Dividend on Death

by Brett Halliday

  He leaned over the wheel and held his bursting head in both hands. Curses came from his lips in a whispered stream.

  After a time he sat up, muttering, “If this isn’t a hell of a note. And me with a date with a hot-mouthed blonde for tonight.”

  He looked at himself in the mirror again, shook his head dismally, then started the motor and drove across the causeway to Miami.

  CHAPTER 9

  PARKING HIS CAR IN THE HOTEL GARAGE, Shayne went around to the side entrance and up to his apartment. With one glass of brandy inside him, he poured out another glassful and carried it into the bathroom. The lavatory mirror was no kinder than the one in the automobile. He emptied the brandy glass and then went to the kitchen and drank a couple of glasses of ice water. His head throbbed each time he moved, but he was beginning to get used to it.

  Coming back to the bathroom he turned on the hot-water faucet in the tub, went into the living-room shrugging off his coat. He heard something fall to the carpet and looked down at a gold-filigreed fountain pen. He blinked, trying to remember where he had seen it before, finally recalled stealing it from the sickroom for some vague purpose which didn’t seem important any more. He picked it up and dropped it in the table drawer, hurried into the bedroom to undress, and got back to the tub of steaming water before it overflowed.

  After soaking himself as red as a boiled lobster in the tub and punishing his flesh with a cold needle shower he decided that life might be worth while after all. Dressed only in undershirt and shorts he padded out to the kitchen and put coffee water on to boil. Then he dressed in clean flannels and a white sport shirt without a tie.

  He made a pot of strong coffee, but his stomach muscles rebelled at the thought of food. Carrying the Dripolator into the living-room he drank three cups of the pungent stuff liberally laced with cognac. By the end of that, all was decidedly well with the world. He even essayed his customary tuneless whistle while he carried things back to the kitchen and set about preparing to receive company.

  His preparations consisted of squeezing oranges and lemons and mixing a quantity of the juice with eggs, gin, grenadine, and crushed ice in a tall silver cocktail shaker which he gave a vigorous shaking up as he carried it into the living-room. He then set out cocktail glasses and sat down to wait for Charlotte.

  The shaker had a heavy coating of frost when her knock sounded on the door. Shayne got up and let her in. She was wearing a beret and a dashing sports costume which showed off her figure extremely well. She lifted her face to Shayne as soon as he closed the door, and he kissed her clinging pouted lips. She pressed herself against the length of him and closed her eyes.

  Drawing away at last, she breathed deeply, with full-lunged ecstasy. Her eyes widened in dismay as she saw the ugly bruise on his forehead. “What did you run into, sweet?”

  “Your chauffeur’s foot.” He took her arm and led her to the table.

  “Oscar?”

  “I don’t know his name. We didn’t get that far with the amenities.” He poured out two pinkish cocktails. “Some sort of squarehead. He looks as if he might be named Oscar.”

  “When did it happen—and why?”

  “This afternoon. I gathered that he doesn’t care for inquisitive detectives.” Shayne grinned and lifted his glass. “Drink up.”

  She lifted hers and clinked it against his glass. “Here’s to sex, sin, and such,” she proposed.

  They both drank. Shayne poured out two more and pulled up a deep chair for Charlotte. He gave her a cigarette when she sat down, lit it and one for himself. “Did you tell Doctor Pedique where you were coming?”

  “I certainly didn’t.” Her eyes sparkled rebelliously. “I slipped out. I don’t know what they think I am, keeping me cooped up like I was in a convent.”

  “Maybe they think you’ve taken the vow,” Shayne suggested.

  Charlotte wrinkled up her nose at him. “They call it twenty-four-hour duty. That was the arrangement when I took the case. They have another nurse now, but I’m still supposed to stick around every minute.”

  Shayne lifted his glass and sipped at it. “Which must be plenty tough on a gal with the curves you’ve got scattered here and there.”

  “I’ll say. I left a swell boy friend behind in the big city when I went out on this case.” She leaned back and stretched out long legs, her skirt sliding above her knees.

