When the girl just kept on standing there with her back turned, Lucy moved toward her, saying calmly, "So, you're Miss Paulson? May I call you Nellie?"
The girl whirled about at the words, her features twisting strangely, her eyes wild, and Shayne's warning came sharply to Lucy: "I don't know whether she's actually nuts or not, but she's on the fringe."
"On the fringe" was putting it mildly, Lucy thought to herself as the girl demanded, "How did you know-who told you my name was Nellie Paulson?"
"Mr. Shayne. When he telephoned me."
"Oh-I see." The distorted features smoothed out slowly. She even managed a smile as she fumbled with the catch of her black bag and got it open, extracted a sheet of paper and held it out to Lucy. "Here's the note he wrote for you. Just so you'll know."
Lucy glanced at the note and found it was about what she had expected. In the meantime, the girl turned away from her to the sofa, removing her jacket as she did so. "You've got a drink all poured out for me," she breathed happily, reaching for the cognac glass waiting for Shayne's return. "I can use one right now-believe me. After all I've been through."
"Not that one I" said Lucy sharply.
She drew her hand back from the wine-glass as though it had burned her, and looked up in perplexity. "Sorry. I thought you'd fixed it for me."
Now her lips were pouting and she looked like a little girl about to cry after her favorite doll had been snatched away from her, Lucy thought despondently. "Dear God. What has Michael let me in for this time?"
Aloud, she said hurriedly, "You're welcome to a drink, of course. It's just that- I'll get you another glass." She went swiftly into the kitchen and returned with a clean glass, and her cheeks were rosy as she confessed, "I'm just sort of superstitious, I guess. I'd poured that for Mr. Shayne when he was called out to see you, and he promised to be back to drink it with me before midnight."
"Before midnight?" her visitor echoed speculatively, watching avidly as Lucy poured out another drink, and glancing down at her wristwatch.
"Not that I believe for a moment he'll make it." Lucy shrugged and reached for her tumbler where she had poured an inch of cognac more than an hour before. The ice cubes were more than half-melted now, and the diluted liquor in the glass was a pale amber. She moved to the other end of the sofa with it, and the girl took a tentative sip of her drink and sputtered doubtfully, "It's awfully strong, isn't it?"
"I don't like it straight," Lucy confessed. "I'll get you some water or soda if you like."
"That's okay, I guess. I'll just sip it slowly. How much — did Mr. Shayne tell you about me over the phone?"
"Not very much. Just that some awful man is chasing you with a gun, and you're frightened and I'm not to let anyone in. So you needn't be worried any more," Lucy went on practically. "I'm quite sure Michael will take care of everything."
"Oh, I'm sure he will, too," the girl agreed fervently. "He's really wonderful, isn't he? Mr. Shayne? It must be marvelous to work for him. So exciting and interesting."
"It's very seldom dull," Lucy conceded dryly. "Now look. I don't want to pry, and I know you're all upset and must be terribly worried about your brother."
She had managed that very well, Lucy thought complacently. Whether the brother had been murdered as Shayne said the girl believed, or whether it was her brother who was chasing her-Lucy felt she had made the statement sufficiently ambiguous to cover either contingency.
"So if you just want to sit here quietly and not talk about it at all, it's perfectly all right with me," Lucy went on evenly. "And if you want to lie down after you've finished your drink, there's an extra bed all made up. The most important thing is to relax and try to forget all about it. We can just pretend we're old friends and you've dropped in for a chat, and talk about-well, ships and shoes and sealing wax and such."
She received a humbly grateful look in return. "And cabbages and kings, maybe? But-didn't he tell you anything about what happened at the Hibiscus Hotel tonight?"
"Not a single thing. You can, if you wish, but don't feel you have to. I'm not a detective and not a bit of good in the world at deductions."
"I guess you're right. I guess I should just try to put it all out of my mind. Do you think Mr. Shayne will be back for his drink before midnight?"
"Not unless he finishes up whatever he's doing first. You know better than I what that is."
Lucy sat erect suddenly as she finished speaking, and leaned forward to put her glass down. "I forgot. I promised to call him as soon as you got here."
She went to the telephone and dialed a number, and when a male voice replied, she said:
"I'd like Chief Gentry's office, please. If he's still at headquarters."
TWELVE: 10:52 PM
From the yacht basin in Biscayne Bay, Miami's skyline at night is brilliantly lighted and imposing. Waterfront hotels rise sheerly and almost solidly from the western shore of the bay, their windows glittering with thousands of lights that are reflected from the placid surface of the water.
During the Season, the basin is crowded with hundreds of varied hulls anchored close together in serried ranks: from the huge luxury yachts of millionaires to sleek, twenty-foot launches sleeping two in cramped quarters.
At this period in early autumn, only a dozen or so craft were anchored in the basin. One of them was a slim forty-foot sailing vessel named the Marjie J. She rode silently at anchor with riding lights fore and aft, and in her bow there were also the companionable lights of two cigarettes gleaming on and off quite close together.
One of the cigarettes shone long and brightly and then described an arc over the side and died with a hiss in the water. Muriel stretched indolently in her deck chair, and her left hand gripped her companion's trailing fingers tightly.
"Darling," she sighed, "I must go back."
"It's still early," he protested, just as indolently. He held up a bare muscular forearm to study the radium dial of his watch. "Not even eleven." His hand tightened on hers between the two deck chairs. "I thought we'd go down to the cabin again-before you took off."
"Please, Norman." She drew her hand from his and sat up, looking toward the magnificent sky-line of the Magic City, with furrowed forehead. "You know John comes home early sometimes. I must get back."
Norman said, "Oh, damn John. Suppose he does come home and find you out? He won't know where you've! been."
"He'd have his suspicions." She kept her voice light, but there was an underlying note of gravity. "We shouldn't do this, Norman. It isn't right."
"But it's nice." He sat up suddenly and showed white teeth in the faint moonlight. "You won't deny that."
"While it's happening," she said flatly. She got to her feet, a tall, well-boned woman of thirty-five, wearing a thin skirt that whipped about her thighs in the light inshore breeze. "Afterward, you don't have to lie in bed beside John and think how it would be if he ever found out."
"No," he agreed amiably. "I'm spared that." He swung to his feet beside her, bronzed body wearing only skintight bathing trunks. He put one arm about her tightly and nuzzled his lips in her hair, turning her slowly and tipping up her face for a long kiss.
Her arms went about him passionately, and sharp fingernails clawed at the flesh of his bare back, not hard enough to draw blood but leaving streaks of whiteness behind them when they fell away limply.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her upturned face and whispered huskily, "Still want to go back?"