Read Online In a Deadly Vein by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brett Halliday
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Joe,” Christine pleaded, “tell me what you mean. I’ve got to know.”
“You don’t have to know anything,” he said with rough tenderness. “I’m not saying another word.”
“Well, all right. I won’t ask you anything else.” The girl laughed briefly and recklessly, and their glasses clinked once more.
Shayne stood up and moved around the end of the wall, stopping two feet from the table where the couple were toasting Christine’s career. He looked down on them soberly. The girl’s dark head lay on Joe’s broad shoulder.
He said, “I’m sorry, Meade, but I’ll have to ask you to be a little more explicit about Nora Carson.”
The couple separated quickly. Christine looked up into Shayne’s gaunt face and gasped, dropping her glass to the stone flagging where it shattered loudly.
Joe Meade drew his big frame slowly from the chair. He scowled and asked, “Who the devil are you?”
“The name is Shayne. I’ve been eavesdropping behind the stone wall. I want to know where Nora Carson is.”
Meade snarled, “The hell you do.”
The patio was suddenly quiet as people began to notice the two men standing in the shadow.
Shayne nodded. “Why not step around here where we can be alone and talk it over? No use creating a scene that will involve Miss Forbes.”
“That’d be swell,” he said thickly.
Christine’s dilated eyes followed Shayne as he stepped back toward the end of the wall. She was still in her chair. Meade hunched his shoulders and followed the detective.
When they were out of sight, Shayne stopped and said, “All I want to know is what—”
Joe Meade swung on him without warning. He had the stance and swiftness of a trained boxer. Shayne was going away with the blow, but the fist glanced off his bony jaw with enough force to swing him sideways.
He laughed and caught Joe’s wrist with both hands, levering it down hard. Meade dropped to his knees, cursing with pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Shayne caught a glimpse of Christine coming around the wall with a bottle of club soda swinging from her right hand.
Patrick Casey’s moonlike face showed behind her. He caught her arms from behind and pinioned them close to her body.
Shayne nodded his thanks and released Meade’s wrist The young man floundered to his feet and rushed him, his boxing science forgotten in his rage.
Shayne coolly sidestepped and tripped him as he went by. Meade went down heavily, but bounced up again. His eyes were crazed.
Held tightly by Casey, Christine Forbes pleaded, “Joe—don’t. Please don’t”
Joe disregarded her, came forward again, but more cautiously. The rangy redhead waited for him with doubled fists, breathing lightly.
Just in time, he saw that Joe’s right hand held a heavy rock which he had picked up on his last trip to the ground. He waited for Joe’s lunge, ducked a vicious swing of the rock, then buried his fist in Meade’s midsection. Joe doubled forward with the breath driven from him. He went to his knees, hugging his solar plexus.
From behind Shayne, Casey asked interestedly, “What’ll I do with this she-wildcat? She still thinks it would be fun to christen you queen of the festival.”
With his eyes on Meade, Shayne said, “Take the bottle away from her and let her go.”
Joe was getting his breath back. He crouched forward on hands and knees like an animal.
Christine rushed to him and dropped to her knees beside him, begging, “Tell them, Joe. You haven’t anything to hide.”
Meade snarled an oath and flung her aside. Shayne saw his hand groping for another rock. He stepped forward and put his foot on Meade’s wrist and ground hard. Joe yelped with pain and sank back on his haunches. The madness went out of his eyes, but his face remained surly.
He muttered thickly, “What’s this all about, anyhow?”
“It’s about Nora Carson.” Shayne towered above him on widespread legs. “Where is she?”
“How do I know? I’m not Nora Carson’s
“You don’t have to know anything,” he said with rough tenderness. “I’m not saying another word.”
“Well, all right. I won’t ask you anything else.” The girl laughed briefly and recklessly, and their glasses clinked once more.
Shayne stood up and moved around the end of the wall, stopping two feet from the table where the couple were toasting Christine’s career. He looked down on them soberly. The girl’s dark head lay on Joe’s broad shoulder.
He said, “I’m sorry, Meade, but I’ll have to ask you to be a little more explicit about Nora Carson.”
The couple separated quickly. Christine looked up into Shayne’s gaunt face and gasped, dropping her glass to the stone flagging where it shattered loudly.
Joe Meade drew his big frame slowly from the chair. He scowled and asked, “Who the devil are you?”
“The name is Shayne. I’ve been eavesdropping behind the stone wall. I want to know where Nora Carson is.”
Meade snarled, “The hell you do.”
The patio was suddenly quiet as people began to notice the two men standing in the shadow.
Shayne nodded. “Why not step around here where we can be alone and talk it over? No use creating a scene that will involve Miss Forbes.”
“That’d be swell,” he said thickly.
Christine’s dilated eyes followed Shayne as he stepped back toward the end of the wall. She was still in her chair. Meade hunched his shoulders and followed the detective.
When they were out of sight, Shayne stopped and said, “All I want to know is what—”
Joe Meade swung on him without warning. He had the stance and swiftness of a trained boxer. Shayne was going away with the blow, but the fist glanced off his bony jaw with enough force to swing him sideways.
He laughed and caught Joe’s wrist with both hands, levering it down hard. Meade dropped to his knees, cursing with pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Shayne caught a glimpse of Christine coming around the wall with a bottle of club soda swinging from her right hand.
Patrick Casey’s moonlike face showed behind her. He caught her arms from behind and pinioned them close to her body.
Shayne nodded his thanks and released Meade’s wrist The young man floundered to his feet and rushed him, his boxing science forgotten in his rage.
Shayne coolly sidestepped and tripped him as he went by. Meade went down heavily, but bounced up again. His eyes were crazed.
Held tightly by Casey, Christine Forbes pleaded, “Joe—don’t. Please don’t”
Joe disregarded her, came forward again, but more cautiously. The rangy redhead waited for him with doubled fists, breathing lightly.
Just in time, he saw that Joe’s right hand held a heavy rock which he had picked up on his last trip to the ground. He waited for Joe’s lunge, ducked a vicious swing of the rock, then buried his fist in Meade’s midsection. Joe doubled forward with the breath driven from him. He went to his knees, hugging his solar plexus.
From behind Shayne, Casey asked interestedly, “What’ll I do with this she-wildcat? She still thinks it would be fun to christen you queen of the festival.”
With his eyes on Meade, Shayne said, “Take the bottle away from her and let her go.”
Joe was getting his breath back. He crouched forward on hands and knees like an animal.
Christine rushed to him and dropped to her knees beside him, begging, “Tell them, Joe. You haven’t anything to hide.”
Meade snarled an oath and flung her aside. Shayne saw his hand groping for another rock. He stepped forward and put his foot on Meade’s wrist and ground hard. Joe yelped with pain and sank back on his haunches. The madness went out of his eyes, but his face remained surly.
He muttered thickly, “What’s this all about, anyhow?”
“It’s about Nora Carson.” Shayne towered above him on widespread legs. “Where is she?”
“How do I know? I’m not Nora Carson’s
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