“Hold it, son. First tell me who she is.”
“It’s Mrs. Harris. In three twenty-six. You asked me about checking her in this morning, sir, and I told you how kind of funny she was… giving me a five dollar tip for nothing really, and how she was sore because there was twin beds in her room instead of a double… and how she liked to sleep in a double bed.”
He paused, swallowing hard in embarrassment, and Merrill said softly, “Yeh. You told me that, Bill. But you didn’t tell me anything about midnight. What about that?”
“Well, I didn’t think it was important, and I didn’t want to… but maybe it is important now she’s missing and all,” he stumbled on. “I was on my way out the door when she came up close behind me and asked when I got off duty, and I told her at midnight that night. And then she kind of whispered in my ear that she was going to be lonesome and for me to stop up for a nightcap with her at midnight.”
“All right, Bill.” Merrill’s voice was cutting and hard. “What happened at midnight?”
“Nothing. I did go up and knock on her door. I know it’s against the rules and I’ll get fired for it, but I can’t help it. And I’d do it again, I guess, anyhow if it was someone like Mrs. Harris. But her room was dark and she didn’t answer, and… and that’s all there is to it.”
“You didn’t see her after that?”
“I swear I didn’t see her after that. I didn’t hear another thing about her until this morning when you asked me. Later, I heard around the hotel that she hadn’t been back in her room since that Monday evening.”
Merrill said, “All right, Thompson. Get back on the floor.”
When the lad had gone, he looked at Shayne and raised his shoulders. “Beginning to get the picture?”
“Too well,” growled Shayne. “Harris told me there was one other angle here. That she signed a bar bill about seven o’clock.”
“That’s the last thing we’ve got on her, Mike. It’s a chit for two daiquiris and two bourbon highballs.” He looked at his watch and got to his feet and picked up the picture. “The bartender who was on duty Monday evening has just come on in the lounge. I haven’t talked to him about her yet. Come along, you and your friend, and the house will buy you a drink and prove to you that the Beachhaven isn’t keeping anything up its sleeve.” He circled around his desk and led the way out of the room.
8
The cocktail lounge was dimly lighted and cool and practically deserted. Tiny was polishing glasses with his back to the bar. He turned about as the three men climbed onto stools, flicked a glance at Merrill and nodded briefly, then his big face spread into a wide grin when he recognized the redhead. “Mike Shayne, by all that’s holy! How are you, my lad?” He thrust out a hand as big as a ham and crushed Shayne’s in a warm grip, then turned and searched along the top shelf for a very special bottle of Cordon Bleu which he uncorked and set in front of Shayne with a flourish. When he set a four-ounce wine glass beside it, Merrill said dryly, “Go easy on that stuff, Tiny. I promised Shayne a drink on the house.”
“If it wasn’t on the house, it’d be on me,” Tiny assured him, filling the glass to the brim. He transferred his attention to Rourke and asked, “What’ll it be for you?” then paused, staring at him. “Aren’t you Tim Rourke, now? So it’ll be bourbon and water. You can see I read all those books about you, Mike. But what’s with this lousy T-V show on NBC Friday nights?” He scowled as he poured whisky for Rourke. “Where’d they dig up that bird that plays you, Mike? Why in hell aren’t you out there playing the part your ownself? Drink, Mr. Merrill?” he added in an aside.
“A small beer, Tiny.” Merrill had Ellen’s photograph in his hands and he tapped it on the bar, but Tiny was giving his full attention to Shayne. “Take that show last night now. I turn it on every Friday night here just for laughs. My God, Mike! The way that actor got pushed around by everybody last night. How can you stand to watch it?”
Shayne said, “I don’t.” He sipped the fine cognac appreciatively. “I haven’t tuned it in since the first two shows. Richard Denning is supposed to be a very fine actor.”
“He the guy that plays you?” Tiny snorted his disgust. “Maybe he’s a good actor, but the things they have him do…” He shook his head sadly. “And how do you like that young wise-cracker they got playing you, Mr. Rourke?”
Rourke said, “I’m like Mike. I just don’t watch T-V.”
“What’s the matter with that friend of yours that writes the show?” Tiny demanded. “That Brett Halliday. Has he gone nuts or something? His books are swell, but God preserve me from those stories every Friday night.”
“He doesn’t write those,” Shayne explained wryly. “The wise boys in Hollywood won’t let him. They think they’ve got writers out there who know better how to do it.”
“I’ll tell you one thing frankly, Mike. It’s a stinker and it’s not going to stay on the air very long. Like I say, I turn it on here because it’s supposed to be you and from Miami and all, and I hear what people say about it. We’re proud of you in Miami, damn it, and it makes people sore to watch it.”
“Ah, Tiny,” said Merrill with some asperity. “If you’ll wind up this session of the Mike Shayne fan club and take a look at a picture I have here, I’ll appreciate it. I have to get back to my office.”
“Sure, Mr. Merrill. Sorry I run off at the mouth so much.” Tiny wiped his hands on his white apron and took the picture. He turned slightly to get a better light on it, and nodded slowly.
“I’ve seen her. Sure. She was in here a few days ago. Wait a minute, now. It’s coming back to me. Last Monday, it was. I was off Saturday and Sunday, and came on late Monday with a hangover. Things were slack when she came in… about seven o’clock. I remember her, all right. She came in through that door from the parking lot and stood there for a minute looking around.”
“As though she expected to see someone she knew?” asked Shayne.
“I don’t think so. No. It wasn’t like that. More like she was casing the joint before deciding whether to have a drink or not. She was some hunk of woman. You couldn’t help but notice her.”
“Sexy?”
“Yeh, sexy. But don’t get me wrong. In one hell of a nice way. No tramp. You could see she was a lady right off. That’s why I remember her so well. She was… well it was kind of funny how she acted at the bar. Out of character, you might say. Different from what I expected.”
“How did she act, Tiny?”
“Well, she came up and hesitated and first asked if it was all right for her to sit alone at the bar, so I knew right off she was new in town. I told her sure. Then she asks what I think she ought to drink. Well, that’s a funny one, and I say what does she like. And she says she doesn’t drink very much at home, but tonight she feels like it, and isn’t a daiquiri that drink you make with rum? So I mix up a daiquiri for her.”
Tiny paused, shaking his head slowly. “When I turn around to pour it, she’s got a cigarette in her mouth and there’s this guy who has come up behind her and is offering her a light. So she takes it and thanks him, and, hell, that’s all right. Then he sits down beside her and orders a bourbon, and I kind of watch out of the corner of my eye waiting for her to do a chill job on him. But she doesn’t. She picks right up with him. And that is funny. Because I could of sworn she was a real lady.”
“Perhaps she knew him,” Merrill suggested.
“No. Not if it was her first trip like she told me. I’ve seen him around. Gene his first name is… I don’t know his last. He’s okay. Smooth and quiet. But I’ve heard it around that he’s a shill for some of the joints on the Beach. Hangs around bars like this looking for pickups.”
Merrill said sternly, “You know the policy of the Beachhaven, Tiny. We don’t allow…”
“Now look, Mr. Merrill. I know my job behind the bar. No rough stuff goes while I’m on duty. But if one customer wants to buy another customer a drink, and they’re quiet and nice about it, I wouldn’t hold my job very long if I started interfering.”