“Sort of curly. He listened, and then he kind of sneaked inside. I don’t know how long he stayed. I wanted to keep awake but I couldn’t seem to. And I was below for a while when Mother and Dad came home.”
“Everything stayed quiet over there? No fireworks?”
“Like a tomb.”
While he thought about it she slipped away and went for his clothes. He heard a creak as she raised the top of a locker, and then it slipped out of her hands and slammed hard. They froze. When nothing happened she opened the locker again and brought him his clothes.
“Sorry about that, Mike. I don’t think I woke up anybody.”
The towel dropped to the deck. She handed him his pants, and at that moment the cabin door burst open and a powerful three-cell flashlight came on and caught Shayne in its beam. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
“I thought I heard something, goddamn it!” a voice bawled.
“Dad, turn out that light,” Sally said. “Turn it out this minute. You’re embarrassing him.”
Sally’s father swung the flashlight at her. She proved to be wearing a thin nightgown that came down to mid-thigh. “At least one of you’s not naked!” he shouted.
She glanced at Shayne and giggled. “Dad, you’re being very square, as usual.”
He was wearing pajama bottoms. His graying hair stood up like the comb of a rooster. He was short, with a chest like a keg.
“And who the hell are you?” He turned the light back on Shayne, who was trying to get his pants on. This was hard to do because one of the legs was inside out. “Goddamn it, what’s been going on out here, what have you been doing with my daughter?”
He walked up to Shayne, who was still struggling with his pants, and batted him hard on the side of the head with the flashlight. His daughter, laughing and sobbing, caught his arm. An older woman loomed up behind her, her hair in rollers. Shayne tried to hold off the furious little man for long enough to get the second pant leg turned right side out, and he caught two more hard blows. As the flashlight whirled, its beam illuminated Shayne and the mother screamed.
“Oh, mother, please shut up!” Sally cried. “Help me get Dad calmed down and we’ll explain—”
Lights on other boats were coming on, and Shayne heard someone shout for the watchman. Finally there was nothing to do but let go of his pants and quiet Sally’s father with a crisp right to the point of the jaw. Sally gasped.
“Did you have to do that, Mike?” she demanded.
“I didn’t hear any better suggestions from you.”
The flashlight bounced across the deck and went out. Someone on the Nefertiti turned on a powerful battery lantern. Shayne at last succeeded in getting into his pants and closed the zipper. Sally’s father was allowing himself to be held by his wife.
“Brady?” he called. “I’m going to need some help over here. Call the police. This man was committing a sexual—”
“He wasn’t doing anything of the kind!” Sally cried. “He refused to. I mean—”
“Mike Shayne,” Brady’s voice drawled, amused.
“You know him?” Sally’s father said.
“Of course. He’s working for Mrs. De Rham. If you can talk your way out of this, Mike, come aboard and I’ll give you a drink.”
Shayne grunted and went on buttoning his shirt.
“You won’t talk your way out of this in a hurry,” Sally’s father said. “When I turned on the flashlight, Mother, he was standing there absolutely nude.”
“I saw him.”
“It was dark before you turned on the light, wasn’t it?” Sally said, trying to sound reasonable. “He was getting dressed.”
“And what was he doing before? I don’t care who you are, friend, we’ll see what kind of explanation you can give a judge. Trespassing, attempted rape of an eighteen-year-old girl—Will somebody please go to a phone and call the police?”
“You do, Dad, and I’ll never speak to you again,” Sally warned. She raised her voice. “Go back to sleep, everybody. It’s a silly misunderstanding. Mother, you persuade Dad to use some common sense.”
“It certainly won’t do any harm to see what they have to say,” her mother said. “He looks like a nice man and perhaps Sally—”
“A nice man!” the father exclaimed. “He looks like a thug, if you ask me.”
“Dad, honestly, he’s on a case—”
Shayne finished dressing and let the two women argue and threaten until finally the father said grudgingly that he was willing to listen to Shayne’s explanation.
“But it better be good!”