  Shayne moved his chair a little closer and laid his hand over hers.

  “You’re not supposed to leave the house, eh?”

  “I’ve got strict orders to be on hand twenty-four hours every day,” she said resentfully. She sipped her cocktail and watched him from beneath lowered lashes.

  “Of course,” said Shayne, “there’s Doctor Pedique and Clarence. You shouldn’t get too lonesome with them around.”

  She said, “Oh, them,” making a wry face.

  Shayne grinned. “I had a hunch they were maybe like that.”

  “And how.” She set down her empty glass. “The whole gang over there is screwy, if you ask me.”

  “How long have you been on the case?”

  “Pedique and I went on it together just before they shipped him down here. But I didn’t come here to talk about cases. I thought you were a live number. You didn’t miss giving me the eye that first night when you came.”

  “Give me time to get steamed up.” Shayne grinned. He emptied his glass, poured out two more cocktails. She tilted her head on one side and watched him.

  “You sure mix pretty cocktails. Good, too. And they’ve got authority. I can feel just those two. They get me all hot inside. You know.” Her gaze was slumbrously passionate.

  Shayne said, “Yeh. I know. Just relax. You’re among friends.”

  She took a sip and leaned closer to him so her head touched his shoulder. “I won’t be responsible after I drink about two more. You’ll have to take care of me.”

  “I can do that.” Shayne slipped his arm about her shoulders.

  She giggled. “Yeh. I bet. Don’t take too good care of me. Anything goes, see? Anything. Just so you promise to send me home in a taxi at eleven-thirty.”

  Shayne rubbed the lobe of her ear between thumb and forefinger and promised to see she got back on time. Then he switched the conversation back to the subject that interested him.

  “So Pedique was called in on the case just before the patient left for New York?”

  “Yeh. We both got a hurry call just about in time to catch the train.”

  “I wonder why they changed doctors so suddenly?”

  “I dunno. Rich people are funny. I think I did hear someone say that Monty had a fuss with the other doctor, though. Didn’t think he was doing the old boy any good.”

  “Monty?”

  “Yeh. Montrose. He practically runs things with the old man sick.”

  “Is Pedique doing the patient any good?” Shayne asked suddenly.

  “Not so you could notice it. Take it from me, he’s more interested in the kids than the old man.”

  “Do you mean Clarence and Phyllis?”

  “Yeh. That’s Doctor Pedique’s real racket, you know.”

  “No. I didn’t know.”

  “Sure. Screwy stuff. I’ve worked with him before. I don’t know how they came to call him in for the old man. But I didn’t come here to talk shop.”

  Shayne grinned at her briefly and pressed his palm against her body beneath her arm.

  “Don’t think I’m going to forget why you came here. But I’m curious about the setup over there. The two young folks aren’t Pedique’s patients, are they?”

  “You’d think so, all right. He’s practically turned the old man over to Dr. Hilliard. I’ve got a hunch maybe that’s why they called Pedique in—using Mr. Brighton as a blind.”

  “Is that so? They seemed normal enough.”

  “Hell! You don’t know the half of it.” Charlotte tensed and pressed her cheek down against Shayne’s arm, turned her head slowly, and her teeth worried his flesh
.

  He laughed, said, “Hey! We need another drink,” and drew away from her to empty the shaker in their two glasses.

  She leaned back laxly and watched him. Her face was flushed, and there was a hot glitter in her eyes.

  “We’ll drink these, and I’ll mix some more.”

  “I don’t know whether I need any more.” She took hers and emptied it avidly.

  “Might as well let your hair all the way down—if you know what I mean.”

  “God, yes. I know. I’ve always wanted to get drunk with a redheaded man. You know—drunk.” She spoke the last word with a feverish intensity. Her lips were moist and bluish-red.

  Shayne said, “Uh-huh,” and put his drink down. Casually, he said, “You told me I didn’t know the half of it about the two youngsters. Do you mean they’re both—that way?”

