Read Online Framed in Blood by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brett Halliday
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me. He didn’t even mention any name when he phoned.”
Shayne lit a cigarette, and a breeze from the windows floated the smoke across the room before he said gently, “Tell me about the call.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” she blazed at him. “You know all about it. If something—has happened—to Bert—” She stood up and moved closer to him, tightening her robe again. A single tear squeezed its way out from under each lowered lid and ran down her cheeks.
“I think we could talk this out better with a drink,” Shayne told her quietly. He met her stormy gaze through a cloud of smoke, his gray eyes cold and demanding.
She backed away, tucking her hair behind one ear with one hand while the other clung to the lap of the long, loose robe. She nodded without speaking, turned, and disappeared through the swinging door.
Shayne slid down in the chair and stretched his long legs out comfortably, put his head back, and scowled at the ceiling. Something was definitely wrong here. Marie Leonard was certainly not his preconceived idea of the “other woman.” She couldn’t be much more than twenty, he thought wearily, and nothing about her fitted into the Betty-Bert triangle. She acted more like a bobby-soxer with a naive crush on a man who was about to break into the limelight with something big, yet—
Her return broke into his analysis. She carried a small tray containing a tall glass with ice cubes, a bottle of Scotch, and a siphon.
“Aren’t you having one?” he said, quirking his red brows when she deposited the tray on the table.
She shook her head with decision. “I don’t take a drink very often.” She took a backward step as he poured whisky in the glass and squirted soda over it.
“Please tell me about Bert, Mr. Shayne,” she begged. “Is he in jail?”
He stirred his drink and tasted it before saying, “Bert Jackson is dead, Marie.”
She gasped, and her body stiffened. Her eyes widened a trifle, and her lips tightened. Then she shivered and without warning began to sway forward.
Shayne jumped up just in time to catch her. She leaned against him and buried her face against his chest and sobbed convulsively, her arms limp at her sides. Shayne left one arm around her waist and stroked her soft blond hair with his free hand.
She straightened after a while, drew back, and tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I think I knew it all the time—as soon as you came. Maybe before that.” Her lips trembled, and she caught the lower one between her teeth. “Do you mind waiting while I put on some clothes?”
“Not at all. Go right ahead.” He sat down and poured more Scotch over the ice cubes, stirred it in, then settled back with a deep frown creasing his brow to sip the drink.
Glancing around absently he saw that she had left the bedroom door ajar fully six inches. From his position he saw her strip off the robe, and he had a rear view of her nude body as she stood in front of the dressing-table. She sat down and began doing things to her face, leaning close to the mirror. The line of her neck flowed smoothly down to well-fleshed, sloping shoulders and on to a neat waistline and fully developed buttocks that didn’t spread as she sat. When she stood up and lifted one arm to puff powder under it he had a glimpse of one large breast that sagged from the upper muscles, then protruded tuberously.
All of a sudden Shayne remembered that anyone he saw reflected in a mirror could also see him, and he hastily turned his eyes away. He took a long drink, looking squarely at the Japanese table at the opposite end of the room. Then he recalled that Marie Leonard had been wholly occupied with her toilet and had not once looked at his own reflection which had most certainly been in the full-length mirror.
Was it an act?
He was thinking rapidly, occasionally cutting his low-lidded eyes toward the mirror and no longer feeling like a peeping Tom. Marie moved in and out of his view as she dressed. She lived
Shayne lit a cigarette, and a breeze from the windows floated the smoke across the room before he said gently, “Tell me about the call.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” she blazed at him. “You know all about it. If something—has happened—to Bert—” She stood up and moved closer to him, tightening her robe again. A single tear squeezed its way out from under each lowered lid and ran down her cheeks.
“I think we could talk this out better with a drink,” Shayne told her quietly. He met her stormy gaze through a cloud of smoke, his gray eyes cold and demanding.
She backed away, tucking her hair behind one ear with one hand while the other clung to the lap of the long, loose robe. She nodded without speaking, turned, and disappeared through the swinging door.
Shayne slid down in the chair and stretched his long legs out comfortably, put his head back, and scowled at the ceiling. Something was definitely wrong here. Marie Leonard was certainly not his preconceived idea of the “other woman.” She couldn’t be much more than twenty, he thought wearily, and nothing about her fitted into the Betty-Bert triangle. She acted more like a bobby-soxer with a naive crush on a man who was about to break into the limelight with something big, yet—
Her return broke into his analysis. She carried a small tray containing a tall glass with ice cubes, a bottle of Scotch, and a siphon.
“Aren’t you having one?” he said, quirking his red brows when she deposited the tray on the table.
She shook her head with decision. “I don’t take a drink very often.” She took a backward step as he poured whisky in the glass and squirted soda over it.
“Please tell me about Bert, Mr. Shayne,” she begged. “Is he in jail?”
He stirred his drink and tasted it before saying, “Bert Jackson is dead, Marie.”
She gasped, and her body stiffened. Her eyes widened a trifle, and her lips tightened. Then she shivered and without warning began to sway forward.
Shayne jumped up just in time to catch her. She leaned against him and buried her face against his chest and sobbed convulsively, her arms limp at her sides. Shayne left one arm around her waist and stroked her soft blond hair with his free hand.
She straightened after a while, drew back, and tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I think I knew it all the time—as soon as you came. Maybe before that.” Her lips trembled, and she caught the lower one between her teeth. “Do you mind waiting while I put on some clothes?”
“Not at all. Go right ahead.” He sat down and poured more Scotch over the ice cubes, stirred it in, then settled back with a deep frown creasing his brow to sip the drink.
Glancing around absently he saw that she had left the bedroom door ajar fully six inches. From his position he saw her strip off the robe, and he had a rear view of her nude body as she stood in front of the dressing-table. She sat down and began doing things to her face, leaning close to the mirror. The line of her neck flowed smoothly down to well-fleshed, sloping shoulders and on to a neat waistline and fully developed buttocks that didn’t spread as she sat. When she stood up and lifted one arm to puff powder under it he had a glimpse of one large breast that sagged from the upper muscles, then protruded tuberously.
All of a sudden Shayne remembered that anyone he saw reflected in a mirror could also see him, and he hastily turned his eyes away. He took a long drink, looking squarely at the Japanese table at the opposite end of the room. Then he recalled that Marie Leonard had been wholly occupied with her toilet and had not once looked at his own reflection which had most certainly been in the full-length mirror.
Was it an act?
He was thinking rapidly, occasionally cutting his low-lidded eyes toward the mirror and no longer feeling like a peeping Tom. Marie moved in and out of his view as she dressed. She lived
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