CHAPTER 13
Paul Brady, in white Bermuda shorts, was waiting in the salon of the Nefertiti. He was drinking scotch, neat, in a highball glass.
“I’m told you like to drink cognac, so I bought a bottle of Hennessey’s. Is that all right?”
“It’s perfect,” Shayne said gratefully.
“Do you mind telling me what that commotion was all about?”
“Please. I’ve been talking steadily for fifteen minutes, and I still don’t think he believes me. I don’t want to have to go through it again.”
Brady poured cognac into a snifter and handed it to Shayne. “Sally’s a pretty girl,” he said with a straight face. “Of course she’s still a bit young.”
“Damn it, Brady, we’ve got other things to talk about.”
“True,” Brady said judiciously. “I take it you found Henry.”
“Right where you said I’d find him.”
“And Dotty was so sure he’d go back to New York! I wish I’d put some money on it. Not that she ever pays off when she loses.”
“I’d like to talk to her.”
Brady shook his head. “Not tonight, Shayne. She was better this afternoon. She got dressed and we entertained a lawyer—more hocus pocus with the famous last will and testament. Henry’s back in, you’ll be glad to know. That was her big effort of the day. She actually ate a tuna fish sandwich while she was downing three or four of her mammoth martinis, and it made her sick as a dog. I think it’s a good sign. Maybe she’ll feel so bad in the morning that she’ll decide to lay off the gin. God knows it’s time.”
Shayne held the big glass in both hands. “Did you know your wife is in town?”
Brady rose straight up, and in his agitation turned completely around before sitting down again. That answered Shayne’s question; he didn’t know his wife was in town. “Kathy?” he whispered. “Why? How did you—”
“She came down to see what’s been holding you up. She hired a detective to find out if you and Mrs. De Rham are sleeping together.”
“The horrible, horrible—” He ran his hand through his hair, looking suddenly worn and haggard. “This is inexcusable. A detective. I never thought she would be capable of anything so coarse. Do you know where she’s staying?”
“No. She rented a boat, but she doesn’t seem to be sleeping on it.”
“What a mistake that marriage was, Mike.” He looked at the floor, chewing a fingernail. “She can ruin everything.”
“Ruin what?”
“What do you think? Dotty has illusions that she can persuade Henry to come back with this will, but it’s not in the cards. She’s the type of woman who has to be married, just to have somebody to bicker with at breakfast. Here I am, an old friend, not exactly unattached but not far from it.” He looked up. “So I’m a heel. Do you think that’s such a goddamned easy thing to be? I was really thinking I had this sewed up. Henry was with a woman, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“That’s something else I would have bet money on. Dotty’ll forgive him but the question is, will he forgive her? He’d be out of his mind if he did.”
From the other side of the closed stateroom door, Shayne heard dry retching, then the rush of water.
“Throwing up again,” Brady said, without sympathy. “If my dear sweet wife has a heart to heart talk with Dotty about me, I mean if she really lets down her hair, she can
blow it, I’m sorry to say. I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me. As the cliché has it, it’s not your problem.”
“Is Henry blackmailing Mrs. De Rham?”
Brady looked at him narrowly. “Did he give you that impression?”
“Just answer the question, Paul,” Shayne said wearily. “It’s late.”
Brady snapped, “Not to my knowledge. Why the change in tone? I haven’t done anything except try to help.”
“What was Henry doing here tonight?”
Brady no longer had the reserves to look surprised. He said thinly, “You saw him, did you? I thought you might. He wanted to talk to Dotty, and he didn’t want his friend Brady to know he was talking to her. But I wasn’t asleep yet. Mike, we’re getting to a point where I can’t say anything more on my own responsibility. I’ve got to consult Dotty, as much as I dislike consulting a woman who’s being sick to her stomach. I don’t know if blackmail is the word. I suppose it comes close.” He stood up. “This may take a few minutes.”
He went to the door, but turned back before knocking. “How about letting it go till morning? She’s been puking her guts out. I doubt if she’ll know what I’m saying. Let her get some sleep.”