  Charlotte wagged her head wisely. “Clarence has got a loose screw, all right. And I can’t see that Doctor Pedique is doing him any good. The girl is different. I don’t quite catch her. She seemed all right at first. But she’s been plenty jittery lately. She’ll go out like a light one of these days, if she hasn’t already. But you were gonna mix me a drink.”

  Shayne said, “So I was.” He got up and took the shaker into the kitchen, where he squeezed more fruit juice, mixed up another batch, and went back with it.

  Charlotte had moved from her chair to the studio couch and turned out all the lights except one floor lamp near the foot of the couch. Her eyes followed him with anticipation as he pulled a straight chair near the head of the couch, arranged shaker, glasses, and cigarettes so they would be within arm’s reach.

  Then he sat down beside her and poured two fresh cocktails. “Sit up and take some nourishment.”

  She sat up waveringly. He steadied her with his arm about her shoulders while she gulped the drink down. She sank back with a little sigh and said, “That’s the kind of nourishment I’ve been pining for for a long time, Red.”

  Shayne said irritably, “I hate to be called Red. My name is Mike.”

  “Okay, Mike.” She looked up at him with invitingly pursed lips.

  Shayne leaned over her and kissed her. Her arm went about his neck, drawing him down to her. With his lips close to her ear, he muttered, “Who killed Mrs. Brighton?”

  “Who cares? Kiss me again, Mike.”

  “I care. I’ll kiss you plenty—after you tell me.”

  “Whadda you care? I didn’t kill the old battle ax.”

  “I’m not even sure of that.”

  Charlotte tittered. “You do pick the Goddamnedest time to go into your detecting act.”

  “I’d like to find out before you get too drunk to tell me.”

  “I’m pretty woozy right now, but not woozy enough to start making guesses on who got careless with a knife.”

  “How do you know it was done with a knife?” Shayne asked softly.

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

  Charlotte lifted herself unsteadily on one elbow and stared at him with indignant eyes.

  “Not trying to put me on the spot, are you, Mike?”

  He kissed her and said, “Hell, no. I’m in a bad hole on that case and I just thought you might be able to give me a lead.”

  “Well, I can’t.” She sank back drowsily. “Do things to me.”

  “Think back.” Shayne kneaded soft flesh between his finger tips. “You were on duty when it happened. Who had a chance to get in her room and do it?”

  “The whole caboodle of them. They were all around at one time or another. I wouldn’t put it past any of them. Even Monty. He’s cagey. And I don’t think the old lady liked him. Or the old man himself might have slipped out of bed and slit her goozle while my back was turned. He’s foxy enough to do it. And he’s half nuts, too. Know what I caught him doing the other morning?”

  Shayne patiently admitted he hadn’t the slightest idea.

  “He was feeding his breakfast out the window to the squirrels on the lawn.” She giggled. “He’s plenty goofy. I believe he does that with half the food he pretends to eat. Wouldn’t surprise me any if that wasn’t all that’s the matter with him.”

  “We were talking about Mrs. Brighton’s death,” Shayne reminded her.

  “Yeh. Well, I don’t know a thing.” She snuggled her head close to him. “The police asked me questions for an hour, and I told them all I knew. Kiss me.”

  Shayne kissed her. It lasted a long time and became rather involved before it was over.

  A faint click drifted through the stillness to Shayne’s ears. His perceptions were passion-drugged and did not immediately respond to the stimulus.

  It wasn’t until he became aware of a cool breeze sweeping through the kitchen that he realized he and Charlotte were no longer alone in the apartment.

  He lifted himself away from her fevered lips and listened. He thought he heard a faint rustle in the kitchen, but could not be sure. The pounding of Charlotte’s heart and his was loud in his ears.

  He tensed, wary and alert. Charlotte’s body stiffened with him. Her voice was a throbbing whisper.

  “Oh, God, what is it? If they find me here—”

  He put his hand over her mouth. Even in that moment her tongue came from between her teeth to caress his fingers.

  His muscles flexed, and he made a lunge for the kitchen. The outer door slammed shut in front of him. He jerked it open and leaned out. He could hear feet hurrying down the fire escape but could see nothing in the darkness.

