Read Online Dead Man's Diary & A Taste for Cognac by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online
Authors: Brett Halliday
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a true New Orleans mint julep.”
“You didn’t spare the horses when you poured those,” he said.
“But wait.” She decorated each glass with mint sprigs from the vase, then held out a glass to him.
Shayne moved over to a deep chair, sank into it, stretched his long legs out comfortably, and buried his nose in the mint. He took a long, slow drink. “This,” he said, “is the only civilized way to drink whisky. You are a charming hostess.”
“Thank you,” she said simply, as though accepting his statement not as flattery but as one with which she agreed.
“I’m beginning to understand how you induced your ex-husband to make a new will leaving everything to you after you had divorced him. That’s one of the angles that’s bothered me. It just didn’t make sense.”
She said, “Oh? And it does make sense now?”
“It’s beginning to. You had Hawley wrapped around your little finger, didn’t you?”
“Albert loved me,” she said softly.
Shayne took a sip from his glass. “What about Leon Wallace?”
“What do you know about him?” she countered.
“I know he went to work as a gardener on the Hawley estate about the time you decided to go to Reno and divorce your husband.” He looked steadily at her as he spoke. “And I know he disappeared soon afterward, placating his wife and children with a payment of ten thousand dollars. He has continued to send them a thousand dollars every six months—in envelopes mailed from New Orleans.”
Mrs. Meredith met his eyes levelly, an interested expression on her face. She said, “You do get around, don’t you, Mr. Shayne?”
“I also imagine that Albert Hawley knew the secret of Wallace’s disappearance and told it to Groat when he was dying in the lifeboat,” Shayne continued relentlessly. “Groat was an honorable man and the secret weighed on his conscience until he phoned Mrs. Wallace to come and see him. I’m inclined to believe,” he went on slowly, “that Jasper Groat was murdered last night to prevent that meeting from taking place.”
“Murdered!”
“His body was pulled out of the river a couple of hours ago.”
“Was his diary found?” she asked sharply.
“That’s damned important to you, isn’t it?”
She said impatiently, “You know what the exact date of Albert’s death means to me.”
“But who knew how important it was last night?”
Her face was blank for a moment. Then her eyes brightened and she nodded her head slowly. “I see now why you think his death had some connection with Leon Wallace rather than with the estate. Uncle Ezra’s will supposedly hadn’t been read when Groat was killed.”
He said, “That’s the way it was told to me.”
She was silently thoughtful, then said harshly, “Perhaps Groat got in your way, Mr. Shayne. You’re working for Cunningham, aren’t you? You look like someone who’d kill a man if he got in your way.”
Shayne grinned and rubbed his jaw. “I haven’t picked my client yet. I’m still shopping around for the best offer.”
“I think I’d like to be your client.”
“What’s your offer?”
She moved restively under his hard gaze. “In dollars and cents?”
“I’m not interested in anything else.”
“After I collect Ezra Hawley’s money I’ll be able to pay you any fee you want.”
“For what?” he demanded.
“Helping me to collect it—seeing to it that I collect,” she amended.
“Is Mr. Meredith in town with you?”
She was obviously disturbed at the sudden question. “No.”
“Where do you live?” Shayne probed.
“How can that possibly concern you?”
“What’s your husband’s business? What’s his first name? When and where did you meet him? What sort of man is he?” The questions came swiftly and angrily.
She didn’t answer. She sat up stiffly, reached for her drink, drank the last of it, and sucked at the shaved ice.
“There you are.” Shayne spread out his big hands and scowled. “One man has been murdered. If I
“You didn’t spare the horses when you poured those,” he said.
“But wait.” She decorated each glass with mint sprigs from the vase, then held out a glass to him.
Shayne moved over to a deep chair, sank into it, stretched his long legs out comfortably, and buried his nose in the mint. He took a long, slow drink. “This,” he said, “is the only civilized way to drink whisky. You are a charming hostess.”
“Thank you,” she said simply, as though accepting his statement not as flattery but as one with which she agreed.
“I’m beginning to understand how you induced your ex-husband to make a new will leaving everything to you after you had divorced him. That’s one of the angles that’s bothered me. It just didn’t make sense.”
She said, “Oh? And it does make sense now?”
“It’s beginning to. You had Hawley wrapped around your little finger, didn’t you?”
“Albert loved me,” she said softly.
Shayne took a sip from his glass. “What about Leon Wallace?”
“What do you know about him?” she countered.
“I know he went to work as a gardener on the Hawley estate about the time you decided to go to Reno and divorce your husband.” He looked steadily at her as he spoke. “And I know he disappeared soon afterward, placating his wife and children with a payment of ten thousand dollars. He has continued to send them a thousand dollars every six months—in envelopes mailed from New Orleans.”
Mrs. Meredith met his eyes levelly, an interested expression on her face. She said, “You do get around, don’t you, Mr. Shayne?”
“I also imagine that Albert Hawley knew the secret of Wallace’s disappearance and told it to Groat when he was dying in the lifeboat,” Shayne continued relentlessly. “Groat was an honorable man and the secret weighed on his conscience until he phoned Mrs. Wallace to come and see him. I’m inclined to believe,” he went on slowly, “that Jasper Groat was murdered last night to prevent that meeting from taking place.”
“Murdered!”
“His body was pulled out of the river a couple of hours ago.”
“Was his diary found?” she asked sharply.
“That’s damned important to you, isn’t it?”
She said impatiently, “You know what the exact date of Albert’s death means to me.”
“But who knew how important it was last night?”
Her face was blank for a moment. Then her eyes brightened and she nodded her head slowly. “I see now why you think his death had some connection with Leon Wallace rather than with the estate. Uncle Ezra’s will supposedly hadn’t been read when Groat was killed.”
He said, “That’s the way it was told to me.”
She was silently thoughtful, then said harshly, “Perhaps Groat got in your way, Mr. Shayne. You’re working for Cunningham, aren’t you? You look like someone who’d kill a man if he got in your way.”
Shayne grinned and rubbed his jaw. “I haven’t picked my client yet. I’m still shopping around for the best offer.”
“I think I’d like to be your client.”
“What’s your offer?”
She moved restively under his hard gaze. “In dollars and cents?”
“I’m not interested in anything else.”
“After I collect Ezra Hawley’s money I’ll be able to pay you any fee you want.”
“For what?” he demanded.
“Helping me to collect it—seeing to it that I collect,” she amended.
“Is Mr. Meredith in town with you?”
She was obviously disturbed at the sudden question. “No.”
“Where do you live?” Shayne probed.
“How can that possibly concern you?”
“What’s your husband’s business? What’s his first name? When and where did you meet him? What sort of man is he?” The questions came swiftly and angrily.
She didn’t answer. She sat up stiffly, reached for her drink, drank the last of it, and sucked at the shaved ice.
“There you are.” Shayne spread out his big hands and scowled. “One man has been murdered. If I
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