Shayne shook his head. “If I’m going to see Henry again, tonight’s the best time, before he can get set. I can stay here as long as necessary, all night if I have to. She’s bound to sober up sooner or later.”
“Not if she goes on drinking.”
“Take her bottles away, Paul. If you’re going to marry her, it’s to your financial advantage to get this settled.”
After a moment, Brady knocked on the door and let himself in. Instantly Shayne was out of his chair. He tried the knob carefully. The door was now locked. After a time he heard the toilet flush again, then a mutter of voices. Slipping off his shoes, he went on deck and checked the stateroom windows. Still he could hear nothing.
He went back into the salon and poured himself more cognac. Considerable time passed before Brady unlocked the door and came out, sweating.
“That was like pulling tacks with my fingernails,” he said, plumping down and draining his glass. “I have her authorization to tell you. Of course she won’t remember a thing in the morning, and who do you think’s going to take the rap? Let’s face facts, if Katharine’s determined to break this up she can do it. I may not look gainfully employed, but I work for a living, Mike, believe me. Who’s going to get your bill—Loring?”
“There may not be any bill. I haven’t done anything so far.”
Brady moaned. “What do you call nothing? You action people amaze me! I’ve got some activity for you, Mike, and if it works I could make myself very popular. If it backfires I may have to look for a nine-to-five job, which I’m loath to do. I know I’ll be bad at it.”
“Paul, stop dancing and tell me. What’s he got on her?”
“I can’t do things that way. I’ve got to back into it. I told you about the new will—it’s actually the old will, going back to the status quo. He gets everything after she takes care of the faithful old retainers, who aren’t too numerous, as a matter of fact. Dotty was so sure that once he saw it in black and white he’d realize where his best interests lay.”
He laughed harshly. “The next time I get married I’m going to insist on an irrevocable trust. Well, after the lawyer left I got called out to the marina office, they had a phone call for me. It was Henry: ‘Brady? What’s this crud about private detectives? Around here fuzz is fuzz, and when you have fuzz coming on with photographs people want to know why, man.’ He used to talk pretty good English, but the hippies have corrupted him. I told him Dotty wanted to see him, she’s made a new will. He said, ‘Beautiful! Tell her I left town.’ We went back and forth like that. I really tried to persuade him to come because I knew the best way to make it a real rupture was to get them together and let them yell at each other. I’m being honest. He finally agreed.”
“Cash must have been mentioned.”
“I’m sure it was. He wouldn’t sneak back just to see the will with his own eyes. That’s been trotted out so often it’s lost its magic. They had a private conversation. I tried to listen, but that’s a tight-fitting door. All I know is what she just told me. He said he was having fun and he wouldn’t think of coming back for less than fifty now, in real bills, and twenty a year from now on, which is the sort of deal I’d like to get from Katharine and I haven’t a prayer of getting. You know, your own checkbook. The difference between me and Henry is, he’s got a tape.”
“Proving what? That Mrs. De Rham burned down her factory for the insurance?”
Brady raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know about proves. I suppose you heard about the fire from Loring?”
Shayne snapped his fingers. “Come on, Paul.”
“I told you I can’t tell a story that way. You’ve already spoiled a couple of good effects. Do you know about our Fifth Reunion?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Take it easy, Mike. Hell, it’s only one in the morning. There was a dance that night, in the indoor tennis courts. Henry was on the committee and he had plenty to do. There are always enough unmarried classmates at the Fifth to take care of loose wives. What Dotty did—she denies it, but from the way she’s been acting since she heard there was a tape I tend not to believe her—was get in her car and hit the Mass Turnpike, which lets you move across the state at eighty miles an hour. If she was missing a couple of hours Henry would think she’d ducked out to a parked car with a stag.”
“Who’s talking now?”
