Read Online Murder Is My Business by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online

of Mr. Towne’s and he’s in trouble. You can help him by talking freely to me.”
    She said placidly, “I do not think he is in trouble.”
    “Do you read the papers, Mrs. Morales?”
    “No, Señor.”
    “Or listen to the radio?”
    “No, Señor.”
    “Well, don’t you talk to the neighbors?”
    She shook her smooth, black head. “I go only to the market before noon. Other times I stay at home.” There was a ring of dignified humility in her voice that pictured the ostracized life she lived for Jefferson Towne’s pleasure.
    “Then you don’t even know that Mr. Towne killed a man just down the street from here two days ago?” Shayne asked in surprise.
    Again she shook her head. “I do not know this thing, Señor.”
    “It was an accident,” Shayne told her, “but his political enemies are trying to make it look bad for him. You know he’s running for mayor, don’t you?”
    “Yes, Señor.” An expression of pain crossed her face but was quickly erased.
    “He ran over the body of a man when he was turning onto this street from Lawton,” Shayne told her. “We think the man was placed there by his enemies so he would run over it. I’m trying to help him by finding out who could have known he was coming to visit you Tuesday evening. Do you understand that?”
    “I understand, Señor.”
    “Was it his regular day to come?”
    “Sometimes I know when he is coming. Sometimes I do not know.”
    “How about last Tuesday?” Shayne persisted. “You expected him that evening, didn’t you?”
    “I cannot remember, Señor.”
    “Nonsense,” said Shayne strongly. “If you expected him and he didn’t come, you’d certainly remember it.”
    “Perhaps it is as the Señor says.” Her face was absolutely expressionless.
    “He’s in serious trouble,” Shayne urged her. “He may lose the election unless you give me some information.”
    Her lips tightened the merest trifle. She said formally, “That would be sad, Señor , ” and she got up to indicate that the interview was ended.
    Shayne got it then. She was afraid Towne would be elected. As mayor of El Paso, she knew, he would cease his visits to her house. She loves him, Shayne thoughtwonderingly. By God, that’s it! She loves him and she’s afraid she’ll lose him.
    He got up, reluctant to give up the quest for information, but convinced of the uselessness of further questioning. As he slowly turned toward the door, he noticed a framed photograph of a flagrantly pretty girl on the sideboard. The full, round contour of the face was that of a child, but the sensual lips and the flashing gleam in her dark eyes indicated a maturity far beyond her years.
    The picture was without question that of the Mexican girl whom Shayne had seen at the police station, taken before her mouth had become sullen. He went toward it, saying politely, “This is a beautiful picture. It must have been made when you were much younger, but the resemblance is remarkable.”
    “That is my Marquita. She is a good girl, Señor.” There was fierce, throbbing pride in her voice. “Marquita goes to the school in Juarez and comes to this house not often.”
    Shayne murmured, “Your daughter? but she looks older—”
    “Thirteen only, Señor, when she pose for it. I have one that is later.” Beaming maternally, she went to the center table and shuffled through some snapshots, selected one, and held it out proudly.
    Marquita was seated on a stone wall with her knees crossed, her skirt drawn down so that it almost covered her knees. She was smiling into the camera and her long black hair framed her face in two demure braids.
    Shayne studied the snapshot carefully, comparing it with the larger photograph on the sideboard.
    “A girl to be proud of,” he said, and placed the snapshot atop the others on the table. “When did you see her last?”
    “She comes on Sundays. On most Sundays she comes,” Mrs. Morales amended.
    Shayne started toward the door, stopped, and asked,