Shayne stepped into the passageway. “Which door?”
She pointed at one of the doors and he hammered on it. “Mr. Lyon! Wake up!”
“Oh, dear,” Sally said. “He probably just got back to sleep for the third time. Let me go in and prepare the way.”
Shayne let her get by. He went up to the wheelhouse. They had a good Hallicrafter radio-telephone, he was glad to see. It was still warming up when Sally’s father came boiling up from below.
“What’s this about taking my boat?” he demanded. “Like hell! You’ll get out of here before I-”
Shayne said mildly, “There’ve been two murders, and there’ll be a third unless we can find the Nefertiti in a hell of a hurry. We need the Coast Guard. You call them while I get underway. I know this water better than you do.” He called out the window, “Cast off, Sally.”
“I already did!”
Lyon was looking at Shayne suspiciously. “Who’s been murdered?” The motors caught. Shayne reversed and began to back into open water.
“Sit down, Mr. Lyon. What business are you in?”
“I’m a retailer. What’s that got to do with anything?” He was sputtering. His hands opened and closed, but Shayne loomed over him, a bloody, menacing figure, and he did nothing more than breathe fiercely through his nose. “You’re hijacking this boat. By God, the first thing the Coast Guard is going to hear-”
“Sally says you’re from Baltimore. This is going to be a pretty big story. You’ll make the Baltimore papers.”
Sally ran in. “Dad, are you being pleasant or unpleasant?”
“He’s about to call the Coast Guard for me,” Shayne told her, swinging around the first buoy that marked the channel under the Broad Causeway to the Bay Harbor Islands and Bal Harbour.
“Sally, go below and get some clothes on,” Mr. Lyon said sharply. “You can see right through that nightgown.”
Sally groaned. “Dad, you’re so far behind the times you’re prehistoric! Well, it’s probably better to have him snapping at me than at you, Mike. I’m more used to it.”
When she left them Lyon hesitated, then picked up the transmitter. “What am I going to get in the Baltimore papers for? Not for being a hero, I hope.”
“They have a gun aboard, but if they use it they’ll be shooting at me,” Shayne said.
“They could miss.” He signaled the marine operator. “I’m thinking about the women as well as myself. Of course,” he added, “they’re probably too potted to find the gun, let alone shoot it. I’ve been known to take a drink myself, but those two on the Nefertiti-they give alcohol a bad name.”
“That’s an impression they’ve been trying to give,” Shayne said. “As a matter of fact, they’ve been sober most of the time.”
“Sober? Mrs. De Rham? She hasn’t drawn a sober breath since she got to Miami.”
“It was part of the con. Tell the operator you want the Coast Guard air station at Opa Locka Airport.”
The operator was slow to answer. Lyon signaled again. When he had a connection he asked urgently for the Coast Guard. “Shayne, they’ve been moored about six feet from me for the last two weeks. I saw the empty bottles.”
Shayne let him listen to how that sounded. Lyon said slowly, “I guess she could have emptied them down the drain, but Beefeater gin-do you know what it costs?”
Sally came in, dressed in brief shorts and a respectable top. “Mother’s sleeping like a baby. What about Beefeater? That’s Mrs. De Rham’s brand.”
The Coast Guard operator’s voice came from the amplifier. Shayne picked up the small mike.
“May Day, May Day.”
The channel was open, and they heard an abrupt clanging of bells.
“Right,” the operator said tersely. “Where are you?”
“North Biscayne Bay. This is Michael Shayne. I’m on a boat named-”
“Panther,” Lyon supplied.
“Panther. A boat’s been stolen. The Nefertiti, fifty, fifty-five foot, a black cruiser.”
“Motor yacht,” Lyon corrected him, leaning forward to speak into the mike. “A deck and a half, open deck aft. Pacemaker.”
“Check. Can you give me a location?”
“We think they went out through Haulover,” Shayne said. “They have half an hour’s start. Two people aboard, a man and a woman. Tell the pilot they’re armed.”
“Roger.”
Sally’s eyes shone with excitement. “Stolen, Mike? Were you making that up?”
“Do you know what he claims?” her father said before Shayne could answer. “He says they’ve only been pretending to be drunk. I’ll be the first to admit I never cottoned to Mrs. De Rham. Very hoity-toity and unsociable. But a non-drinker? I don’t go along with you there, Shayne. I observed her carefully.”
“Maybe Mike knows more about it than you do, Dad,” Sally said.
“Do you think so?” Lyon said stiffly. “I’m inclined to doubt it.”
The sky was lighter in the east. Shayne looked at his watch and cut the lights. In a few more minutes they were approaching the Cut. They went under the highway bridge without slackening speed. Sally called out, pointing to the big Sikorsky helicopter coming up last behind them, white with a bright orange stripe.
“That didn’t take long.”
Shayne called Opa Locka. “He’s overhead now. Can I talk to him?”
“No, you have to relay through me. He’ll search to the south first. You’d better head due east. He’s computed a half-hour cruising radius for a fast boat. After he checks the north-south line he’ll come back along the arc and intersect you. Visibility’s good. We’re sending another helicopter on a line over North Miami Beach. Do you want the cutters alerted?”
“No, they couldn’t get here in time. Tell him not to bother about the Keys. These people are heading for deep water.”
Shayne hung the mike on its hook and took out his pint of cognac. “I don’t know about anybody else. I’m going to have a drink.”
“I’ll have a small one, thanks,” Sally said promptly.
“You will not,” her father said. “Not before breakfast.” He accepted the bottle when Shayne held it out to him. Shayne drank and put it away.
“How much did you see of Mrs. De Rham?”
“Just glimpses,” Lyon admitted, “but I do know a drunk when I see one. That was no act.”
But he already sounded less certain. He rubbed his mouth doubtfully. “I suppose if they had some reason-”
“Do you think they’re imposters, Mike?” Sally said. “That they’re only pretending to be Mrs. De Rham and Brady?”
“Somebody’s pretending,” he said briefly. “How are we for gas?”
“Right up snug.”
Shayne asked for binoculars, and when Sally supplied a pair he began combing the horizon. The air was still, with a light haze over the water. The sun was almost up.
“Mike thinks we might get our pictures in the papers,” Lyon said.
She looked at Shayne and laughed. “That explains the transformation. How did you know he was a publicity hound?”
“Publicity hound? I have to protest that,” Lyon said. “I’m thinking about the store. That kind of publicity translates into dollars and cents.”
The helicopter, gaining altitude, passed out of sight to the south. Suddenly the sun burst over the horizon, huge and orange, the static cut out abruptly and the Coast Guardsman called, “He’s spotted them, Shayne.”
Shayne pulled the wheel down and the boat swung.
The voice continued, “A mile off Government Cut. A bit over a mile. They’re circling-They’re on fire! They’re on fire!”
Shayne’s eyes narrowed.
“They’re heading north. Wheelhouse seems to be empty.”
Holding the wheel steady with his chest, Shayne raked the binoculars back and forth in a long arc. He picked up something that might be a smudge of smoke. He corrected his course slightly.
“I see the chopper,” Lyon said excitedly. “I’ll take the wheel, Shayne. Head for the smoke, right?”
The Coast Guardsman, after his brief loss of composure, was speaking again in his unemotional professional voice. “Nefertiti still proceeding north under full power. The fire’s out of control. No one at the wheel. I say again: No one at the wheel.”