Brett Halliday - The Homicidal Virgin

“Did you ask at the Palms Terrace Hotel if he is registered there?”

“At a high-class place like that?” she asked incredulously. “He wouldn’t be. He didn’t have more than a hundred dollars in cash when he left home. Even if he took a bus as I did he would not have money to afford a hotel like that.”

Shayne said, “It never pays to take anything for granted. Maybe he’s got hold of some extra money.” He reached for the telephone and gave Pete the number of the Beach hotel which he had called previously. He asked the girl if they had a Mr. Gleason registered, and shook his head at Hilda when he hung up. “Not there.” He sat back and drummed his fingertips on the table; “I wish you’d think back very carefully and try to remember any hints Harry dropped that might indicate how he hoped to get a lot of money in Miami. By a holdup, perhaps? Blackmail?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Shayne. I’ve thought and thought, and there was never anything I could put my finger on. I just know it was something crooked and dangerous. Else why wouldn’t he tell me? You must help me find him.”

Shayne said, “I’ll try, Mrs. Gleason. There’s another stinger, but I’m afraid it’ll be pretty weak.”

“No, I thank you. I don’t really drink very much. Bartenders and their wives don’t, you know. And it is terribly late to be here like this.”

“Where can I reach you?”

She gave him a street address in the downtown Northeast section of the city. “It’s room number five, up one flight. It isn’t fancy, but I don’t want to waste my money. And that reminds me, Mr. Shayne. What about paying you a retainer to look for Harry?”

Shayne said, “Let that go until I find him.” He stood up as she did, and again was pleased with her long free stride as they went out of the door and down the corridor together.

He took both her hands in his and faced her as they waited for the car to come up. “Keep on hoping, and I’ll do my level best to find your husband for you.”

She squeezed his fingers and told him, “I feel better right this minute than I have for a long time.” She hadn’t put her glasses back on and she looked up into his eyes with a look of honest gratitude that told him he could kiss her good night if he wished.

He decided he didn’t. He smiled down at her and continued to hold her hands until the elevator door opened behind her. Then he said gently, “Good night, Hilda,” and stepped back while the door shut. He frowned wryly as he walked back to his sitting room. This had certainly been an evening to try a man’s credulity. First, Jane Smith with her harrowing tale of sexual depravity, and then Mrs. Gleason with her even more difficult-to-believe story of a missing husband.

Right at the moment Shayne didn’t know which woman he had the more faith in. Connected as they both were with utter improbabilities, it was almost impossible to believe that both of them had been speaking the whole truth and nothing but the truth all the way through.

When Shayne entered his office the next morning, the anteroom was empty and Lucy Hamilton was not at her desk beyond the railing. But the door to the redhead’s inner office stood open, and through it he heard the lilting sound of Lucy’s laughter.

He tossed his hat on a hook near the door and crossed toward the sound, halting on the threshold and lifting red eyebrows at the couple in his office.

Neither of them noticed him for a long moment. Lucy was perched on one corner of the big desk in the center of the room, with one knee drawn up, leaning forward and hugging it with both forearms. She looked awfully young and vibrantly interested, Shayne thought, as she laughed delightedly again and said, “I don’t believe a single word of it.”

“I swear it’s just the way it happened.” The man who was slouched back comfortably in one of the client’s chairs beside the desk had a pleasantly deep-timbered voice with more than a trace of a southern drawl in it. He was smooth-faced, with strong features, and had a well-padded figure that was artfully concealed by an extremely well-tailored suit of light gray. He looked very much at home in the detective’s office as he smiled up at Lucy, gesturing with a straight-stemmed pipe that gave off an aromatic fragrance.

“I’ll tell you another thing, too, Miss Lucy.” He leaned closer, and as he did so he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of Shayne standing in the doorway. He straightened back slowly in the chair, turning full toward the detective, and Lucy turned her own head, following his gaze.

Unaccountably, she blushed. She dropped her knee and slid off the corner of the desk and said in some confusion, “Here’s Mr. Shayne now. I didn’t hear you come in, Michael.”

He said, “In the future I’ll knock before entering.”

“Don’t be silly.” Lucy smoothed down her dress self-consciously. “This is Mr. Waring of Southern Mutual. Remember, I told you last night…?”

Shayne said, “I remember.” He moved forward and the insurance executive stood up and held out a well-fleshed hand that gripped Shayne’s firmly. “Glad to meet you, Shayne. Though I must say your charming secretary makes waiting a pleasure.”

Shayne said, “I’m glad to hear that,” though he didn’t sound glad at all and was faintly irritated because he realized he didn’t.

Lucy hesitated demurely as he moved around to the swivel chair behind his desk, and said, “When you talk to Mr. Waring, Michael, remember what I told you the other day. If you don’t get something for me to do around here…”

She let her voice trail off warningly, and then turned and marched out of the office with her head held high. Waring turned in his chair and his admiring gaze followed her supple, slender figure out.

“A real jewel you’ve got there, Shayne. If she ever does decide to look for another job, I’ve told her where to come.”

Shayne said, “That’s real big of you,” and knew that he sounded stiff and sarcastic.

But Waring settled back and threw him a cheery smile and said briskly, “All a lot of nonsense of course. The way she went on about you last night I’m sure she’s absolutely devoted to her work.”

Shayne got out a cigarette. He asked, “Did you come here to discuss my secretary or a business proposition?” He struck a match and drew in a deep breath of smoke, exhaled it slowly and avoided looking at the other man.

Waring picked up his mood instantly and said, “My company would like to have you represent us throughout the south, Mr. Shayne. In a consultant capacity on a retainer basis. Miss Hamilton gave me to understand last night that you have sufficient free time that it shouldn’t interfere with your private practice.”

Shayne drummed blunt fingertips on his desk and made no further effort to conceal his irritation. “Since you and Miss Hamilton are agreed that it’s a good idea, I suggest you settle the details directly with her.”

He settled back in his chair and glared down at the burning cigarette between the first two fingers of his right hand.

There followed a dozen seconds of awkward silence, and then Waring said genially, “That’s fine. Just fine. My company will be proud to have you associated with us, Mr. Shayne.”

Shayne kept his brooding gaze lowered and didn’t say anything. He knew he was acting like an adolescent, and somehow was obscurely pleased by the knowledge. He was aware that Waring was getting up, and he forced himself to rise also and offer his hand a second time.

Waring hesitated and then nodded briefly, turned and walked purposefully out without speaking further. Shayne stood very still behind his desk and watched the door close firmly behind him. Then he sat down and angrily mashed out the cigarette butt in a clean ash tray. His anger evaporated as swiftly as it had come, and he grinned ruefully across the room. Why shouldn’t Lucy use her wiles to drum up business for him? He had no doubt that she would extract a higher retainer from the insurance company than he would have asked. What he should do, he told himself, was to give Lucy a percentage of the take. Hell! if she was going to prostitute herself to entice clients into his office, she deserved a fair cut. Like any streetwalker bringing her earnings back to her pimp.