Pay-Off in Blood

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shayne had his second sidecar in front of him when he felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned his head to look into Lucy Hamilton’s dancing brown eyes.

He regarded her sourly and demanded, “All right. What should a detective look like?”

“They’re mostly flat-footed, fat slobs. Which you aren’t.” Lucy linked her arm in his. “They’ve got a table for us.”

Shayne slid off the bar-stool and nodded to the bartender. “I’ll finish my drink at the table.” He went into the dining room with his secretary, and when they were seated, she confided to him, “Mrs. Ambrose doesn’t like you, Michael. I think she suspects you’re in league with the gamblers who she is convinced killed her husband. On the other hand… that big bitch of a nurse. Oh, my!” Lucy widened her eyes laughingly. “She thinks you’re pretty much of a guy. Darned if she doesn’t practically blush every time your name is mentioned. How did you get so well acquainted with her so fast, Michael?”

He shrugged and said blandly, “We rolled on the floor together last night. There’s nothing like a fast roll on the floor to induce lasting friendship.”

A waiter set his drink in front of him, and Lucy wrinkled her nose. “For a man who was headed straight for bed last evening, you appear to have had a pretty full night. Can I have a sidecar, too?”

He said, “Sure,” and nodded to the waiter and waved aside the menus offered them. “We’ll order when you bring her drink. What did you manage to find out, Lucy?”

“Not much. Nothing important, I’m afraid. The Ambroses led a quiet, orderly, and seemingly circumspect life. He was very well regarded professionally, and had a thriving practice. They didn’t go out a great deal, and almost never entertained at home. Celia was regarded as something of a recluse, and didn’t encourage neighborhood friendships.”

“A lush?” demanded Shayne.

“Possibly. I guess I should make that probably. There was some reluctance to discuss her personal habits in the light of what happened last night, but I got several hints that she was in the habit of hitting the bottle at home alone. But she didn’t bother anybody or do it in public, and her neighbors are inclined to be charitable.”

“No financial difficulties?”

“That…” Lucy hesitated as the waiter set a sidecar in front of her. Shayne told him, “We’d both like the stuffed French pancakes… flambe. Make it a la carte, with coffee later.” He raised ragged, red eyebrows at Lucy. “You were about to say?”

“It is the neighborhood consensus that they lived quite frugally… considering the doctor’s estimated income. This could be due to his over-fondness for the bookies and the bangtails.”

“Lucy Hamilton! The slang you do pick up.”

“All in the day’s work as a representative of the Women’s Civic Betterment Association.” She wrinkled her nice nose at him over her cocktail glass. “I think I pulled that off pretty damn well.”

“That’s something I want to take up with you. Why the devil did you come barging in at the Ambrose house when you must have seen my car parked outside? You could have waited until I left.”

“I didn’t notice your car, Michael. I swear I didn’t. I was just as surprised as you were when I walked in. Anyhow, the widow Ambrose confided in me that she didn’t trust you one little bit and had no intention of answering any of your questions.”

Shayne said, “She’ll have to answer them later.”

“What sort of questions?”

“Mostly about the doctor’s pistol… which she claims was at his office and Belle says he kept at home. Also, I’d like to know what time of day she started drinking yesterday.”

“Belle?” said Lucy, wrinkling her nose at him again and finishing her cocktail with a gratified sigh. “You know something, Michael?”

“Probably not. What?”

“I got a strange feeling that neither one of those gals is actually and honestly and truly mourning the doctor’s demise.”

Shayne stared across the table at her for a long moment, very soberly. “What gave you that impression?”

“I just picked it up out of the air.” Lucy made a little deprecating gesture. “They were both gushing about ‘Dear Doctor’, but, damn it, it just didn’t seem to ring true.” The waiter wheeled up a serving-table with a blue-flamed alcohol burner on it and a silver platter above the flame carrying four small pancakes, rolled about a creamed mixture of chicken wings and giblets. He poured warm brandy over the rolls and tilted the platter to catch flames from the burner, and served them on hot plates as the brandy burned out.

“Then you don’t think Belle was carrying a torch for him?”

“The only person that female is carrying a torch for is big and broad-shouldered and red-headed, and he’s seated right across from me this minute,” retorted Lucy. “As for Celia: she lives in a sort of little dream-world of her own that’s difficult to penetrate.”

They were both silent for a time while they attacked their delicious stuffed pancakes with gusto. When Lucy sighed and slowed down, she said, “You know, you haven’t told me very much about the Ambrose case, Michael. You did say he was being blackmailed, and I know you got yourself beaten up and kicked around last night, but that’s about all I do know.”

Shayne said, “I don’t know a lot more than that. There are several curious angles. Like somebody taking a flashbulb picture of the blackmail pay-off… certain indications that the money was paid to the wrong person… and an empty strongbox in the doctor’s office soon after he was knocked off.” He frowned and forked up the last scrap of chicken from his plate, shaking his head in perplexity. “None of them add up to very much. Ready for coffee?”

Lucy nodded. “And then I’d better get back to the office, hadn’t I? Your mention of the flash-bulb picture reminds me of Mrs. Montgomery and her boy, Cecil. I told you she was pretty vague about his trouble, but I’m afraid he got his picture taken last night, too… in some sort of embarrassing circumstances. Did I tell you she mentioned money, Michael? To the effect that it was no object?”

He said, “No, Lucy. You didn’t mention that.” He looked at her consideringly, tugging at his left ear-lobe while the waiter removed their plates and put coffee in front of them.

He said, “That’s most interesting. Do you remember her telephone number?”

“No. It was a Miami number. I’ve got it written down on my pad.”

“Just what did this Mrs. Montgomery say, Lucy?”

“You weren’t interested before,” she protested. “You just gave her the brush-off. Let her get another detective, you said, with a wave of your hand.”

“I’m interested now. Try to remember what she said.”

“I never knew you to be so money-hungry, Michael. All right, all right,” said Lucy hastily. “Let me see. She wanted to see Mr. Shayne at once. It was very important, and I was to tell you that money was no object. You were to drop whatever else you were doing to see her.

“When I explained that you didn’t take cases just for money, and asked for details, she said that she was afraid her boy, Cecil, had been very indiscreet last night and had been caught in the act by a photographer.

“I told her as sweetly as I could that you aren’t particularly interested in juvenile delinquents, and she interrupted to say icily that Cecil wasn’t really a little boy… past thirty, in fact, even though he hadn’t yet reached the age of discretion. And that’s about all, Michael. I promised you’d call her as soon as you came in… and her telephone didn’t answer when I did call. You remember?”

Shayne nodded brusquely. He took a sip of hot coffee and set the cup down, reaching for his wallet. “Drink yours up, Lucy. And then let’s get back to the office.”