“But you’re the only one,” she began, and then subsided, holding her arm up and turning it slowly, admiring the green fire lurking in the depths of the stones.
Shayne opened her door and stood aside to let Timothy Rourke in. The reporter shambled past him, saying, “Couple of questions I want to ask, Mike. Hi, Lucy. If you’ve got a drink…”
He stopped in mid-stride with his mouth open. “Mother of God! Where’d you get that?”
“Just a paltry little old emerald bracelet I picked up for her,” Shayne said casually. “Sets off the apron rather nicely, don’t you think?”
“Where’d you get it, Mike?”
“Upstairs over the boathouse in the caretaker’s bedroom.”
“So he was the one who stole it! Wait a minute, Mike. That torn half of a claim check you found on Felice’s body. I figured she had been in on the theft and they had stashed the bracelet away in some checkroom and each of them kept half the check. So, why did Brad kill her and tear up her room looking for her half of the check, if he had the bracelet all the time?”
“Did Brad kill her, Tim?”
The reporter shook his head slowly, getting his thoughts back into focus. “Whose fingerprints were on the barrel of my gun?” he demanded.
“Brad’s.”
“I thought so,” exploded Rourke. “In fact, before I came up here, I phoned Will Gentry and told him to check the dead caretaker’s prints with those on my gun and the ones they found all over Felice’s apartment.”
“You hadn’t told me that before,” Shayne reminded him.
“I know. Things have been happening too damned fast.” Rourke looked imploringly at Lucy who was still admiring the bracelet on her wrist. “For the love of God, Lucy, darling, are you going to get me that drink?”
She said, “Sorry, Tim. I was practicing being a glamour-puss.” She stood up regally, holding her braceleted arm stiffly in front of her. “Bourbon and branch water, Mr. Rourke?”
Rourke stared after her as she swept out into the kitchen. “What makes with the bracelet, Mike?”
Shayne shook his head sadly. “I just gave it to her.”
“A hundred grand worth of emeralds?” gasped Rourke.
Lucy came back carrying Rourke’s drink. Shayne went to her as she handed it to the reporter, and put his arm tightly about her slim waist. He asked, “Do you really like it, Angel?”
She looked down at the glittering bracelet on her wrist. In a curiously small and forlorn voice, she told him, “I’d like it a lot better, if you’d buy me a kind of imitation that we could afford instead of stealing one for me.”
Shayne asked quietly, “How’d something be at about six or seven hundred dollars?”
“It would be wonderful, but…”
Shayne carefully placed the first two fingers of his left hand underneath her chin and turned her mouth up to his. He kissed her on the lips and then told her cheerfully, “We can easily afford that bauble on your wrist, Angel. Don’t you think that garlic sauce is about ready to serve?”
She drew away from him, looking up into his face with rounded, imploring eyes. “I don’t have enough for Tim. too.”
“Timothy Rourke,” said Shayne, firmly, “is leaving. As of this moment.” He released Lucy and gave her a little shove toward the kitchen. Then he put his arm about Rourke’s thin shoulders and moved him toward the door. “Aren’t you, Tim?”
“Wait a minute. About that bracelet…”
“Call me in the morning, Tim, you and Will Gentry. After I’ve had time to work on that torn claim check. That’s where the real bracelet is. When we get it, we’ll all go to call on Ham Barker and see what sort of deal we can work out. In the meantime…” Shayne opened the door of Lucy’s apartment and ushered the reporter out happily, “… if you want a hamburger, go order one at the nearest Greasy Spoon.”
He closed the door firmly on the departing reporter.