“A detective?” She considered him with doubtful eyes, then said, “All right. You can come in, but I don’t know what I can tell you.”
The front door opened into a wide, uncarpeted entrance room with chairs placed stiffly around the walls.
There was movement beyond an open door leading into an unlit hall.
The woman said, “Lucile!” sharply, and after a moment’s hesitation a girl stepped into the doorway. She wore a maid’s cap and apron, and a short skirt revealed stocky calves. She had bold, brown, wishful eyes, and they rested on Shayne’s big frame with approval. Her upper lip was short and it twitched mutinously when she said, “Yes, Mrs. Briggs. I was just—”
“You were snooping,” Mrs. Briggs snapped. “Go upstairs until you’re wanted.”
Lucile’s lower lip was heavy and pouted. She pouted it still further, hesitating in the doorway and hopefully inviting Shayne’s attention.
Shayne responded with a slow grin of approbation and protested to Mrs. Briggs, “I’d better talk to Lucile, too. I need all the information I can get. Perhaps I can see you later, Lucile.”
Mrs. Briggs surged in front of him like a battleship at full steam ahead. “Go to your room, Lucile,” she commanded sharply.
The girl’s eyes darkened resentfully. The tip of her tongue showed momentarily between her short upper lip and the pouting lower one. Then she turned and flounced away, tossing black curls that hung below her maid’s cap.
“I had a feeling that Lucy had something she wanted to tell me,” Shayne reproved Mrs. Briggs.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” Mrs. Briggs snapped. “She’s man crazy, and not at all choosy.” Her gaze flickered meaningly over Shayne’s bruised face and his coarse red hair. Then she sat down in a straight chair and folded her hands in her lap, looking at him coldly over her formidable bosom. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say.”
“Well, what is it? How do I know you’re a detective?”
“The name is Shayne.” He patted his coat pocket. “I have my credentials if you care to see them.”
“Shayne? The detective from Miami who’s been campaigning against Mr. Stallings? Why would Mr. Stallings go to you for help?”
“Because I’m the best in the business.” Shayne sat down. “How long has Helen Stallings been missing?”
“I didn’t know she was missing. She’s usually missing around here. She wasn’t here for dinner tonight but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Can’t you give me anything that might be a clue?” Shayne persisted. “Mr. Stallings has reason to believe she’s been kidnaped.”
Mrs. Briggs said, “Humph! Kidnaped?” and shook her head. “I’m just the housekeeper here. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”
Shayne inwardly agreed with her. He nodded impassively and stood up. Mrs. Briggs let him go to the door alone. As he went out he glanced back at her and surprised a look of dismay and fear on her dour features.
He closed the door and went slowly toward his car, puckering his lips to produce a tuneless whistle. The whistle echoed back from out of the enveloping island silence.
Turning his head, he saw a lighted upstairs window that had been dark when he approached the house. Lucile was leaning out, her head supporting the unlatched screen as she looked down at him in the moonlight. Her lips were softly echoing his whistle.
Shayne halted on the edge of the grass and lifted one hand in a mock gesture of farewell.
Lucile shook her head and gesticulated frantically, pointing toward the north side of the house. Shayne hesitated only an instant, then nodded and threaded his way between clumps of blooming hibiscus in the direction indicated.
Lucile withdrew from the window, and her light went out. A concrete driveway led along the north side to a separate garage in the rear. Near the front of the house an iron-railed outside stairway led up to a hanging balcony of Spanish design.
Shayne stopped at the foot of the stairway and waited. A door opened outward onto the balcony, and Lucile stepped out. She glanced down at Shayne, then hurried silently down the stairs.
She stopped on the bottom step, her head thrown back, a smile parting her lips.
“Good work, babe,” Shayne said, and held out his arms to her. She slid into them, pressing her body close, laughing up into his face while her fingers went up to tangle in his hair.
“Honest to gosh,” she sighed, “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I oughtn’t to be here. Mrs. Briggs’ll raise Old Ned if she catches me.” Her big brown eyes were avid, and her lips brazenly invited his kiss.
Shayne bent his head and touched his sore lips lightly to hers, tightening his arms about her. “I’m not in very good shape for kissing,” he warned her, “but otherwise I’m as good as any man.”
“And better than ninety per cent, I’ll bet.” She pulled his head lower and pressed her moist lips against his bruised cheek, cooing, “Was some bad mans mean to you?”
“Sort of.” Shayne turned toward the hibiscus hedge, keeping his arm around her waist. “Wouldn’t we be safer to get away from here?”
“Not too far.” She went across the driveway with him, giggling excitedly. “Old Briggs’d have a conniption fit if she knew I’d slipped out. I’ll have to run if she starts calling for me.”
There were informal flower beds beyond the hedge with garden seats scattered about beneath low, spreading coco palms. Shayne led the girl to a seat in the heavy shadows.
She leaned against him when they sat down. “You’re a detective, aren’t you? I bet you’re just pretending to like me to find out things.”
“Don’t be silly. You know you could make any man forget business.” Shayne pressed his cheek lightly against her hair. “You been working here long?”
“Ever since they moved in. We all have.”
“And I suppose you’re pretty much isolated here on the island,” Shayne said sympathetically. “But you get a day off now and then, don’t you?”
“I’ll say we don’t. Old Briggs is a slave driver. She’s so ugly herself she’s jealous of any of the rest of us having a good time. All we get around here is work from morning till night. That’s the reason I went sort of all loose inside when you looked at me in there and I knew you liked a good time, too.” She turned against him and raised her face hungrily.
Shayne touched his swollen lips to hers again. She caught his face between her palms and held it, gently touching the tip of her tongue to his bruised mouth. She drew away, laughing shakily. “Does that hurt?”
“Soft as an angel’s wings,” Shayne told her throatily. “Couldn’t you slip away tonight — after they’ve all gone to bed?”
“I might get away with it. Would you meet me, redhead?”
“On the other side of the bridge — at midnight?”
“Better make it later. Two o’clock. Briggs is always up till midnight. She gives Mrs. Stallings her medicine then.”
“Is Mrs. Stallings really very ill?”
“I guess she is, all right. She never comes out of her room. Mrs. Briggs is a trained nurse and she does everything for her. You know what I think? I think she’s a hop-head.”
“Mrs. Briggs?”
“No; Mrs. Stallings. I’ve seen Briggs sterilizing a hypodermic two or three times.”
“Lots of nurses give their patients shots.”
“But there’s something funny about it,” Lucile insisted. “Briggs tries to keep it a secret from the rest of us. Sometimes I think maybe it’s the girl uses it. She acts dopey enough, if you ask me.”
“Helen?”
“Yes. There’s something funny about her, all right. Boy, the things I could tell you if I was to cut loose.”