Brett Halliday: Date with a Dead Man

She said, “I don’t make a practice of keeping track of the names of my servants. Gerald is right. You are insolent.” She thumped her cane commandingly. “Eject this young man, B.H.”

Shayne grinned bleakly at the lawyer as he stepped forward hesitantly. He said, “The police will be around asking the same questions,” and turned his back and stalked out through the curtains.

The Negro was waiting at the door and he drew it open as Shayne approached. There was a scurry of feet in the hallway behind him as Shayne stepped out onto the veranda and thankfully drew a deep breath of clean, sunladen air.

Hastings joined him as he started down the steps, clamping his panama tightly onto his head. “Mrs. Hawley is under a great strain,” he said nervously. “I… ah… think we had best discuss certain matters in the privacy of my office. Will you meet me there, Mr… ah… Shayne, isn’t it?”

Shayne said, “I’ll be glad to,” and the lawyer hurried down the steps ahead of him and got into the black sedan parked in front of Shayne’s car.

He started the motor and pulled away as Shayne circled around to the left side of his car and opened the door.

A shrill, penetrating, “Eeewee,” from the house made him pause and lift his gaze over the roof of his car. It was a sound he hadn’t heard since he’d played Indians as a child, and it was repeated as he stood there.

Then he saw Beatrice. She was leaning over the ornamental iron railing of a second-floor balcony, beckoning to him eagerly with one hand while she held her finger tightly against her pursed lips.

His ragged, red brows came down in a frown and he hesitated as she pointed to the outside stairway leading up to her balcony and beckoned urgently again.

He shrugged and closed the door of his car, crossed around to the iron stairs and climbed up to the balcony where Beatrice waited for him.

She caught hold of his hand excitedly as he reached the top, pulled him back with her through an open French door into a large bedroom that was childishly girlish in its appointments. It was all pink and white, with delicate rosebuds on the wallpaper, ruffled skirts on the vanity table matching the cretonne bedspread and window curtains.

Beatrice stopped in the center of the room and turned to look at him, cocking her head on one side and demurely inserting the tip of the little finger of her left hand into her mouth. She said, “You know what?”

Shayne asked gravely, “What?”

“You make me feel all gurgly inside.” She giggled naughtily and turned aside to a low bookcase where she pulled out two books and groped in the back to bring out a pint whisky bottle a little more than half full. She worried the cork out with her teeth and presented the bottle to Shayne in much the manner of a little girl offering a playmate her favorite doll.

“You’ll have to take it straight,” she told him matter-of-factly. “It’s too much trouble to sneak ice and mixers up here.”

Shayne put the bottle to his mouth and swallowed a couple of times without letting much liquor trickle down his throat. He passed it back to her and she drank deeply, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and said delightedly, “More damn fun.”

In the light from the open window behind her there was an abrasive hardness about her features that surprised Shayne. He realized, of course, that she was older than her brother Albert, and had been married for several years to the unpleasant-looking young man whom he had encountered downstairs, but in the half-light below he had gained the impression of retarded physical development. Now a hot light gleamed in her slate-gray eyes and she moved closer to him to confide, “If I didn’t keep a bottle stashed away where I could hit it once in a while I’d go nuts cooped up here.”

Shayne moved back from her to a slipper chair at the foot of the wide bed and sat down. He said casually, “You’re Albert Hawley’s sister, aren’t you?”

A faint frown creased her forehead. “I was. But Albert’s dead.” She sat on an ottoman a few feet in front of him with her feet placed too wide apart for grace and with the whisky bottle dangling from her hand. “Mother’s a tough old witch to live with. Gerald’s sort of precious, but he bores hell out of me sometimes.”

“Your husband?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you been living here with your mother?”

“Couple of years now. Waiting for Uncle Ezra to die so I could collect my share of the estate.” She giggled unexpectedly and for no good reason that Shayne could discern.

He asked gravely, “Can’t your husband support you?”

“I guess he could but why should he bother?” She took another drink from the bottle, held it out toward Shayne but he shook his red head. “Uncle Ezra had millions,” she went on indifferently. “He stole it all from Dad and now he doles out just enough to Mother to keep this damned old monstrosity of a house going.”

“How did your uncle steal your father’s money?” Shayne asked patiently.

“They were in business together. When Dad died there wasn’t anything left of his share. Mr. Hastings explained all about it to us. He explains things like that very well.” She tilted her head to one side and thrust the tip of her tongue out between her lips. “You want to kiss me?”

“Not right now,” Shayne told her. “So now your uncle’s dead and you get all those millions he stole from your father?”

“That’s just it.”

“What’s just it?”

“Why I wanted to talk to you. He left every damned cent of it to Albert.”

“But Albert is dead.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” She was getting impatient with him. “After all these years of waiting we get cut off without a cent. It isn’t fair,” she ended sadly like a little girl who has been denied a piece of candy.

“You mean his wife will inherit?”

“That’s right. Believe it or not he left a will giving her everything even after she divorced him just because he was being drafted into the army.”

Shayne sat up very straight. “I didn’t know Albert was divorced.”

“Didn’t you? They kept it mighty quiet because it didn’t look good. Like maybe they just got married in the first place to try and keep him out of the draft and then got divorced when it didn’t work. Which is probably just about the way it was, but then I don’t see why he turned right around and made out a will leaving her everything even with the stipulation that it didn’t matter whether she remarried or not. Sure you don’t want to kiss me… or a drink?”

Shayne said, “Let’s get our talking done first.”

“Then I’ll take one.” She tilted the bottle to her mouth again, and when she lowered it this time there was little of the half-pint left.

“But when he made that will, I assume he didn’t know Ezra was going to leave everything to him.”

Beatrice said, “Maybe not. I never thought about it before.”

“Did she remarry?”

“Of course she did,” said Beatrice scornfully. “Right after she got her divorce in Reno. With the hot pants she always wore, you can bet she needed a man after being married to Albert for a few months.” She emptied the bottle and dropped it on the floor beside her and stood up, swaying a little. “Why don’t we lie down on the bed? I know just how it was with Matie because Gerald and Albert are two of a kind if you know what I mean.” She moved close to him and held down both her hands to his.

Shayne looked toward the bedroom door and said, “Suppose your husband comes in and finds us?”

She giggled and said, “I can lock the door if you’re afraid of that.” She started toward the door and stopped when it opened and Gerald walked in. He stopped when he saw his wife and Shayne together in the bedroom, but evinced no surprise.