She hesitated. “I think he was taking money to somebody. I try not to know about that part of his business, but I can’t put stoppers in my ears. Apparently a football team won this afternoon when it was supposed to lose-or lost when it was supposed to win, I don’t know which. That’s why he wanted to talk to you. The phone kept ringing for two hours straight. I was in the office, typing up some things that have to be signed before Monday, but I did hear him say once, “How much do you need?’ He went up stairs and brought down a suitcase. Billy put it in the car. Mr. Shayne, what shall we do? The police-”
“Not yet. I want to check something first.”
When he started down the steps she came with him.
“Stay here in case the phone rings,” he told her.
She shook her head and said stubbornly, “No, I want to know what happened.”
She got in beside him. They were halfway down the driveway when a car turned in from the road.
“There he is!” Theo cried with relief.
Shayne backed up to the doorway, letting the other car into the turnaround from the opposite direction. It was a black Thunderbird. The man who got out wasn’t Harry Bass.
“Hey, baby,” he said to Theo as she stepped out of Shayne’s car. “Where’s the boss, inside?”
Shayne recognized him in the light from the porch. His name was Doc Waters. He had recently returned to Miami after several years in the Caribbean and had bought into the lucrative Collins Avenue bookmaking, a district that included the biggest hotels. He was a short man, overweight, with a bright resort wardrobe. Too much exposure to the sun had turned his face yellow. He had sharp, agile eyes and a narrow hairline mustache.
“Mr. Waters, did Harry talk to you?” the girl asked in a worried tone.
“Sure he talked to me. That’s the whole point.” He peered through the Buick’s windshield, his eyes narrowing. “Mike Shayne?” He put out his hand, which Shayne shook through the open window. “Glad to see you, man. It’s been years. And what goes on around here, please? Those cops on the road?”
“Harry had an accident,” Shayne said briefly. “Was he on his way to see you?”
Waters considered briefly, flicking his little mustache with his thumbnail. “An accident. I don’t like that. I knew when I woke up this morning it was going to be one of those days. Yeah, he was on his way to see me. I gave him an hour and then thought what the hell. He’s been getting very chintzy lately, since he moved up here-I’m supposed to stay strictly away, we conduct our business in automobiles. Common people like me would lower the real-estate values, right? Listen, honey,” he said to the girl in a more guarded tone, glancing in at Shayne. “How did Harry come out of this accident, OK or not?”
“I don’t know!” she said helplessly. “I don’t know anything about it yet, except that it happened.”
“You’re his secretary. You’ve got a right to talk to the cops and ask them. He was bringing me a package, understand. It could be wrapped up in paper, or in some kind of little suitcase. Watch for it. If you see it, kind of latch onto it, know what I mean? It’s Harry’s property, but if the cops get hold of it, ten to one Harry won’t see it again.”
“I don’t think I could do that,” she said.
“Then get a receipt for it,” he insisted. “In front of witnesses. Shayne, you advise her.”
Shayne grinned at him. He pressed the Drive button and they began to move. The girl called back, “The liquor’s on the terrace.”
Shayne remarked, “Doc hasn’t changed much since I saw him last.”
“I knew there was money in that suitcase. Harry doesn’t use names on the phone, but he has a special tone of voice when he’s talking to people like that.”
Shayne turned left at the foot of the driveway. She looked at him in surprise.
“The sirens were on the other side of the island.”
“They’re stopping cars,” Shayne told her. “I’m going in across the golf course.”
There was a Saturday night dance at the Normandy Shores clubhouse. The building was ablaze with light and activity, and surrounded by parked cars. A boy with a flashlight waved them into the parking lot. Shayne cut all the way through, stopping when his headlights picked up a line of battery-powered golf carts in front of the professional’s shop.
“I can’t walk in these heels,” Theo said doubtfully.
“Nobody walks in Miami,” Shayne said.
He took a three-cell flashlight out of his glove compartment and left his headlights on so he could see to start one of the little carts and back it out of line. The girl perched beside him. He saw red flashes in the sky from the revolving beacon on one of the pieces of fire apparatus, and he set his course by that.
“Do you think they-killed him?” the girl asked quietly.
“Maybe,” Shayne replied, steering around a tree. “People sometimes get themselves killed for a couple of bucks, and Harry must have been carrying a lot more than that. But he’s not that easy to kill.”
They jolted across a rough furrow. She grabbed the rail.
“If there was just Billy and the Cadillac, maybe they kidnapped him.”
“No, I followed their car and Harry wasn’t in it. They took a curve too fast. When the cops pry the car open they may find the money, but I doubt it. There’s a third man I haven’t accounted for, and he probably has it.”
“Mr. Shayne,” she said brokenly, “if anything really bad has happened-I’ve tried to tell myself gambling money was no different from other kinds. People can bet at the race tracks, it’s encouraged, for heaven’s sake! If the police really wanted to stop illegal betting they could do it in a minute, couldn’t they?”
“Sure. Don’t hold your breath till it happens.”
She turned toward him, her face pale in the reflected light from Shayne’s flashlight. “It sounded like a dream job when I heard about it. Something different all the time, quite a lot of responsibility. Good pay. It didn’t take me long to talk myself into it. I went into it with my eyes open. He’s a tremendous man. Oh, God, I hope he’s not-”
Cutting across the rough between two fairways, Shayne swerved to avoid a menacing hollow and Theo was thrown against him. She grabbed him to keep from falling. Shayne held her with one arm while he tried to keep the cart under control with the other. Her weight shifted as they hit another bump. His hand closed on her breast. It was the wrong way to be holding her on short acquaintance, but he couldn’t move his hand without letting her fall. The flash light bounded away. Shayne stamped at the floorboard, trying to find the brake, but it wasn’t in the logical place. She clung to him and he felt her breath on his cheek.
As soon as they were back on level ground she freed herself and returned to her seat. “Sorry,” she said in a small voice. “That was my fault.”
Shayne found the flashlight. It was still alive. “This seems to be my night for reckless driving,” he said. “What football game did Harry want to talk to me about?”
“Mr. Shayne, I just don’t know. He was watching it on television, and he kept calling me in to see what I thought. It looked legitimate to me, not that I know all that much about football. And there was a horse, too, at Tropical Park. I think the two things together made him think that neither one was entirely a matter of luck.”
Cutting his speed, he threaded his way carefully between sandtraps guarding the approach to a high green. Now they were approaching the stone wall near the burned-out Cadillac. Only one piece of fire apparatus remained, a small chemical pumper. The wind was blowing off the bay. The smell of scorched metal was strong and unpleasant.
Shayne cut the switch. As the motor died he heard a low moaning in the darkness between the cart and the wall.
Theo cried, “Harry?” and jumped down. Her heel went into the soft turf of the green. She fell. Swinging the flash light without getting down from the cart, Shayne began to rake the beam back and forth across the intervening space.
Something moved. The beam jumped toward the movement and picked up the figure of a man, with wildly waving arms.
Theo stumbled again and Shayne passed her. He flicked the flashlight across the face of the man staggering toward them. It was dirty and bloodstained, with staring eyes, but it was unquestionably Harry Bass. Shayne closed with him quickly. Harry swore and batted the flashlight away with a flailing blow. He aimed another swing at Shayne’s head, missed and went sprawling.
“Take it easy, Harry,” the redhead said in a conversational tone. “Mike Shayne.”
Harry came to one knee, panting. Recovering the flash light, Shayne pointed it at his own face. Then he
