Murder Takes No Holiday (14 page)

“I doubt if you’ll do that, baby,” Shayne said. “Not so long as half the population of the world is male. You may not make it in show business, but I think you’ll make it.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “This I hope is a compliment.”

“Have the cops been bothering you?”

She made a scornful sound. “I am not bothered by flics, of any nation. Somebody told them you and I danced together, so they asked me questions. They showed me a picture. It was bad, very fuzzy, on one of those little police placards. I did not recognize it. And you? Did you see the Camel?”

“Yeah, I saw him,” Shayne said. “It seemed to me we were getting to be pretty good friends, but then we had an argument and now I don’t think he likes me.”

“Then I am sorry. I do not like you either.”

“It’s not that simple. All I want from you is a little information. He won’t know I’ve been here unless you tell him.”

“And why should I not tell him? I dislike this job of his very much, but I would dislike even more to be without it. In three weeks’ time, I would be deported.”

“Didn’t you say something about wanting to go to America?”

A gleam appeared in her eye. She turned toward him a little, moving the chair so her wrapper opened. “Are you going to take me?”

Shayne grinned. “Don’t waste it on me. Your best bet is still Paul Slater.”

A wrinkle sprang up between her eyes. “What do you know about Paul Slater?”

“Quite a bit, baby. I made friends with the night clerk at the Half Moon. He didn’t know your name but he could describe you. Before he was finished the poor guy was drooling. It seems you’ve been coming there to see Slater.”

She thought a moment. “I would like a cigarette, please.”

He took out his pack, shook out a cigarette for her and held the match. She put her hand on his wrist as she took the light, then breathed out smoke slowly and looked up at him through her long artificial eyelashes.

“The Camel always keeps a supply of gasoline on his boat. I know where to get more. Do you know boats?”

“I know boats,” Shayne said, “but I don’t know the water around here. And you can’t get a nightclub ticket in the States unless you come in legally.”

She laughed bitterly. “If I put my name on the list now, perhaps there will be a place for me when I am eighty-nine. Of course I can always meet some lonely American and become married. There will be no nonsense about having a job waiting, having two sponsors, to guarantee I will not cost your rich government any money. But it is not so simple to get married as people think. The only American bachelors who come to St. Albans are college freshmen on Christmas vacation. It is said that Americans marry younger each year. But not these children. They have other thoughts besides marriage. And as for men like Paul Slater, they are married already. Did your friend the night clerk tell you that the last thing Paul Slater will ever do is get a divorce from his wife?”

“But what if his wife gets a divorce from him?” Shayne said.

“Oh?” she said, interested. “Now that, I concede, had not occurred to me.”

He let her think about it. The door was swinging in a slight draught. Shayne pulled it open and looked out; the corridor was empty. He closed the door and leaned against it to keep it closed.

“I’m not too up-to-date on the situation,” he said, “but I may know a couple of angles you don’t. His wife has had nothing but bad breaks all her life. Maybe that’s why he won’t ask for a divorce, he’s afraid she’d crack up and he’d have it on his conscience. By this time she probably knows all about how he’s been two-timing her with a nightclub dancer. That’s a hard secret to keep in a place like this. They’ve been fighting like cats and dogs—that’s another thing the night clerk told me. I used to take her out before she and Slater got married. I still go for her. This might be just the right moment for me to show up.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “And what do you want from me?”

“I’m not sure how much of this you already know. The Camel picked her up tonight to use as a handle against Slater. Slater was ready to skip, and the only way Alvarez could hold him was by threatening to kill his wife. Slater fell for it.”

“Do not fool yourself,” she said. “If Luis Alvarez says he will do something of that nature, he will do it.”

Shayne laughed. “It’s an act, honey. He’s a big frog down here, but it’s not much of a puddle. Back home we send people like that out for coffee. The point is, where did he take her? It’s a country place, half an hour by taxi from the airport. I can’t spend my time ringing doorbells. I want to show up before anybody gets hurt.”

She looked at him speculatively. “And you think she will jump into your arms?”

