“I don’t know where the money came from. I’d still like to meet your present husband.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Michael. You and he have nothing in common.” She relaxed back against the cushions and smiled seductively. “How is your headache by this time?”
“I’ve just about forgotten it.”
“So my remedy did work,” she purred, patting the cushion beside her. “So why don’t you stop striding up and down and glaring at me and imagining all sorts of ridiculous things and sit down here and let me run my fingers through that red hair of yours and find out for myself exactly how different you are from dear Theodore?”
Shayne stopped at the end of the divan and looked down at her with a sudden grin. “Don’t tempt me, Matie.”
“Why not?” Her red lips parted and she gazed up into his face boldly. “You do things to me, Michael. I could do things to you, too. Pour some more whisky in your glass and bring it over.”
Shayne sighed and shook his red head reluctantly. “One more of your drinks and I’d never leave this room.”
“Why should you, Michael?”
“Because I’ve got to keep a date with another dame. She’s waiting for me at my hotel right now, and I need to be sober to handle her.”
“Another dame, darling? When you can have me?” Matie pushed the tip of her tongue out between her full lips and her eyes were wondrously soft and appealing.
Shayne said, “This is business… sort of.”
“Isn’t pleasure more important? Besides, I am your client. Remember?”
Shayne said, “This dame happens to be your sister-in-law.”
“Beatrice?” she gasped. Her upper lip curled in contempt as she spoke the name, and then she relaxed and began laughing softly. “You and Beatrice. Oh, my God in heaven. Have you actually met her?”
“We had a long and private talk in her bedroom this morning,” Shayne told her, straight-faced. “Chaperoned only by a bottle of whisky she had hidden up there.”
“That must have been something.”
“It was.”
“Enough so you’d rather go to her than stay with me?”
“She’s the one who invited Jasper Groat out to the house to be murdered last night.”
“Did she murder him?”
“I don’t know. If she didn’t, I think she knows who did. If I can keep her sober long enough I think she will tell me. So I’d better get over there before she drinks up all my liquor and passes out.”
He turned away from the divan and started for the door. Someone rapped on it from the other side. Shayne stopped in mid-stride and turned to frown at Matie, one ragged eyebrow lifted inquiringly.
She shrugged resignedly and shook her head and mouthed the words, “I don’t know. Open it.”
Shayne went to the door and opened it. He said, “Well, well,” and stepped back when he saw Cunningham on the threshold.
The steward’s eyes glittered with surprise when he recognized Shayne. He jerked his gaze to Matie and muttered, “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
Shayne said, “I manage to get around.” He stood aside, holding the door wide open and motioned for Cunningham to enter. “Mrs. Meredith is looking for another mint julep customer. I’m on my way out.”
Cunningham squared his shoulders self-consciously and stepped into the room. His gaze remained fixed on Matie’s face as though he waited to receive some signal from her, some hint as to what she wanted him to do.
She said smoothly, “It was nice of you to drop in, Mr. Cunningham. I would like to mix you one of my juleps since Mr. Shayne scorns them. Besides, he’s in a hurry to lay my charming ex-sister-in-law who’s waiting impatiently for him.”
Shayne said, “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” starting through the door. “Just as I have with Mrs. Meany.”
Cunningham’s voice stopped him. “I’ve got some things to talk to you about. I just heard Jasper was murdered last night.”
Shayne turned with his hand on the knob. “Did it surprise you?”
“Not much.” Cunningham shook his head doggedly. “Like I told you last night, I figured something had happened to keep him from our dinner together. What about his diary?”
“You still have the diary to worry about. You and Mrs. Meredith and the Hawley clan, and Hastings and Sims… and maybe Joel Cross.” Shayne turned again to go out, but hesitated for some reason he could not fathom when he heard the telephone ring in the room behind him.
With his back turned and while holding the door slightly ajar, he heard Matie answer the phone: “Yes? Mr. Shayne? Just a moment and I’ll see…”
He went back into the room and Matie held the telephone out to him with a shrug. “I think it’s your delightful little brown-haired secretary.”
He took the instrument and said, “Yes?”
“Michael.” It was Lucy’s voice. “A woman who says her name is Beatrice Meany just telephoned. She didn’t giggle this time, but said to tell you she was waiting in your hotel room… and how soon could you get there.”
Shayne said cheerfully, “Call Mrs. Meany back, Lucy, and tell her to keep her lace panties on and the corks in my liquor bottles. Tell her I’m just leaving here but have one stop to make on my way back to the hotel. If she can stay sober for twenty minutes, I’ll be seeing her.”
He hung up before Lucy could offer any acid comments, said, “Thanks,” to Matie and strode out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him this time.
Downstairs in the lobby, he turned to the left from the desk and went down the corridor to a door marked Private. He knocked and then opened the door and went in. Kurt Davis was lounging in a chair behind a wide, clean desk, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. He didn’t look the way a hotel detective is supposed to look, but none of them in better-class hostelries do. He said, “Hi, Mike. Are you working?”
“Sort of.” Shayne pulled up a chair and sat down. “Can you get me the home address of Mrs. Meredith in twelve hundred A?”
“I can get you the address she wrote down when she registered.”
Shayne nodded. “I don’t expect an affidavit with it.”
Davis pressed a button on his desk and spoke into a metal box in front of him. He looked up at Shayne and asked, “Anything we ought to know about her?”
“I don’t think so.” Shayne hesitated. “You might keep an eye on the men she entertains in her suite. Excluding one Mike Shayne, of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Kurt Davis gravely. “A floozy?”
“Nothing like that. The worst she’s likely to do is knock some guy cold with one of her mint juleps. She’s mixed up in a case I’m working on, but I don’t know just how. I’ll let you know if anything develops.”
“Do that, Mike.” The metal box buzzed and Davis turned to it, pressed the button and said, “Yes?”
Shayne got out a memo book and pencil. He wrote down a street address in Chicago as Davis repeated it aloud. He thanked the house detective and went out of the office to a branch telegraph office in the lobby. There he wrote out a message to Mr. Theodore Meredith in Chicago, Illinois. It read:
Dangerous complications demand you here immediately. Wire me at once but not at this hotel because am watched. Send message to this address.
He completed the message by giving the name of his own hotel, signed it, Matie, and paid cash for it to go as a straight message.
It was twenty minutes later on the dot since leaving Mrs. Meredith’s suite when he swung into the lobby of his hotel. The desk clerk motioned to him urgently as he strode toward the elevators, and Shayne swerved aside to stop at the desk and ask, “What’s up, Dick?”
“Thought you’d like to know there’s a girl waiting up in your place, Mr. Shayne,” the clerk told him importantly. “You always told me it was all right to let a client go up and wait.”
“If they were female and passable,” Shayne agreed.