“I’m talking. I’m paraphrasing. This plant was a terrible dinosaur, high cost, lousy transportation, a tough union. Everybody always kept saying they could start making money again if they could only move to South Carolina, to take advantage of all that lovely nonunion labor, that lovely modern facility the state was willing to give them for a dollar forty-nine, forgiving state and local taxes for the first ten years. But they couldn’t afford the move. The fire made it possible. The minute Henry heard about it he rushed to the scene. The night watchman was in the local hospital with bad burns. Henry got in with a tape recorder. He must have claimed to be a cop of some kind—he’s a great actor. The guy was coming out of a coma. After he finished talking to Henry he went back in the coma and died.”
“You don’t know what he said?”
“Whatever it was, it was hot enough so Henry thinks he can use it to collect some long-range dough. What are you looking so doubtful about?”
“There are laws against defrauding insurance companies, not to mention laws against arson and manslaughter. She could lose quite a bit of money and go to jail.”
“Hell, I realize that. That’s the point. She wants you to find out if he actually has a tape and to get it for her if he does. The price tag on this is ten thousand bucks.”
“If I find any evidence that a crime has been committed,” Shayne said, “it has to go to the appropriate district attorney. He’ll decide what to do with it.”
“You’re kidding. I’m talking about something worth an easy ten thousand.”
Shayne drank his cognac without replying. Brady studied him, then stood up.
“I wasn’t expecting this. I thought you guys were supposed to be pragmatic. Give me another few minutes.”
He went back into the stateroom. Shayne had finished his cognac by the time he came back. He fidgeted around the room and started to speak several times before saying finally, “She said to go ahead, she’ll take a chance on it, to get him off her back. She’s hanging over the john with her head in her hands. Does she know what’s at stake? Probably not.”
He dropped into his chair. “She mumbled something like, ‘Can’t arrest me, it was Tom.’ Who the hell would that be?”
“Tom Moseley?”
Brady looked up. “Moseley,” he said slowly, then shrugged. “I’m beginning to unravel. I’m not the type to make decisions.”
He picked up a coin, a quarter, and flipped it, catching it
neatly and clapping it on the back of his other hand. “Heads. Henry told her if she didn’t believe he had it he’d play it for her. That means it’s here in Miami.”
“It’s not in his room,” Shayne said. “I looked for a claims check or a key to a coin locker. I didn’t find anything.”
“Here’s an idea. When he left tonight I thought I’d better find out what he was using for transportation—he wouldn’t depend on cabs. I whipped out to the other end of the dock. And he was driving a red Volkswagen, Mike. If there wasn’t anything in his room—”
He flipped the quarter again. This time it came up tails. “Somebody’s going to get the dirty end of this stick, and I have a feeling his name’s going to be Brady.”
Shayne stood up. “You’ve put in a lot of work on this. How much have you cleared so far?”
Brady drew a deep breath. “She bought some stock from me. I get a commission on that. On everything else I’ve been working on spec. And all of a sudden it occurs to me—” He swirled the whiskey around in his glass. “Do I really want to be husband number two? When you think about it, I mean, it’s a funny ambition, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 14
Shayne started in Jennings Park and radiated outward. The neighborhood still throbbed and jumped. An open-fronted café on one of the side streets blazed with light and loud music, and the sidewalks in that block were jammed with drifting teen-agers. De Rham wouldn’t leave his car this close to the park. Most of his new set was opposed to the ownership of cars, including economy-sized imports.
Shayne found it on Flagler Terrace, in a quiet district where people went to bed early—a red VW with dealer’s plates. He double-parked and walked back.
The little car was locked. Using his picking apparatus, he had the front door open in less than a minute. He stooped to stuff himself in. But then he hesitated.
He looked around carefully. He was under a streetlight. There was an indistinct roar, punctuated by the solid thump of amplified drums and guitars, from the crowded blocks nearer the park, but here it was quiet and nothing moved. Finding the Volkswagen had been as easy as finding De Rham himself earlier. Both times Paul Brady had given him the lead. Things sometimes turned out to be simpler than Shayne had expected, but it rarely happened twice in a row. The little car suddenly seemed like a trap. Once inside it, he thought he might have trouble getting out.
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