“She just might,” Shayne said briefly. “Even if she doesn’t, I’m tender-hearted where this blonde is concerned. I don’t want any of those creeps to shove her around. But she’s mad at Paul. First on account of you, then because he got her into this mess. Who knows? Maybe she’ll cry on my shoulder, and we’ll get talking about old times. One thing leads to another, and she gives Paulie-boy the boot. It could happen.”

“That is why you came here, when the police are looking for you?”

“I didn’t know they were looking for me,” Shayne said. “I’m gone on the doll, but not that gone. How about this place in the country. Do you know where it is?”

“I think so,” she said. “But I have not yet decided to tell you. If something goes wrong, and the Camel finds out I was talking to you—”

“Honey,” Shayne said patiently, “he thinks the cops have got me. When I turn up, the whole thing is going to be a big surprise. Why should he connect me with you?”

She made a gesture toward the wretched little room and burst out, “I am sick to death of all this! It is only a tiny chance, I know that, and I am a fool to take it. But I am sick of the Camel, too, if you wish to know. First tell me. Is it true that Paul hit him with a wrench?”

“Somebody did. He thinks it was Paul.”

She shook her head. “It is a side of Paul I have not seen. Yes, I think I will take this chance, like a fool. You have a car?”

Shayne nodded. In a rush, as though to get it out before she changed her mind, she said, “Go out of town toward the north. Drive ten, twelve kilometers. You will come to a crossroads, the main road across the island. Turn left. Now another fifteen kilometers. It is a new house on a mountain. Many windows. The sign at the turn says—” She thought a moment. “P. Smith. Or perhaps another initial. I remember a single initial, then the name Smith.” She added, reminiscently, “The pig.”

Shayne repeated the directions, hoping the turns would be easy to find in the dark. She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

“There will be others besides Alvarez there. Four, I think. Take care of yourself. It would be too bad if something happened to you.”

“I agree with you,” Shayne said. “Thanks, baby. I’ll be careful going out.”

Her hand slid along his upper arm. She was being very careless with the wrapper.

“Do you know,” she said, “if the virtuous Mrs. Slater decides to remain true to her husband, you could do worse than come for me.”

Shayne grinned and shook his head. “Uh-uh. I think you’ll make some lucky man a nice wife, but I know too much about you.”

She came even closer to him. Her lips were parted, and her perfume overcame the other smells in the room. In a low husky whisper she said, “Forget.”

Shayne felt behind him for the doorknob. “You’ve made your point. Don’t push it. I’ve got just one more question. Did you ever run into a guy named Albert Watts?”

Her eyes changed slightly.

“You recognize the name?” Shayne said, improvising quickly. “Good. I heard tonight that Watts was the one who tipped off the customs on Slater. I might be able to use this with Martha. Besides being a Casanova and a smuggler, what if he’s a killer? I’ll be careful with it, because it’s the sort of thing that can boomerang. If you don’t feel like answering, say so.”

She shrugged. “It was nothing. Six months or so ago, Paul asked me to become friendly with this man. It was arranged that we meet by chance. I was charming as always, but he put his tail between his legs and ran. Paul laughed about it. He said I frightened the poor man.” She smiled up at Shayne. “But how could that be?”

Shayne said, “Paul didn’t bring it up again?”

“No, the next time I heard the name, someone said he was killed in a quarrel of some kind. I am only interested in living people. That is all? Then I think I must give you one kiss before you go.”

She came up on her toes. Her hands slipped around his body, inside his coat. Her fingers were on the overlapping layers of adhesive tape beneath his shirt.

It isn’t necessary to be a private detective to have an accident requiring that kind of bandage. It can happen to anybody, even to the hoodlum Shayne was pretending to be. But for some reason that little touch was all the girl needed. A spark flared in her eyes.

She said coldly, “So the Camel thinks the police have got you? And I see that they have not. Does that mean you are a policeman yourself?”

Shayne snorted. “Do I look like a cop?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Little things have made me wonder about you, and all at once I think that is just what you look like, a cop.”

