“At the bank,” Shayne said. “I was nosing around.”
“Asking questions?” Her tone was one of sudden anger. “What good will it do you? How’d you get in the bank?”
“They were sort of expecting that detective from New Orleans.”
“Michael Shayne?”
“Yeh. Harvey knew your husband had gone to see him. They didn’t know he got bumped before he saw Shayne.”
“So they thought you were the detective?” She scowled at him before draining her glass. “I ought to turn you in.”
“But you’re not going to.”
Her eyes widened with suspicion. “Not as long as you and Whitey act smart and don’t try to push me.”
“I’d feel better if you gave me that gun.” Shayne held out his hand.
Belle shook her head and said, “I think I’ll keep it handy.”
Shayne relaxed deep in his chair and confessed, “You’ve got me wondering. After the come-on you first handed me. I’ll never know whether you’re playing it straight or still handing me a line.”
“Why would I hand you a line?”
“Why did you at first?”
“I told you that’s when I thought Walter had things fixed for you to come. I figured you were casing the layout for Whitey.”
“Did your husband tell you to expect us today?”
“He didn’t tell me anything. He never did. But I knew he figured to sic that shamus on Whitey, and when he left he said not to be scared if Whitey showed up here.”
“Using you for the stake-out?” Shayne spoke carelessly, watching her through slitted eyes.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said irritably. Her voice was getting thick. “What did Whitey expect him to do? Take it lying down?”
“I’m like you,” Shayne told her. “Whitey didn’t tell me much either.”
“What do we care about either one of ’em? Walter’s dead and Whitey’s—” She paused, her eyes glittering, then continued in a deadly serious voice: “Well, he must know I’ll turn him in quick as a wink if he fools with me.”
“Or maybe make a deal with Michael Shayne yourself?”
“Where’d you get that idea?”
“I’ve heard of Shayne,” he growled. “If you expect him here today, why should you change your plans? That’s what I meant a little while ago when I said I’d never be sure where I stand with you again.”
Her breath came rapidly. “Why should I expect Shayne today?”
Shayne straightened and spread out his big hands. “Look, I’m doing a lot of guessing. I know all about Shayne. He’s big and tough and he likes his women the same way. How do I know you haven’t made a private deal with him? Hell,” he went on angrily, “how do I know it wasn’t in the cards for him to bump your husband last night? Yeah. That’s the way Shayne might play it. You and him together.”
“You’re crazy,” she snapped. “I don’t even know Shayne.”
“You seem to know a hell of a lot about him. Hasn’t he been here to see your husband?”
“No.”
“When did they plan it all, then? Your husband hasn’t been to the city for months.”
“They didn’t plan it. Walter just knew about him and figured he was the man to take care of Whitey. He went up to see Shayne yesterday. Isn’t that what he told Whitey? Isn’t that why Whitey bumped him off — to keep him from getting to Shayne?”
“Maybe that’s what he told Whitey,” Shayne growled. “That doesn’t make it the truth. I’m still wondering if you fixed that room upstairs with me for the stake-out.”
“Nuts,” she said, and poured herself another drink.
“You also later admitted you were making it easy for me to stay because you figured your husband had it fixed for Shayne to cool me — along with Whitey. How the hell do I know that doesn’t still stand?”
“I didn’t turn you in to the cop, did I?” All expression had gone from her eyes. Only a dazed stare remained.
“No,” Shayne laughed sardonically. “Why not? I’ll tell you why.” He straightened up and leaned toward her, his mouth grim and his eyes cold. “Because you didn’t want me to talk. Because you thought a gun-crazy shamus could do it better and without so much publicity.”
She drained her glass and her head lolled back against the chair. “Red! Don’t say those things. Come over here and kiss me.”
“I’ll kiss you,” he said brutally. “But I’ll never know the truth.” He threw his cocktail glass across the room and stood up.
Belle staggered to her feet, leaving the pistol in the chair. She put both arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. When she stopped kissing him she giggled drunkenly. “Satisfied now?”
Shayne laughed shortly. “Satisfied?”
“That I’m not putting anything over on you.”
He said, “Hell, no.”
Fandella called from the doorway, “Dinner is ready, ma’am.”
Shayne scrubbed the lipstick from his mouth and steadied Belle with his arm around her as they went across the hall where the table was set for two.
The meal began with a slice of chilled honeydew melon, progressed through fried chicken, flaky boiled rice and cream gravy, hot biscuits, and broccoli. They talked little. Belle ate like a farm hand who had been plowing all day, heartily and with gusto that disdained all pretense.
Shayne liked that about her. She was an amazing woman in many ways. Less than an hour ago she had been told of her husband’s murder. She had reason to suspect the man across the table from her of the murder, or of having guilty knowledge of his death. She had not shed a tear. She seemed moody and preoccupied as she ate, but he thought that came from trying to fit him into the picture rather than from any grief over her husband’s death.
He remembered the man he had seen lying in the alley last night and tried to imagine what sort of life they had spent together. He wondered whether Walter Carson had loved her in the beginning. With her magnificent body and her complete disregard of convention, it was easy to conceive how a country banker had been tricked into marrying her.
Shayne brooded over the fact that he had learned so little about the man she called Whitey. Thus far, he knew only that Whitey had something on Walter Carson and that Carson had chosen to go to a private detective rather than the police. Yet she had made it very clear that Whitey himself was in some sort of danger from the law.
It was evident, too, that both men had some hold on the other, and Whitey was using Carson’s position of respectability to blackmail him. Carson had planned to go to a private detective who was reputed to have a ruthless gun for hire in lieu of turning Whitey over to the police and running the risk of having him talk. Belle had clearly implied that Carson had hoped to lure Whitey to Cheepwee where Michael Shayne could blast him down.
This made it plain that Whitey was outside the law and the killing could be made to look legal. Otherwise, Carson would have sought a regular killer for the job. Shayne was aware of his own reputation in this regard. Newspaper stories were always hinting that he enjoyed killing if it had the cover of legality.
He had never bothered to stop such rumors. He found them good for business. The newspaper clipping in Carson’s pocket when he died gave him reason to believe Michael Shayne would do the job for him.
Shayne ate slowly, relishing every morsel. Belle’s silence offered him an opportunity to mull over the meager facts he had learned so far. He was wondering whether Carson had actually gone to Whitey and threatened him with Michael Shayne, as Belle suspected, when the maid brought the dessert in.
The dessert proved to be fresh peach ice cream piled with whipped cream. To Shayne it was a rare treat. When he had finished he leaned back in his chair and grinned at Belle.