Chapter Twenty-One: “SHAYNE SPEAKING…”
The elevator had just stopped in the basement of the Dade County courthouse when Shayne’s roadster rolled down the incline and stopped. Phyllis stepped from the conveyance accompanied by a uniformed policeman. Shayne’s car lights shone dimly in her face and he saw that she looked pale, but her chin was square and tilted as she stepped toward his roadster.
Shayne opened the door for her, and she said icily, “It was nice of you to come.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, angel,” he said with a grin. “From now on I want to be in on and enjoy all your new experiences.”
Phyllis shuddered and got in beside him. “The worst thing is that long trip in a nonstop elevator. I thought-I was-going to smother.”
Shayne drove on through the basement and came out into Miami’s bright sunlight on the west side. When he looked down at Phyllis she had her lower lip caught between her teeth. For a moment he thought she was going to cry. Her chin was slightly unsteady. He laughed and asked, “Well, how do you think you’re going to like detecting, angel?”
She said, “Don’t you start that, Michael. You could at least have come to see me and-keep me-so I wouldn’t be so worried that maybe something terrible had happened to you.”
“What I should do is take you straight home and give you a good beating,” Shayne told her. His right arm went around her waist and held her like a vise. The wheel wobbled a little and he controlled it with his left hand.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said in a small and solemn voice. “I wouldn’t blame you at all.”
“There you go taking all the pleasure out of it. Who wants to beat a quiescent woman? Where’s your spunk? Why don’t you say, ‘You and who else is going to beat me?’”
A little gurgle came out of her throat and she snuggled her face against his arm. She said, “Oh, Mike! I love you!”
Shayne nearly smashed a fender on an oncoming car when he turned the corner. He was laughing outright and holding Phyllis tighter. He drove down Second Avenue and turned toward the hotel apartment just as a group of men emerged from the front door. A man was snapping pictures of the group.
Phyllis lifted her head, nudged Shayne with her elbow and said, “Look. There’s Mr. Gentry. There must have been some trouble here at the hotel.”
“The portly gentleman sporting the silver-plated bracelets and who is having his picture taken is none other than Arnold Thrip, angel,” he told her quietly.
“Arnold Thrip?” Phyllis leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “Do you mean-was he-?”
“The white-haired man standing in the rear is Buell Renslow, Leora Thrip’s brother,” Shayne went on, ignoring her question. “I have an idea he is going to make up for some twenty-five years spent in the penitentiary from now on. He is one man who is going to appreciate being on the outside.” Shayne grinned broadly.
“But-” Phyllis began.
“Turn off the question box,” Shayne commanded playfully. “Do you think I’m going to spend this time answering questions about criminals and what not when I haven’t had you in my arms for over twenty-four hours?”
“But-”
“Listen, angel, tonight we’re going to have dinner on the boardwalk at the Roney Plaza and listen to the ocean waves and look at the moon. I’ll tell you all about everything then.”
Phyllis chuckled happily as he stopped the car at a side entrance to the hotel apartment. “Thank goodness I don’t have to go through the ordeal of begging you to marry me, the way I did the last time we were there,” she said. They went through the side entrance and through the lobby. Shayne stopped the desk and asked if there were any messages. The clerk shook his head negatively, and Shayne said:
“I’m expecting a long-distance call later in the afternoon. The one I want will be from New York. Don’t bother me with anything else.”
The clerk said, “Yes, sir,” and scribbled a note on a pad.
They went up to the fourth floor and into their living-apartment. Without a word, Phyllis went into the bedroom and changed from her sports suit of flamingo and white into the blue satin hostess gown which somehow added to her poise and sedateness.
When she joined Shayne in the living-room, she said, “If you think you’re going to keep me waiting until night to find out why I stayed in that horrid jail, you’re mistaken.” She went over to him and plopped herself into his lap and twined her arms around his neck.
Shayne grinned. “There’s not much to tell except that your brilliant husband found out after his own clever fashion that Thrip was the murderer.”
“Whose murderer?” she demanded.
“Everybody’s. He killed his wife and Joe Darnell and Carl Meldrum.” He chuckled. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t acquire all such relevant information from Meldrum while you were wasting your sex appeal on him. What the hell was the matter with the guy anyway? Didn’t he appreciate what you had on the ball?”
Phyllis’s slender body melted against him. She put a cool, smooth hand over his mouth and said, “You just hush. You know I was trying to help.”
He held her tight. He kissed her dark hair and smoothed the satin gown with his big hand. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, Phyl.”
“I did mess things up, didn’t I?” she admitted wearily.
Shayne crushed her in his arms. “You put me on the spot too, angel.”
“But-after listening to Leora Thrip, I was sure Carl did it all. It was funny, though, because he was kind of drunk and he kept telling me that Leora Thrip was a fine woman and that she had a big heart.”
“I have an idea she was, angel.” Shayne sounded drowsy. “Meldrum saw Thrip murder his wife. He wanted Thrip to get away with it so he’d have a hold over him. He overplayed his hand when he forced Thrip to come to that apartment at midnight.”
Phyllis shuddered and sat up. “It’s all like a bad dream now. Do you mean that Mr. Thrip was the man who came to the apartment while I was in the bedroom scared to death? That he killed Meldrum and then slipped out again and that other man-Renslow-came in and I didn’t know the difference?”
“You should have peeped through the keyhole. That’s part of a detective’s business.” Shayne laughed lazily. “That’s the way it had to be. Thrip had the time figured to a gnat’s eyebrow, though he didn’t ever know you were in the bedroom. That was just an added complication which must have pleased our murderous friend, and it certainly gave me plenty to think about.”
Phyllis had no difficulty taking his languid arms from around her. She jumped up and said, “Let’s have a drink,” and hurried to the kitchen for ice water, stopped at the swinging bar to add a bottle of cognac to the ice water and two empty glasses which she carried to the coffee table. She drew the low table up to his chair, poured the drinks, and sat down in his lap again.
They sipped their drinks in silence, then Phyllis wrinkled her brow and asked, “What’s to become of that, poor girl Dora? Clearing Joe of murder will be a lot of satisfaction to her but, after all, she’s going to have a baby.”
“You keep an eye on her, angel,” Shayne advised. “See that she has what she wants. You don’t have to worry right away, because I sent her that thousand Leora Thrip gave us. If Dora has a boy she might even let us adopt him.” Shayne was very relaxed. His mouth was grinning.
Phyllis turned on him instantly. “Why, the very idea of us — adopting a boy. You listen to me, Michael Shayne, if we want a baby boy, we’ll have one of our own.”
Shayne laughed until his arms fell aside weakly. Then he gathered her up and suddenly his arms were like iron clamps.
It was six o’clock when the telephone wakened them from deep sleep. Shayne fumbled for the phone beside the bed. He yapped, “Shayne speaking,” into the mouthpiece.
“Long-distance calling,” said a cheerful voice. “Just a minute, please. Go ahead, New York.”
