Lucy looked at him with round, startled eyes. “Why, no. A first-aid course in Civilian Defense during the war convinced me.”
“Then you’ll be able to pull this off,” Shayne said excitedly. “As soon as the stores open, go out and buy yourself a nurse’s outfit. White shoes, white cotton stockings, perky cap, and all. Go out to the Jackson house and introduce yourself as the nurse Doctor Meeker sent to take care of Mrs. Jackson. Be tough about it, angel, and insist on staying in the room with her-alone. The minute she starts to come out of her stupor, get the story of every move she made last night-everything that happened, before you tell her about her husband-and before the police get to her. Think you can do that?” He had turned to face her, holding her hand in a tight grip.
“Of course, Michael. I’d be glad to do anything.” She responded to his enthusiasm, but her practical mind added, “Isn’t there a penalty for impersonating a nurse?”
Shayne grinned at her. “A year or so in the pen, maybe. Okay?”
“If anybody even makes a move to send me to the penitentiary for a year, Michael Shayne,” she burst out, “I’ll tell-”
“Look, angel,” he cut in, “just get the essence. Don’t try to pump her. Ten o’clock is the crucial time. If she was home when Bert returned, if she heard him get his phone call and knew where he was going-”
His voice trailed off and he shook his head worriedly, releasing her hand and turning to let his head loll against the cushion. “You should be able to leave as soon as she comes to and you get her story. Your duty as a nurse will be over then, I guess.”
“Where will you be, Michael? How can I get in touch with you?”
“I don’t know.” He got up and began pacing the floor, his head bent forward and his left hand tugging at his ear lobe. “I’m going home now and wait for something to break.”
Lucy Hamilton watched him for a moment, got up, and went to him and stopped his impatient pacing by putting her hands on his shoulders. “Try to get some sleep,” she begged. “And don’t worry about Tim. He’s been involved with women before, but he has never murdered a husband. Or has he?” she added lightly.
Shayne’s arms clasped her waist, and his wide shoulders drooped. “If he has,” he said bitterly, “he covered his tracks better than he did this time.” With a sudden, fierce move he held her to him, resting his gaunt cheek against her hair. “Let’s hope Will Gentry doesn’t decide to question Betty Jackson himself and find you guarding her in a nurse’s uniform.”
He let her go abruptly and stalked across the room to get his hat. The telephone rang before he reached the door.
“It’s probably for you, Michael,” she said. “You’d better wait.” She answered the ring, listened for an instant, then covered the mouthpiece with her palm to ask, “Shall I say you’re not here? It’s some man.” Shayne recrossed the room speedily, took the instrument, and said, “Shayne speaking.”
“I called your hotel, Mr. Shayne,” a man said, “and was given this number as one where I might possibly reach you.” The voice was smooth, cultivated, pausing inquiringly on the last words.
“All right. You caught me.”
“Am I correct in assuming that you have the documents from Bert Jackson in your possession, and that the police have not been told about them?”
“The police don’t know anything about them,” said Shayne flatly. “They weren’t in my office or apartment, so you can assume whatever you wish.”
“Then I judge they are still for sale,” said the voice confidently.
“Are you making an offer?” Shayne countered.
“Is the price still twenty-five thousand?”
“The value has not depreciated. In fact-”
“No. Of course not,” the voice broke in hastily. “If you will bring all of Jackson’s material to the Beach at once, the money will be waiting for you.”
“Where on the Beach?”
“Do you know whom you’re speaking to, Mr. Shayne?”
“Frankly, no. I felt that the sales value would be higher if I didn’t break the seals and dig into something that’s actually no concern of mine.”
“Good. I’ve always heard you were a square dealer, Shayne,” the voice said with weighty relief, then went on vigorously. “Drive across the County Causeway to Collins Avenue. Then turn north. Take it slow as you approach the old Firestone estate. If you’re alone and not followed, I’ll contact you thereabouts, and we can close this up fast.”
“I’ll start rolling right away,” Shayne said. He dropped the receiver on the hook and turned to Lucy Hamilton, took one look at her pale face and round, frightened eyes, looked past her, and said, “I guess this is it. They’re ready to pay cash since they didn’t find the stuff stashed in my office or apartment.”
“Who is it, Michael?” Lucy gasped.
“I still don’t know. This is my one chance to find out.”
“It’s a trap, Michael,” she cried, her voice sharp with fear. “Why should anyone pay you money and trust you to keep quiet? Wouldn’t it be more sensible and safer for them to just-k-kill you, too?”
Shayne pretended not to notice her small clenched fists and the sudden pallor of her face. He grinned reassuringly and said, “Of course it’s a trap. But you know how I am about traps, angel, unless-”
“You won’t go, Michael-not until you call Will Gentry and set a trap of your own.”
“Will and I decided to go in different directions this trip. I’ll bait the trap myself,” he said, his voice cold and remote. “How in hell else can I hope to win?”
“You’re a crazy, quixotic fool, Michael,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him, tears flooding her eyes and bitterness in her tone. “You just love walking into danger and you don’t care what happens.”
“That’s not true, Lucy. It’s the only way I know how to handle a thing like this. If I sit back on my dead butt and demand a police escort to protect me-”
“But you don’t even have an excuse,” Lucy Hamilton persisted tearfully. “You don’t have a client. You don’t even have a prospect of a fee.”
Shayne gathered her in his arms and, with his lips bent close to her ear, said, “Don’t forget-I have a friend.”
Lucy relaxed and stood very still for a brief moment. Then she drew away from him and said, “Tim,” looking up into his gaunt face and bleak eyes.
“Do you still have that thirty-two automatic I gave you?”
She smiled. “It’s in my top bureau drawer, Michael.” She held the smile until she turned her back. Her mouth was tight and her eyes wide with fright when she glanced in the mirror before opening the drawer and taking the pistol out. Deliberately she composed her features, turned with her shoulders set and her head high, and went back to the living-room.
“Here it is, just the way it was when you gave it to me.”
Shayne said, “Thanks,” and pressed the catch that released the clip, slid it out far enough to make certain it was fully loaded, then replaced the clip and drew the slide back to throw a cartridge into the firing-chamber. He pushed the safety on and dropped the weapon into his coat pocket.
Turning toward the door he said gruffly, “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got a job of your own to do. Call me as soon as you can get anything sensible out of Betty Jackson.”
Lucy watched him stride to the door, open it, go out, and close it without looking back. Then she went into the bedroom and got dressed, feeling certain that she would be the first customer in Burdine’s department specializing in nurses’ uniforms.
Chapter Eleven
Shayne felt physically refreshed from the cognac-laced coffee, satisfied with the arrangement for Lucy to act as nurse to Betty Jackson, alert after the telephone call from Mr. Big, the mystery man, but he couldn’t yet see how anything had been gained by Bert Jackson’s murder.