Brett Halliday - Dolls Are Deadly

“How about a moonlight drive, angel?”

“Why, Michael, I’d love it,” she said huskily. Suddenly, her voice changed. “Except that I know from past experience that your moonlit drives usually end up at some place like the morgue.”

“Nothing like that tonight, Lucy. This will be sheer romance. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

He hung up and walked back to Mrs. Santos, who had seated herself in an old-fashioned wooden rocker.

“Will you have Sylvester phone me when he comes in, no matter what time of night it is?”

“Sure, Mr. Shayne. Be glad to.” She wiped her perspiring forehead with the back of her hand.

“And don’t worry,” he said. “Sylvester will be all right. Just like he was before, when these new friends go home.”

“Bueno,” she said. “I hope so.”

Lucy was ready when Shayne rang her apartment bell. “Won’t you come in, Michael?”

“Sorry, I can’t, angel. Let’s get going.”

“Not even for a spot of Hennessy?”

“Not even for Hennessy. I’ll take a brandy-check, though.”

She closed the door and fell into step beside him. “What’s the rush? Is the moon waning?”

“Time is. It’s nearly midnight and I want to get out to Clarissa Milford’s before she goes to bed.”

“You’re taking me with you to see another woman? I thought you said on the phone this was sheer romance.”

“It is, for me. You’re the chaperone.”

“Oh, good! Just what I’ve always yearned to be.”

As Shayne wheeled out from the curb, a gray sedan started up down the block.

Noticing how the redhead stared bleakly into the rear-view mirror, Lucy asked acutely, “Why should anyone tail you, Michael?”

“I don’t know. Percy Thain found out at the seance that his sister-in-law, Clarissa, had hired me. He didn’t like it much, but I don’t think he could have rounded up a tail this fast. It was on me when I left Swoboda’s, but I ditched him. He must have staked out here on the chance that I’d see you.”

“Then it’s somebody who knows that I’m-your secretary, at least.”

“At the very least.” Shayne smiled a wry, warm smile.

“You don’t seem worried.”

“About your being-at least-my secretary, or about the tail?”

“About the tail, of course.”

“I’m not. I’m not going anywhere tonight that I give a damn if anybody knows.”

Lucy fell silent a moment, then said, in a small worried voice, “I don’t see why it would be Percy Thain.”

“I don’t either. What’s he got to gain by knowing where I go?”

“Nothing-unless he’s the one who sent Clarissa Milford the voodoo doll. If he’s really planning to kill her, he’d want to do it when you weren’t around.”

“Good figuring, but at this point I don’t think it’s Percy Thain. I can’t figure what connection he’d have with a cheap hood like Henlein, and it’s a good bet the same person sent dolls to both Clarissa and Henlein.”

“Why?”

“Too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

It was a moonless night and out in the country the dew was thick. The windshield clouded and Shayne started the wipers, listening to the rhythm of their faint, regular squeak as they swept across the glass.

After a while he slowed, turning his spot on the mailboxes. At the one reading Milford, he entered a long driveway.

A half a block in, the Milfords’ house faced the Thains’ across about an acre of untended ground. They were identical one-story, red-brick, L-shaped houses, with a small front stoop and detached garages, and they looked out of place so far from any other sign of community living. They sat in a deserted field, squat and ugly, combining city and country living in an almost comic way. While it wasn’t difficult to picture Percy and Mabel Thain living out their lives within these lonesome, unimaginative walls, Clarissa Milford seemed out of place here. Perhaps she lived here because it was cheap. If her husband was a compulsive gambler, she’d need to keep a tight hand on the budget.

Across the way the Thains’ house was dark, but a light shone behind drawn shades in the Milford living room.

As Shayne reached for the door handle, Lucy said, “I’ll wait here for you, Michael.”

“Just to prove you trust me with another woman?”

“No, but she’s so upset. I think she’d rather talk to you alone.”

“Angel.” He slid across the seat and kissed her quickly. “You are a good angel. I won’t be long.”

As he walked across the thin sward of grass to the front door and rang the bell, from the corner of his eye he caught a movement in a spotting of shrubbery. Bill Martin was on the job. It had probably been his light-colored convertible parked on the road.

Clarissa came to the door, wearing the same blue suit she had worn to the office this afternoon and at the seance. Her eyes were tight and she looked tired. When she recognized Shayne, fine lines appeared on her forehead.

“May I come in for a minute?”

“Of course.” She stepped aside, a little reluctantly, adding, “My sister and brother-in-law are here.”

“Maybe we could talk outside for a minute then.”

She closed the door behind her, walked down the steps and out onto the sparse grass. About ten feet from the house she stopped, turned suddenly and said, “Dan hasn’t come home yet. He called to say he was tied up-on business he said, but I know what kind. Have you found anything out yet?”

He smiled. “You’ve got to give me a little time. What do you mean-you know what kind of business your husband is tied up with tonight?”

She took the cigarette he offered and let him light it and then she said, “This afternoon I told you that Dan liked to gamble, but I-didn’t tell you the whole thing. I guess I hoped I wouldn’t have to. It doesn’t have any bearing on what I came to see you about.”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because I think maybe you can help me. Dan’s in deep, Mr. Shayne. He’s half-crazy with worry and I am too-about him. Especially since he didn’t come home tonight.”

“Who does he owe the money to? Someone who won’t wait?”

She nodded, looking down to avoid the redhead’s eyes. “I wasn’t quite honest with you this afternoon when I said the name De Luca didn’t mean anything to me. He’s the loan-shark Dan owes money to.”

Shayne’s interest quickened. He tapped the cigarette, sending sparks into the dark. Was this the connection between the pretty housewife and the dead hoodlum he had been looking for? Henlein had worked for De Luca, Dan Milford owed money to De Luca, and De Luca had been known to maim and kill men who failed to meet his usurious payments. Had one of De Luca’s musclemen tried to get Dan Milford to pay up by leaving one of the voodoo dolls with his wife? It seemed an unlikely way for gangsters to operate-still, they had done more than frighten Henny Henlein, they had killed him.

There was another possibility. If Henny Henlein had been crowding Dan Milford for his loan-shark boss, De Luca, Dan might have killed Henlein.

“Does your husband know you got the doll?” Shayne asked abruptly.

“No. I didn’t tell him.”

“You told the Thains. Why didn’t you tell him too? Unless you think he left it?”

She stared at him, her horror showing even in the dark night. “If you knew him you’d never say that. Dan’s not a murderer!”

“And you’re not murdered-yet. But Henny Henlein is. Henlein was one of De Luca’s muscle-men and collectors. Now that you’ve admitted you know De Luca, what do you know about Henlein?”

“Nothing. I was telling the truth about that. I never heard the name.”

“You still haven’t told me why you didn’t tell your husband somebody left you the voodoo doll.”