“What’s the name of your attorney?”
“Mr. Bates in Wilmington.”
“Was he also Carrol’s lawyer?”
“Bates handles all the legal affairs of our firm.”
“What was the nature of the other affair when I was considered and investigated?” Shayne persisted.
“It was a personal matter,” Margrave told him curtly. “It can have no possible bearing on Ralph’s death.”
“I’ll have to be the judge of that.”
“Very well,” the big man agreed reluctantly. “Ralph received some nasty anonymous letters. He was furious and wanted a detective brought in, but I was able to persuade him to drop the matter.”
Ann Margrave re-entered the room as her father spoke. She was stunning in a clinging white sport frock, the wide belt, pert little hat, and two-toned shoes matched the scarlet rouge on her full mouth. She carried a small white purse in one white-gloved hand. She said in a flat voice, “I’m going out. ’By, Pops. Good-by, Mike.”
Shayne came to his feet holding his almost empty glass up in a salute. “Good-by, and thanks for the breakfast.”
She said, “You’re very welcome,” in the same flat tone, and went out.
“These modern children,” said Margrave heavily. “I won’t see Ann again until she comes reeling home this evening.”
Shayne set his glass on the table and remained standing. “What sort of anonymous letters were they?”
“What’s that? Oh, the ones Ralph received. Nasty, scurrilous things. That was months ago and there can be no possible connection.”
“Having to do with his wife?”
“Yes. Accusations against Nora. Will you take the case, Shayne?”
“Gladly. I’ll want to see Bates and learn all I can about the Vulcan lawsuit.”
“Of course. I assure you, that is the crux of the matter. Mr. Bates is coming down today, I believe. He telephoned me early this morning as soon as he was informed of Ralph’s death. I’ll let you know as soon as he arrives. I’ll be glad to give you a retainer. Any reasonable amount. I want you to spare no expense whatever in pinning this murder where it belongs.”
Shayne said, “Mail a check for a thousand to my office. I’ll be in touch with you.” He turned away, suddenly impatient to be away from the hotel suite and from Mr. Margrave.
Timothy Rourke came to his feet when Shayne stepped from the elevator. He hurried to the detective, his eyes burning with curiosity in their deep sockets. “What goes, Mike?”
Shayne paused to confess, “I forgot to mention that the Press was waiting downstairs. But go on up, Tim. You’ll get plenty of dynamite for a headline, if you have the guts to print it.”
He brushed past the reporter and was halfway across the lobby when Ann Margrave came up to him. She caught his arm with desperate fingers and said intensely, “I’ve got to talk to you. How about you buying me a drink?”
Shayne said, “Fine. Here? Or some place else?”
“Some place else,” she said with decision. “If Father saw us together he’d kill me.”
“I’ve got a car outside. Let’s go.”
Chapter ten
They were both silent as Shayne wheeled the borrowed car out of the Roney driveway onto Collins Avenue and turned north. Ann Margrave sat tense and still beside him, staring ahead, her gloved hands gripping the small purse in her lap.
He drove north a few blocks, turned west on a side street, and pulled up in front of a small restaurant and bar where he knew the drinks were good and there would be few customers at this hour.
They went into a long, air-conditioned room with a small bar near the entrance.
Shayne took Ann’s arm and led her to the rear, peering into empty booths. He selected the last one. When they were settled, she looked at him with an odd intensity in her light-blue eyes, and for the first time since meeting her, Shayne saw a tinge of color in her cheeks.
“I’m not a drunkard,” she denied vehemently, as though Shayne himself had just accused her. “It’s just that — oh — damn it, I like to get Pops’s goat. When he starts pontificating, I want to scream. So, I take a drink instead.”
“Does that help?” Shayne asked gravely.
“Enough of them do.”
Shayne held up a warning hand for silence when he saw the waiter approaching. “Now, what’ll you have?”
“What would you suggest?” she said, taking the cue.
“Black coffee.”
“That will be fine,” Ann Margrave told the waiter. “With a double slug of cognac in it, please. Croizet, if you have it.”
Shayne lifted his ragged red brows and grinned appreciatively. “The same for me, but plain, with a glass of iced water on the side instead of coffee.”
When the waiter went away, Ann said, “I simply had to talk to you. I thought I’d retch back there when you asked Pops if he knew Nora and he said she was wonderful — loyal to the core!” Venom dripped from her voice.
“Isn’t she?”
“She’s a bitch on wheels.” Her eyes were as cold as blue ice, but after a moment the angry curl of her lips relaxed, and she went on in a tired, flat tone. “She ruined Ralph’s life. She’s as much to blame for his death as though she stabbed him in the heart herself, which she was perfectly capable of doing, and probably would have if she’d been around last night.”
Shayne settled back, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and held them across to her. She took one and leaned forward to light it from his match. He lit one for himself, and said, “So you disagree with your father about Mrs. Carrol’s true character?”
“I disagree with Pops about practically everything,” she answered listlessly. “Did he happen to mention, for instance, that Nora was his mistress before she hooked Ralph?”
“No. He didn’t mention that.”
The waiter brought their drinks, and at a signal from Ann poured the cognac into her coffee, then went away.
“Well, she was,” she assured him. “For several months. Then she suddenly went after Ralph.”
“Was this before your father and Ralph Carrol became partners?”
“Oh, yes. While Ralph still had his job with Vulcan. While he was still perfectly satisfied and happy with his work,” she went on with gathering bitterness, “when he could still call his soul his own and wasn’t ashamed to look the world in the face.”
Shayne warmed the brandy glass in his hands. “Tell me about Ralph. Have you known him long?”
“I’ve been in love with him ever since I was fourteen. That’s nine years. And don’t laugh.”
Shayne said, “I’m not laughing, Ann.” He took a sip of brandy and waited for her to continue.
“Most people do. They started laughing nine years ago when I first started chasing after him. Maybe it was a silly girl crush in the beginning, but it turned into love, as soon as I was old enough to know what love really is.”
“Did Ralph reciprocate?”
“He was beginning to. I was wearing him down, all right. Psychologists say that any normal person will respond to adoration. Ralph was always sweet to me. I’d see him on vacations when he was away at college, and later when he came back to Wilmington to work there. We weren’t actually engaged,” she went on with the appearance of striving to be honest and objective, “but he was coming to it. Then he met Nora, and everything was ruined.”
“How long ago was this?”
“A little more than a year.” Ann sighed and took a drink of black coffee laced with cognac. “Everything was different after that. Ralph changed completely. I don’t know how she managed it.” Her hand trembled as she set the cup down, splashing the contents into the saucer. “She just flung her sex in his face, I guess. He was always so shy and sweet. She just overwhelmed him.” Ann paused to puff on her cigarette. She made a distasteful grimace, and mashed it out. “Nora had had enough experience, God knows, and knew how to get a man she wanted. And she decided she wanted Ralph.”