Read Online The Private Practice of Michael Shayne by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brett Halliday
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lips.
He said, “Darling,” and stopped short. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. He said roughly, “You’re crazy, and you’re damned sweet. Let’s have that drink.”
He turned from her and went into the living-room. Phyllis sighed and followed with a stubborn frown creasing her smooth brow.
Shayne took down a tiny liqueur glass and set it beside the tall wine glass he had drunk from the preceding evening. He filled them both and dropped into the chair she had been sleeping in when he entered the room. Stretching out a long arm for the large glass, he said gruffly, “Suppose you start telling me what it’s all about. Starting a month back, when I lost track of you in the shuffle.”
She sat down in a straight chair and regarded him levelly over the rim of the tiny glass.
“You didn’t have to—lose track of me. I telephoned and left my new address when I moved into an apartment.”
He made an impatient gesture. “We’re talking in circles. A man was murdered last night.”
“I—know.” Her lips paled. “Did you—the papers said—”
“That I killed Harry Grange,” he supplied cheerfully. “Why did you come here if you read the papers and knew I was supposed to be in jail?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t stay in jail.”
Shayne grinned wryly and took a long drink.
“You were going to tell me about things, Angel.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” Phyllis lifted her glass and drank the small potion swiftly. “I followed your advice—about growing up.”
“By running around with chiselers like Harry Grange?”
She folded her hands meekly in her lap and looked at him wide-eyed.
“Not particularly with Harry. You’d be proud of me if I made out a complete list of the men who have volunteered to teach me about life with a capital L. Elliot Thomas—among others.”
Shayne’s right arm stopped rigidly with his glass halfway to his mouth.
“Elliot Thomas!”
Phyllis nodded complacently.
“He is considered quite a catch—but he’s stupid. He thinks every girl likes to be pawed after she’s had a glass of champagne.”
Shayne’s glass went on to his lips and he inhaled a deep breath of the bouquet, then drank two long swallows. He said, gently, “I’m particularly interested in Elliot Thomas. Have you been seeing him lately?”
Phyllis shook her lustrous, close-cropped head of black hair.
“Not for a couple of weeks.”
“Do you happen to be acquainted with Marsha Marco?”
Phyllis repeated the name, shaking her head again.
“I don’t think so.”
“You girls should meet,” Shayne grunted. “You’ve got a lot in common.” He finished off his drink and set the glass down, got up and went into the kitchen, asking over his shoulder, “Cream and sugar?”
“Cream—if you have it. No sugar.”
He got a half-pint bottle of cream from the refrigerator and took the coffeepot from the hot electric coil and carried them into the living-room. Making a second trip, he brought two cups and saucers and set them out in front of Phyllis.
“You can pour.”
She filled the cups with steaming black coffee and handed one to Shayne.
“Who is Marsha Marco—and what have we in common?”
He stared across the room somberly.
“Tell me exactly what happened after I saw you last night.”
“I was mad as—as hops at you,” she told him. “Mostly because you had showed Harry up when I thought he was just what he pretended to be—”
Shayne nodded impatiently.
“I knew you were mad. Did you catch Grange?”
“Yes—that is—I did and I didn’t.”
When Shayne didn’t say anything, she hurried on to explain, “He had gotten in his car and was just driving away when I came out. I called to him and thought he heard me because he slowed down and stopped. I started walking to his car, but another girl got in ahead of me—and they drove away.”
“Was she wearing a red dress?”
“I—don’t know. There was just the moonlight and I didn’t see her very
He said, “Darling,” and stopped short. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. He said roughly, “You’re crazy, and you’re damned sweet. Let’s have that drink.”
He turned from her and went into the living-room. Phyllis sighed and followed with a stubborn frown creasing her smooth brow.
Shayne took down a tiny liqueur glass and set it beside the tall wine glass he had drunk from the preceding evening. He filled them both and dropped into the chair she had been sleeping in when he entered the room. Stretching out a long arm for the large glass, he said gruffly, “Suppose you start telling me what it’s all about. Starting a month back, when I lost track of you in the shuffle.”
She sat down in a straight chair and regarded him levelly over the rim of the tiny glass.
“You didn’t have to—lose track of me. I telephoned and left my new address when I moved into an apartment.”
He made an impatient gesture. “We’re talking in circles. A man was murdered last night.”
“I—know.” Her lips paled. “Did you—the papers said—”
“That I killed Harry Grange,” he supplied cheerfully. “Why did you come here if you read the papers and knew I was supposed to be in jail?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t stay in jail.”
Shayne grinned wryly and took a long drink.
“You were going to tell me about things, Angel.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” Phyllis lifted her glass and drank the small potion swiftly. “I followed your advice—about growing up.”
“By running around with chiselers like Harry Grange?”
She folded her hands meekly in her lap and looked at him wide-eyed.
“Not particularly with Harry. You’d be proud of me if I made out a complete list of the men who have volunteered to teach me about life with a capital L. Elliot Thomas—among others.”
Shayne’s right arm stopped rigidly with his glass halfway to his mouth.
“Elliot Thomas!”
Phyllis nodded complacently.
“He is considered quite a catch—but he’s stupid. He thinks every girl likes to be pawed after she’s had a glass of champagne.”
Shayne’s glass went on to his lips and he inhaled a deep breath of the bouquet, then drank two long swallows. He said, gently, “I’m particularly interested in Elliot Thomas. Have you been seeing him lately?”
Phyllis shook her lustrous, close-cropped head of black hair.
“Not for a couple of weeks.”
“Do you happen to be acquainted with Marsha Marco?”
Phyllis repeated the name, shaking her head again.
“I don’t think so.”
“You girls should meet,” Shayne grunted. “You’ve got a lot in common.” He finished off his drink and set the glass down, got up and went into the kitchen, asking over his shoulder, “Cream and sugar?”
“Cream—if you have it. No sugar.”
He got a half-pint bottle of cream from the refrigerator and took the coffeepot from the hot electric coil and carried them into the living-room. Making a second trip, he brought two cups and saucers and set them out in front of Phyllis.
“You can pour.”
She filled the cups with steaming black coffee and handed one to Shayne.
“Who is Marsha Marco—and what have we in common?”
He stared across the room somberly.
“Tell me exactly what happened after I saw you last night.”
“I was mad as—as hops at you,” she told him. “Mostly because you had showed Harry up when I thought he was just what he pretended to be—”
Shayne nodded impatiently.
“I knew you were mad. Did you catch Grange?”
“Yes—that is—I did and I didn’t.”
When Shayne didn’t say anything, she hurried on to explain, “He had gotten in his car and was just driving away when I came out. I called to him and thought he heard me because he slowed down and stopped. I started walking to his car, but another girl got in ahead of me—and they drove away.”
“Was she wearing a red dress?”
“I—don’t know. There was just the moonlight and I didn’t see her very
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