“A habit?” Phyllis scoffed. “I’ll bet it’s a record.”
The water began to boil. She started to pour it into the top of an earthenware dripolator, but Shayne put out his hand to stop her.
“Let me see how much coffee you’ve got in there,” he growled. “Most women treat coffee as though it was more precious than diamonds.”
He lifted the top with its tiny drip holes and nodded with surprised pleasure at sight of the middle container heaped high with drip-ground coffee.
“It’s unbelievable,” he exclaimed in a tone of high praise. “You’re actually making coffee a man can drink. You’ll make some man a swell wife when you grow up.”
She said, “I’m nineteen,” and grimaced charmingly, poured the water with a steady hand, though a deep flush came into her cheeks.
“Uh-huh. One month older than you were last month-”
“When you pushed me out of the door and told me to grow up.”
She put the empty pot down and faced him, her eyes wide and probing.
“Lord, you’re slow growing up,” he told her in a light, complaining voice, but his eyes were deep, serious.
“Maybe,” she said gravely, “you’d be surprised.”
He touched her cheek, then turned away abruptly to reach for a corkscrew.
“Want a drink?”
She said, “Of course,” behind him, and bent zestfully over the dripolator to see if the water had all passed through.
He paused, with the screw just biting into the cork. “Like that, huh? Before breakfast and everything? And when I first met you, you choked over the smell of the vile stuff.”
“It’s your fault,” she told him serenely. “It’s up to you to save me from a drunkard’s death.”
He twisted the corkscrew carefully, slid the bottle down and gripped it between his thighs and pulled steadily and with infinite patience.
“How did you get into my apartment?”
“The night clerk let me in with a pass-key. I told him I was your sister.”
Shayne chuckled. “Did he believe you?”
The cork was reluctantly letting go. Shayne eased it out cautiously.
“I don’t think so.” Her eyes twinkled. “He mumbled something about you having a hell of a lot of sisters-and all with funny visiting habits.”
“Swearing too, eh?” Shayne swung around, pointing the cork, impaled on the screw, at her accusingly.
She wrinkled up her nose and laughed at him.
“That was just quoting. I’m not very good at it yet. Hell and damn are really as far as I’ve gotten with any degree of sophistication. But I know lots more. Like-”
“Skip it,” Shayne snapped. His eyes had a hungry, yearning glint in them. “I’ll take you like you are, Angel. Don’t go getting your face dirty.”
She took a quick step forward, put her hands on his biceps.
“Why don’t you?”
“Why don’t I what?”
“Take me,” she cried, “like I am.”
Shayne’s tongue licked out to taste the witch-hazel on his lips.
He said, “Darling,” and stopped short. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. He said roughly, “You’re crazy, and you’re damned sweet. Let’s have that drink.”
He turned from her and went into the living-room. Phyllis sighed and followed with a stubborn frown creasing her smooth brow.
Shayne took down a tiny liqueur glass and set it beside the tall wine glass he had drunk from the preceding evening. He filled them both and dropped into the chair she had been sleeping in when he entered the room. Stretching out a long arm for the large glass, he said gruffly, “Suppose you start telling me what it’s all about. Starting a month back, when I lost track of you in the shuffle.”
She sat down in a straight chair and regarded him levelly over the rim of the tiny glass.
“You didn’t have to-lose track of me. I telephoned and left my new address when I moved into an apartment.”
He made an impatient gesture. “We’re talking in circles. A man was murdered last night.”
“I-know.” Her lips paled. “Did you-the papers said-”
“That I killed Harry Grange,” he supplied cheerfully. “Why did you come here if you read the papers and knew I was supposed to be in jail?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t stay in jail.”
Shayne grinned wryly and took a long drink.
“You were going to tell me about things, Angel.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” Phyllis lifted her glass and drank the small potion swiftly. “I followed your advice-about growing up.”
“By running around with chiselers like Harry Grange?”
She folded her hands meekly in her lap and looked at him wide-eyed.
“Not particularly with Harry. You’d be proud of me if I made out a complete list of the men who have volunteered to teach me about life with a capital L. Elliot Thomas-among others.”
Shayne’s right arm stopped rigidly with his glass halfway to his mouth.
“Elliot Thomas!”
Phyllis nodded complacently.
“He is considered quite a catch-but he’s stupid. He thinks every girl likes to be pawed after she’s had a glass of champagne.”
Shayne’s glass went on to his lips and he inhaled a deep breath of the bouquet, then drank two long swallows. He said, gently, “I’m particularly interested in Elliot Thomas. Have you been seeing him lately?”
Phyllis shook her lustrous, close-cropped head of black hair.
“Not for a couple of weeks.”
“Do you happen to be acquainted with Marsha Marco?”
Phyllis repeated the name, shaking her head again.
“I don’t think so.”
“You girls should meet,” Shayne grunted. “You’ve got a lot in common.” He finished off his drink and set the glass down, got up and went into the kitchen, asking over his shoulder, “Cream and sugar?”
“Cream-if you have it. No sugar.”
He got a half-pint bottle of cream from the refrigerator and took the coffeepot from the hot electric coil and carried them into the living-room. Making a second trip, he brought two cups and saucers and set them out in front of Phyllis.
“You can pour.”
She filled the cups with steaming black coffee and handed one to Shayne.
“Who is Marsha Marco-and what have we in common?”
He stared across the room somberly.
“Tell me exactly what happened after I saw you last night.”
“I was mad as-as hops at you,” she told him. “Mostly because you had showed Harry up when I thought he was just what he pretended to be-”
Shayne nodded impatiently.
“I knew you were mad. Did you catch Grange?”
“Yes-that is-I did and I didn’t.”
When Shayne didn’t say anything, she hurried on to explain, “He had gotten in his car and was just driving away when I came out. I called to him and thought he heard me because he slowed down and stopped. I started walking to his car, but another girl got in ahead of me-and they drove away.”
“Was she wearing a red dress?”
“I-don’t know. There was just the moonlight and I didn’t see her very plainly.”
She paused as if some secret thought perplexed her.
“Well?” Shayne hunched forward, sipping his coffee.
“Well, I stood there for a moment practicing some of my best swear words on Harry, then a car drove up and stopped and it was Elliot Thomas. He was partially sober, and I asked him to drive me home.”
“That all?”
“That’s all. About midnight I heard the radio report that Harry had been murdered and you had been arrested. I remembered that you had threatened to break his neck when we were in the office of that gambling joint. I called the Miami Beach police and they wouldn’t tell me anything. Then I went out and bought a newspaper and-well, I got panicky and came over here and-and waited for you.”
“Then you didn’t see Grange after he left Marco’s office?”
“Marco?”
“John Marco. The gambler.”
“You mentioned a girl-”
“Marsha Marco. His daughter.” Shayne’s gray eyes gathered suspicion as he looked at her. “Say-are you stalling-trying to get away from the main subject?”