean get out on the right side and come around to him. The expression on her face puzzled him as she came up to stand directly in front of him and put both her hands on his arms. Tears glinted in her blue eyes and there was a look on her young face that was almost exaltation. She looked directly up into his eyes and her voice was tremulous.

“I don’t know who you are, but… I have the strangest feeling that I’m not frightened any more. That everything is all right finally. Are you my brother? Tell me, are you?” Her fingers tightened on his arms and she shook him hysterically.

Shayne looked down into her face and believed her. And he felt sorry as hell for her, though he didn’t know why he should feel sorry for a girl who had done her best to get him killed.

He said, “I’m not your brother, Jean, but we’re going in the hotel the back way and up to my room. And if anybody sees us going up or sees you there, you’re to tell them you are my sister. Do you understand?”

She said very simply, “Yes. I’m so tired of not understanding. If you only knew how terrifying it is.”

He said gruffly, “We’ll talk inside,” and took her arm and led her toward the rear door.

There was a narrow hall leading directly to the lobby in front, but just before they reached it they came to a stairway leading up.

Shayne told her, “This will be better than the elevator,” and they climbed the stairs silently to the fourth floor. They reached his suite without encountering anyone, and he unlocked the door and stood back to let her enter. She walked ahead of him docilely and seated herself on the extreme edge of a chair with her hands folded in her lap, looking around the room with grave interest as though she had never seen a hotel sitting room before.

Shayne took a DO NOT DISTURB sign off the inside knob and hung it on the outside. He double-locked the door, flung his hat across the room and stood looking at her while he rumpled his red hair fiercely.

She sat and looked at him submissively.

He crossed to the open cognac bottle and turned to her with it in one hand and a glass in the other. “Would you like a drink before we begin?”

“I… don’t think so. You see, I don’t think I drink. It tasted awful when they gave me some whisky a couple of days ago.”

Shayne bit his underlip in perplexity and turned away from her to pour an inch in the bottom of the glass. The ice cubes were melted in the pitcher, but he diluted the liquor with an equal portion of cool water.

He sat down and regarded her soberly and said, “Let’s start with last night. You remember that all right, do you?”

“Oh, yes.” She seemed eager to answer. “I remember everything perfectly well after that one night. They said at the hospital I had a concussion and it caused amnesia.”

“Last night,” Shayne reminded her, “you walked into a barroom and came to my booth and spoke to me. Then all hell broke loose and I got slugged by three of your friends. Why?”

She shuddered. “Not my friends. That awful Gene and Bill. And the other one I’d never seen before we picked him up in the car last night. Mule, they called him.” Her face contorted and tears slid down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I thought they’d killed you when I ran out. I didn’t know what to do. I… I… what did they do?”