Brett Halliday - Tickets for Death

Phyllis put her hand on Shayne’s arm. “There’s a woman in that cottage,” she whispered. “I just saw her go past the window.”

“I suppose that means I’ll have to be chaperoned if I go in,” he said lightly. He opened the door and got out. Phyllis sat back against the seat pouting prettily.

“I mean it,” he urged. “I may need chaperoning if it’s who I think it is.”

Phyllis scrambled out and joined him on the shell walk leading up to the front door. “I’m so used to being left behind I didn’t suppose you’d want me along. I thought you were kidding me.” She gripped his arm with suppressed excitement as they stepped onto the porch. Shayne knocked when he couldn’t find an electric button to push.

Swift footsteps sounded inside. The door opened a crack and Shayne pushed it on open against Midge Taylor’s slight weight.

She exclaimed, “Oh! It’s you,” and stepped back, her wide blue eyes burning into his.

Shayne’s arm, to which Phyllis held tightly, pulled her forward. “I brought along my wife as a referee if you attack me again.” He laughed down into Phyllis’s surprised face. “This is Miss Taylor, Mrs. Shayne. Miss Taylor is responsible for these scratches on my cheek. She’ll tell you all about it.”

Midge stepped backward along the wall, groping with one hand like a drunkard searching for something to hold to. Her honey-colored hair was again coiled smoothly around her head in big braids. She was deathly pale. She had changed from the torn white silk dress to a clean wash frock with white ruffles on the sleeves and it made her look smaller and younger. The simple dress rid her of every hint of sophisticated poise and gave her an ingenuously domestic appearance.

Shayne tossed his hat on a chair and ruffled his red hair irritably. “Stop backing away as though you expect me to pounce on you.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Phyllis reprimanded. She went to the girl’s side and took her unresisting arm. “Sit down here.” She drew Midge down beside her on an old rattan couch which was damp and sticky with salt air, demanding of her husband in an undertone, “Can’t you see you frightened her to death barging in like that? She’s about to faint.”

“No,” Midge protested. “I’m-all right. Really I am.” She drew her arm away from Phyllis, stared up at Shayne with taut defiance. “I should think you’d be ashamed to come here after what you did tonight. You-oh, you brute.” Tears gushed from her eyes and streamed down her pale cheeks. She slumped back, her mouth working convulsively, her hands balled into fists. Slowly she relaxed, gaining control of her tears.

Shayne watched her narrowly, his fingers touching the scratches her nails had left on his cheek. He stood in the center of the small room, and after a time he said harshly, “I suppose you had reference to what happened to your brother?”

“Yes-I-Oh, God! how can you stand there and gloat like that? Bud wasn’t bad-not really. I could have-I was trying so hard to make something of him.”

Shayne’s brows came together in an angry scowl.

Phyllis shook her head at him in an effort to stop his pitiless attitude toward the girl, but he disregarded her.

“How were you trying to help him?” he ground out. “By getting into the same mess yourself? By hanging out at the Rendezvous and tarring yourself with the same stick?”

Midge didn’t reply. Her head lolled back and tears again rolled unheeded from wide-open eyes.

“Your brother,” Shayne went on mercilessly, “deserved what he got tonight. I killed him-while he was trying to kill me. If that makes me a brute, all right.” He dropped into a chair and lit a cigarette.

Phyllis was beginning to understand dimly. She took a handkerchief from her purse and bent over Midge, wiping her cheeks and murmuring, “Please don’t. You’ve got to get hold of yourself. Mike is right. Your brother’s death was of his own making. I know just the way it happened.”

Midge took the handkerchief from Phyllis and dabbed at her eyes. She swallowed back some more tears and choked out, “I–I know. Bud wouldn’t listen to me. He was so headstrong. I was all he had and I–I failed somehow. I didn’t know about tonight until-until after-” She nodded toward Shayne and sucked in her lower lip, swallowing hard again.

“Until after you put on your act at the Rendezvous,” he supplied. “Who arranged that? Was Gil Matrix in on it?”

“No-oh, no. Of course he wasn’t.” Midge pushed herself up straight. “You’ve got to believe me,” she implored. “Gil and I had an argument this evening-about Bud. He told me Bud wasn’t worth trying to save. But I knew that Bud-for all his wildness-clung to me-loved me. Everything else had failed, so I decided to go out to the Rendezvous and-shame him into quitting that rough crowd. I meant to pretend I would hang around there-and make him quit to get me to quit.

“I had every intention of doing something sordid to show Bud how it felt to see his own sister do the things he thought were smart.” She paused, her eyes going from Phyllis to Shayne, pleading with them to believe her.

Shayne’s gray eyes were noncommittal through a cloud of smoke. He said, “Well?”

“Well, Mr. MacFarlane called me into his office and told me that Bud had done something terrible. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, except that he was in danger and a detective from Miami was after him. He suggested how I could-trap you-to make you leave Bud alone. He said he thought Bud would be willing to quit and go straight if he got out of this scrape. I believed him-and that’s why I did it.”

When she finished speaking her chin was tilted at a proud angle. Her shoulders were straight, her whole manner one of defiance, but her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that the knuckles showed white against the suntanned skin.

Shayne nodded. “All right. I’m willing to believe what you say until I can prove something different. But I want to know this: Did Ben Edwards see you when Gil sent him out there just before you stopped me on the road?”

“Why, no. I saw Ben pass-going both ways. I knew Gil was worried about me and wanted me to leave the Rendezvous.”

Shayne said, “At last I’m beginning to find out one or two things.” He paused, then the question jumped at her:

“What did Gil tell you a few minutes ago-when he stopped here?”

She recovered swiftly from her surprise. “Nothing, except to talk to me about Bud and tell me about Ben Edwards.”

Shayne got up abruptly. He rubbed his chin, darted a guilty glance at Phyllis, and asked, “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Straight back,” Midge told him. “At the end of the hall.”

Shayne strode away. When he returned, Phyllis had both Midge’s hands in hers and was talking to her in a low, sympathetic voice.

Catching his wife’s eye, Shayne suggested, “Suppose you stay here with Miss Taylor for a while. I’m going to be dashing around.”

Phyllis nodded happily. “Of course-” she began, but Midge interrupted swiftly:

“No, you mustn’t do that. I couldn’t let you.”

“But I’d love to,” Phyllis declared. “I’m sure it would be better than being alone at a time like this.”

“No,” said Midge flatly. “I want to be alone. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help thinking that-that you’re his wife.”

Phyllis said, “Oh,” disappointedly. She glanced at Shayne for guidance, but he had turned his back and walked to the door. “Well,” said Phyllis uncertainly, “well, then, I–I guess I won’t stay.”

Midge didn’t say anything. She averted her face from Phyllis’s reproachful eyes.

Phyllis caught up with her husband as he started down the steps. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I thought she had forgiven you. She seemed so friendly while we were alone in the room together. She changed all of a sudden when you came back from the bathroom and suggested that I stay with her.”