“I was hoping you could tell me who wanted to kill your husband and what the motive was,” Shayne said.
“On the contrary,” Della Peckinbaugh said. “I’m counting on you to find out and tell me, Mr. Shayne.”
She paused. Then, “You must find out and tell me before that same person decides to do the same thing to me as she did to Harvey.”
V
“Good lord Della,” Tim Rourke said. “You don’t really mean that, do you? Harvey was an overbearing man. He could be rough and tough, and he made enemies. But who on earth would want to murder you?”
She looked at Rourke.
“That’s what I want your Mr. Mike Shayne to find out for me,” Della Peckinbaugh said, and she wasn’t smiling when she said it. “Honestly, gentlemen, I think this was a personal killing. Not based on politics or Harvey’s business dealings, though God knows some of those may have-made him bitter enemies. I think this was strictly a personal thing and that the killer has the same crazy, twisted reasons to murder me.” She spoke calmly and with certainty.
“You sound very sure of yourself,” the big redheaded detective told her.
“I am. Oh, believe me, I’m in fear for my life right this very minute.”
“I believe you,” Mike Shayne said. “I also think that if you’re this sure of danger you can give me an educated guess where that danger is coming from. Who do you suspect killed your husband?”
“I don’t want to say,” Della Peckinbaugh said. “I don’t have any real evidence, at least not the sort that would stand up in court. I could be sued for accusing the wrong person.”
“Anything you say to Mike will be absolutely confidential,” Tim Rourke said. “I promise you that. You know he can do a better job if he knows who you suspect.”
She thought it over.
“Alright, Mr. Shayne. I have to trust you. Go see the woman who calls herself Dolly Dawn.”
“Your late husband’s friend?”
“My late husband’s girlfriend, his infatuation, his open and shameless light-o’-love. I’m not stupid. I know about her as I know about all the others. She’s the one.”
“But why would she want to kill him? You’re his legal wife and heir. What has she to gain?”
“You don’t know my husband,” she said. “I do. He told the same lies to each of his mistresses in turn to bind them to him. He told each one that he had put her in his will for a bequest of a cool million dollars cash. It was a lie of course, but it did heat up their feelings for him. I could always tell just when he’d told the girl by the way they both behaved. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Mr. Shayne. My Harvey was perfectly shameless in all the departments of his life.”
“I guess I’m just a bit old fashioned in a few things,” Shayne said.
“Only a few,” Tim Rourke interjected.
“To tell the truth I’m like you,” Della Peckinbaugh said. “I never quite got used to it myself — but that’s the way he was. On top of that he would hint to each girl that he would divorce me and marry her if she continued to make him happy. That was mighty effective too. Then after a while, of course, he’d cool off or find another girl. That could be an awful shock.”
“You think he was going to, drop Dolly Dawn?” Shayne asked.
“I think he was about to and that she found it out, but hadn’t found out yet that there wasn’t any million dollar bequest in his will. There was no million for Dolly, but she didn’t know it yet. Isn’t that a motive to kill?”
“Wrong, Della,” said a new voice. It was Bill Buzby who had come up to the table just in time to overhear her last words.
“Wrong?” she said. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I mean that in Dolly’s case there is a million dollar bequest — and she’ll collect it too. Harvey had a codicil to his will executed only three months ago. Up till then he’d just talked about doing that, but for Dolly he actually went ahead. I had to call in the attorneys and witness.”
“You never told me,” Della said.
“I didn’t expect him to die,” Buzby said to the three of them. “How could I anticipate this? I just figured he’d change his mind after a while.” He looked defensive.
“I wonder,” Della Peckinbaugh answered. “Maybe he really did love this one... Anyway, Mr. Shayne, I think you have enough of a motive to look into the young lady in depth. Don’t you?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Shayne said.
One of the servants informed Shayne that, “Miss Dawn is still in her room. She had her breakfast sent up a little while back.”
The two men went on up to the second floor of the mansion where the Master Suite and the quarters for the more important guests were located. The one assigned to Dolly Dawn was at the southeast corner looking out over the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
They found the room easily.
Mike Shayne knocked loudly on the heavy door of the room. There was no answer. He knocked again, and this time realized the latch of the door hadn’t caught. It moved a little under his fist. At the same time he and Rourke both thought they heard a low moan from inside.
Shayne pushed the door open. There was a partly-clad woman on the floor over by the window.
Shayne took a step unto the room.
The woman sat up and threw a knife, a silver hilted little Italian stiletto. If Mike Shayne hadn’t dodged with lightning speed, it would have skewered his throat. As it was the point stuck half an inch into the solid wood of the door.
VI
Mike Shayne was into the room with the speed of a big jungle cat, ready to grab the woman or pull his gun if necessary. Neither action was needed.
She just sat there on the floor with her hands in plain sight and looked at the two men as they came into the room.
“Who the hell are you?” she said then.
Shayne got the impression the knife hadn’t really been meant for him, that she’d expected someone else to come through that door. It would have helped if he’d known who that other person was.
“I’m a real poor target for that sort of thing,” he jerked his big thumb at the knife which was still quivering in the wooden panel of the door. “If you try that again, I’ll take the shiv and make you eat it.”
She sat there and looked up at him.
“I believe you would at that,” she said.
Long red hair streamed down to rounded shoulders and even without makeup her face was roundly beautiful. She wore pajamas which neither restrained nor concealed the ripe curves of breast and thigh. Under her auburn brows were hard, alert, china blue eyes. Shayne got the impression they looked right through to his backbone.
“I’ve seen your picture in the papers,” she said, “You’ve got to be Mike Shayne.”
“That’s me,” Shayne said, “and I suppose you’re Dolly Dawn.”
She put back her head and rocked with gusty laughter. “Two minutes I see the great detective,” she said between laughs. “Only two minutes and he goes as wrong as he could be.”
“Who are you then? This, is Dolly Dawn’s room isn’t it?”
“It’s her room alright, but I’m not her. Ask your friend there who I am. He danced with me and did his best to do more the night before last. Or were you too sozzled to remember me, Tim?”
“This isn’t Dolly Dawn,” Tim Rourke confirmed. “This is Sally Peters, Slim’s wife.”