Brett Halliday - Mermaid on the Rocks

Kitty said something in Shayne’s ear. Shayne told Rourke: “Hold on.”

“How would they get it in the tank?” Kitty said.

“I heard that,” Rourke said. “No problem. All you’d need is a little two-way coupling. Any plumber would have it. Mike, are you on?”

“Yeah.”

“Point number two. During a brief interval while I wasn’t chasing Natalie around the sofa, she called a gal she knows who works at Florida-American, the land company. And the news is that yes, they made an offer for Key Gaspar, and confidentially, off the record and for God’s sake don’t put it in the paper, the price is a cool one million clams.”

“A million?”

“Three times what Natalie thought was the outside figure. Cash, not stock or promises. What gives? The head of the company is a guy named Hilary Quarrels. You never heard of him. Don’t feel bad-I never heard of him either. Apparently he’s a big name in that part of the forest. He’s handling it himself, playing it close to the chest. This friend of Nat’s doesn’t think either the price or the location makes sense, but Quarrels does all the deciding in that outfit. As far as she knows, Tuttle’s daughter Barbara has been doing the negotiating. And for the time being, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Tim. It’s been a long day. You must be worn out.”

“Oh, I am. And Natalie’s showing no consideration at all. I probably won’t feel up to calling you again.”

“Anesthetic,” Kitty said thoughtfully after Shayne put the phone back. “Speaking of coincidences-Barbara’s a nurse’s aid in a hospital a couple of days a week. These are nice people!”

“It may help keep the peace,” Shayne told her. “Most hospitals have a pretty good system for keeping track of that kind of stuff. I’ll find out if any bottles of nitrous oxide have been reported missing. It gives us one more handle. Whose play is it?”

She picked up the leather dice cup and shook it, putting it down a moment later. “Mike, I know it’s all very scary, but I keep thinking of more urgent things.” She poured more whiskey into her glass without looking at Shayne. “Such as what are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?”

Shayne laughed. “It’s early. You can’t be sleepy yet. Let’s change games. How would you feel about a little craps?”

“I haven’t shot craps in years.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be glad to explain the rules.”

She used her backgammon winnings as betting money, and half an hour later she had won another forty dollars, all the cash Shayne was carrying. He looked ruefully into his empty wallet.

“I’ll have to give you an IOU.”

“I never gamble on credit,” she told him smugly, racking the bills. “No, Mike. The time has come. This has been one of the pleasantest evenings I’ve ever had, which is really amazing considering the circumstances. That doesn’t alter the fact that you’re here for business reasons and not for pleasure. Right?”

“Right,” Shayne said, a corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“Will you stop grinning at me so I can remember what I was about to say? You’re here on pleasure. Not business.” She stopped. “No, that can’t be right. It’s the other way around. I’ve had too much to drink, I regret to say. I’ve never been the bait in a trap before. It’s a brand-new experience and naturally I’m nervous. But nobody’s going to set a foot in the trap so long as the lights are on so let’s get underway.”

She sat back on her heels and looked at the sofa, then at Shayne, then back at the sofa. “You won’t fit there,” she said, “unless I saw you off at the knees. The bed in the guest room, so called, isn’t much better. So the solution is obvious. You sleep in my bed, I’ll sleep in the guest room. Where we’ll both keep reminding ourselves, I hope, that we met for the first time twelve hours ago, and actually we don’t know one single solitary thing about each other.”

“Except that you’re pretty good with a pair of dice,” Shayne said.

“That was because I didn’t put my mind on it,” she said. “Whenever I really try, I lose.”

She came to her feet, almost losing her balance. “Mike. You gave the rug a jerk. Was that fair?”

Shayne, laughing, took her by the shoulders to steady her, and turned her to face the bedroom. “You’re first.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” she told herself. “Maybe you kick dogs. Maybe you’re a secret member of the Ku Klux Klan. As for me, I’m almost divorced but not quite, and just because you were nice enough to offer to be my bodyguard doesn’t mean-”

She veered too much to the left, but disappeared through the bedroom door without mishap.

Shayne, his smile fading, consulted his watch. It was after midnight. He went to the kitchen. A full range of brass-bottom saucepans hung from a pegboard over the sink. He unhooked a half dozen of these and lined them up on the floor under the fire-escape window, which he opened all the way. Going to the front door, he took off the chain and checked to be sure only the spring lock was engaged.

He poured himself another drink. Kitty came out of the bathroom wearing a short cotton nightgown, which gave her reasonable coverage without concealing the fact that what was being covered was the supple body of an exceedingly attractive girl. With her long blonde hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon, wearing no lipstick, she looked several years younger.

“Pouring yourself a nightcap, I see,” she said. “Don’t offer me one or I might decide to rearrange the sleeping arrangements. This is a job for you. Poorly paid, but a job. I’m bearing that in mind.” She came up to him. “Which doesn’t mean it would be out of place to kiss you goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kitty.”

Without putting down his drink, he cupped her chin in one hand and kissed her cheek lightly.

“Like brother and sister,” she said philosophically. “That’s what I call being sensible. When I get back from New York, maybe I’ll give you a chance to win your fifty-five dollars back?”

“I’ll insist on it,” Shayne said, letting her go. “Now get some sleep.”

She smiled up at him. “The funny thing is, with you here I think I can sleep.”

She went into the tiny second bedroom. After an instant’s hesitation, she left the door open. He heard her pull down the covers and get in.

“Goodnight,” she called, adding, “Thanks.”

Shayne turned off the lights and took his drink to the bedroom. He saw that she had turned down the double bed for him and had left a new toothbrush on the pillow, still in its transparent plastic box. He took off his jacket and shirt and hung them in the bathroom. He shifted the. 38 to the waistband of his pants. His shoes he nudged out of sight beneath the bed. After stacking both pillows against the headboard and making himself comfortable against them, he turned off the light.

He knew he had at least an hour’s wait, possibly much longer. But waiting was not unusual in Michael Shayne’s business, and generally he had to do it in less pleasant surroundings, on a street or in a hallway or the front seat of a car.

His drink and cigarettes were on the bedside table. The partition between the bedrooms was nothing but two layers of plasterboard nailed to the studs. He heard Kitty roll over. He heard her stretch. Once she sat up to check the time, and he heard that. He started another cigarette and so did she. At last, with a muffled sigh, she threw off the sheet and swung her legs out of bed.

And suddenly all Shayne’s senses sharpened. He pulled the. 38 out of his waistband. He waited, and the sound he had heard came again-a faint rustling in the kitchen.