She glanced at the door, then whirled and ran to the little window. He caught her in two strides and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make any noise. His other arm was around her waist. She struggled against him, throwing herself from side to side. She had a dancer’s body—smooth and controlled. She tried to bite his hand, but he was gripping her too tightly.

After a moment she stopped resisting. He kept his hand over her mouth.

“If you’re going to start using your head this late in the day,” he said, “really use it. I’m a private detective. I faked up that flier the cops showed you. They had their hands on me tonight but I got away. I made them look a little stupid. That’s something no cop likes, I don’t care who he is. So I’m in the middle.”

She tried to speak.

“No, listen to me,” Shayne went on. “If I let you yell out the window, do you really think there’s anybody here who can stop me? Don’t be stupid. All that would happen is that the Camel would know you gave me directions. It wouldn’t matter to him who you thought you were talking to. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

After a second he felt her nod.

“All right. I’ll let you go now, but if you make a move in any direction I’ll forget it’s bad manners to slug a lady.”

He took his hand from her mouth first. When she made no attempt to yell he released her. She whirled, pulling the wrapper together, and looked at him defiantly. Her lipstick was badly smeared.

“Get out of here!” she cried.

“You mean you’ve stopped wanting to kiss me?”

She glared at him, but in another second she smiled slightly. “I didn’t say that. I said to get out of here.”

“Maybe I’d better tie you up before I go,” Shayne said. “Alvarez may have a phone at that place of his. I wouldn’t want you to tell him I’m coming.”

She flared up again. “Try it! You will have a fight on your hands, Michael Shayne!”

Shayne laughed. “I think I could win it, but somebody might come in and untie you.” He studied her. “O.K., baby, get some clothes on.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m going with you?”

“That’s exactly what I think,” Shayne said, becoming completely serious. “It’s the only way you can get off the hook. Do it right and the Camel won’t know you helped me. Slater won’t be any good to you dead. If I get him out of there in one piece, you can claim all the credit for it. Maybe he’ll be grateful.”

She said suspiciously, “Who is paying you?”

“Mrs. Slater,” Shayne answered impatiently. “It’s also true that because she’s an old friend of mine she isn’t paying me much. And there’s one thing I didn’t mention. I have a tape of a phone conversation between you and the Camel earlier tonight. You were a little cold-blooded at a couple of points there, I thought. It might hurt Paul’s feelings if he heard it.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“It would be a dirty trick, wouldn’t it?” Shayne said. “It might even give him the idea that you don’t really love him.”

“So,” she said after a pause. “Since you ask me so nicely, I will get dressed. Turn around, please.”

“Turn around, hell,” Shayne said. “And get a knife between my shoulder blades?”

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “In some ways you are rather impressive, you know?”

“Come on, come on,” Shayne said. “We don’t have all the time in the world.”

He put another cigarette in his mouth as she shrugged out of her wrapper.

She chose the dress with the Paris label. It was simple and black, and fitted her exactly. Shayne was in a position to know how much she was wearing in addition to the dress, and he felt she was somewhat under-clothed, even for this warm climate.

She stepped into her high-heeled shoes, and then was ready for her face. As she worked Shayne became more and more impatient. She left the full theatrical make-up on her eyes, giving most of her attention to her mouth.

“Better?” she asked, looking around.

“Fine, fine,” Shayne growled, “Let’s get going.”

He was waiting at the door. She picked up her purse, gave her reflection one last glance, and did something more to her hair.

“I don’t know why I have decided to trust you,” she said, giving him an upward glance through the long eyelashes.

“I do,” he said. “Because I’ve got the tape of that phone call stashed away in a safe place. Any monkey business going downstairs and you’re dead with Slater.”

“Don’t threaten me, Michael,” she said, smiling. “And to show you we are friends—” She went to the trunk and opened it. After tumbling the costumes around for a moment, she came up with a battered man’s hat. “Put this on. I have a song I sing sometimes in a tramp costume—not at the Pirate’s Rendezvous, of course, here they care only for what goes on beneath the costume. It is too large for me,” she added unnecessarily.

It was too large for Shayne, he found after he had punched it into shape and put it on. She giggled.