Brett Halliday - Framed in Blood

“Even so, Michael,” said Lucy severely, “you’ve no right to keep the money in this envelope.”

“In the first place,” said Shayne patiently, I have no intention of keeping any of it. The contents of both those envelopes belong to Mrs. Jackson. If some anonymous friend wants to make her a cash contribution through the mail, I don’t see how she can refuse it. And the sender is not only a lousy political grafter,” Shayne went on angrily. “He also arranged one murder last night and did his damnedest to get me bumped off. Basically, Bert Jackson is dead because of him. It’s poetic justice that his widow should get a little cash out of the deal.”

Will Gentry was nodding slowly, fighting to keep a smile off his stolid face. “The two envelopes are her property,” he agreed. “I don’t see why she has to know who sent the money or why.”

Shayne had Lucy by the arm and was propelling her toward the door before Gentry had time to change his mind. Outside, he said casually, “Let’s take a look at our new car and see if you approve the color scheme. Then I’ll drive you home and you can do whatever you like, but I’m going to sleep for a week or so.”

“And I,” said Lucy with feeling, “am going to stay locked in my apartment until these scratches heal on my face.”

“You do look sort of-”

“Take a look at yourself,” she interrupted sharply. They stopped and looked at each other, and both began laughing.

“Let’s compromise,” said Shayne, “and look at our new automobile instead.”