  He switched on the light and then tried the outside knob on the back door. The night latch was still on as he had left it. It couldn’t have been opened without a key. He closed the door and looked at the nail where the key always hung.

  It wasn’t there. He frowned, trying to remember when he had last seen it. He couldn’t recall any particular time. It had just always hung there. Anyone who had been in his apartment recently might have carried it away.

  There was a bolt on the inside of the door which would hold it securely against being opened from the outside with a key. He threw the bolt, turned out the kitchen light, and went back into the living-room.

  Charlotte was sitting up staring at him with unveiled terror in her eyes. “What was it?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just got the heebie jeebies. Left the back door open, and it blew shut.” He poured himself a cocktail and drank it.

  Charlotte held out her hand for one. Her hand shook. “God, but I was scared for a minute. I thought there was someone out in the kitchen looking in.”

  Shayne didn’t tell her she hadn’t been mistaken. He poured her a drink and said indifferently, “What if there had been? We’re both free, white, and twenty-one, aren’t we? Or, is there a husband in the background? By God, if there is—” He stared down at her angrily.

  “No. You got me wrong, Mike. I just thought they might have trailed me here from the house.”

  “What if they did?” he asked roughly. “Is it any of their business if you want to sleep around a little?”

  “Don’t get sore, Mike. I told you I hadda slip out. They’re so damned afraid that I might take an hour off.” She sank back and held out her arms invitingly. “Don’t be sore.”

  “I’m not sore,” Shayne said shortly. “But I like to know where I stand. I’ve kept alive and healthy this long by not horning in on another man’s game. If you’ve got any strings tied to you, sweetheart, say so and get out.”

  “I haven’t, Mike. I swear to God I haven’t.” She was tugging at his hand. “You can’t leave me like this.”

  “All right,” Shayne said, “I won’t.” He leaned over and pulled the cord of the floor lamp.

  It was eleven-fifteen when Shayne cursed in the darkness as he groped for the light cord. He found it and yawned as the light came on.

  “You’d better get ready to go,” he said over his shoulder as he got up and poured himself a lukewarm cocktail. “I’ll phone for a taxi.”

  C
harlotte yawned, too, as she sat up. She said, “It’s hell to have to break something like this up, isn’t it, dearie?”

  Shayne grimaced at the warm cocktail and at Charlotte’s term of endearment. It had the professional touch. He set the half-full glass down and moodily went to the cabinet where he poured himself a slug of Martell.

  Charlotte scurried into the bathroom and called through the halfshut door, “You’d better call the taxi. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not back by midnight.”

  Shayne drank the brandy, went to the phone, and called the clerk to have a taxi sent around to the side entrance at once.

  Charlotte came out of the bathroom, patting her hair in place, bright-eyed and smiling.

  “It’s been a big evening. I knew it was gonna be when I first looked at you over there on the stairway. Remember? When I get bothered first time I see a man—look out.”

  Shayne said the taxi would be waiting, and started to the door with her. She caught hold of his hand tightly, pulled him to her as he started to open the door. He kissed her mouth without enthusiasm and opened the door.

  “You’re not disappointed, are you?” she pouted as they went down the hall together.

  Shayne said no, he wasn’t disappointed, refraining from adding that he hadn’t expected a hell of a lot. She clung to his arm going down the stairs and told him happily that she would be back for a repeat performance as soon as she could slip away again. He explained that he often had to work at night and advised her to call before coming. She promised she would.

  The dustily white arc of a moon was peeping from behind heavy clouds when they went out the side entrance. The taxi was waiting. A nondescript sedan loitered at the curb with motor running, fifty feet behind the taxi.

  Shayne helped Charlotte in, gave the Brighton Beach address to the driver with a dollar. She leaned out to smile and wave as the taxi pulled away and made a U-turn in the middle of the block.

  Shayne turned back toward the private entrance of the hotel with a sigh of relief. The sedan nosed up, and a hand came out of the right front window. Moonlight glinted on blued steel, and a .45 automatic spurted orange flame four times in rapid succession.