Murder and the Married Virgin (Michael Shayne, Book 11)
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Shayne is hired by the fiancé of a dead girl to find out what happened in her apparent suicide attempt. They were supposed to be married the very next day, but she supposedly went into her room, turned on the gas grate in the fireplace, and drifted off into the final sleep with a smile upon her lips. She worked as a maid at the home of the Lomax family, the very same house where upon the night of her death an emerald necklace insured for $125,000 was stolen. As it so happens (very conveniently so) the insurance company that issued the policy also hires Shayne to recover the necklace, and off he goes to rattle cages, stir the pot, and generally stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.
tell you to get out and quit beefing about your losses.” “Trueman was covering up. Hell, I’d just won over a grand with Laurel dice. I’ve got it in my pocket. If you know so damned much you ought to know that, too.” “I do. That’s what I couldn’t figure. I’ve been wondering why you went back and beat Dan Trueman to death.” “So that’s the lay. I beat him to death.” “You took the guns off the two bouncers when they threw you out. They were not armed when you came back later and you didn’t have
pervaded the Lomax house and grounds. He wondered, suddenly remembering the early hour of the morning which had started hours ago for him, whether the family would be up and around. He sat for a long moment in thoughtful contemplation, then got out and walked to the rear basement door through which Eddie had taken him yesterday. As he hesitated with his hand on the knob he heard the sound of pounding inside and went in and down the steps. The basement was dark except for daylight coming
was sad. The inspector cleared his throat. His cold blue eyes softened when he said, “That’s really too bad.” “Tragic,” muttered Shayne. Inspector Quinlan’s eyes narrowed. “Damn you, Shayne, you’re pulling my leg. You wouldn’t be that sad if your own grandmother—” Shayne chuckled. “She’s my secretary if you have to know. But hands off. Lucy’s a good girl—damn it.” Quinlan resumed his impersonal normalcy. He was a slender man who appeared taller than his height, which was average. His thick
“Nuts,” said Jordan loudly. “I didn’t—” Shayne said, “Shut up. Didn’t he, Lomax?” The aged manufacturer nodded slowly. “I heard the car go out the drive. When I read about Trueman’s death this morning, I wondered—I didn’t know what to do.” “I know it was tough on you with your wife mixed up in it,” Shayne said in a kindly tone. “You knew all the time it was she who stole the necklace, didn’t you?” “No,” Lomax cried out. “The hell you didn’t,” Shayne said angrily. “Why else did you think
corner, and near the foot of the bed was a hot air inlet. The floor was spotless around a square rug bright with color, and crisp curtains were looped back from the window. A highboy stood against one wall, its empty drawers carelessly pulled out. A small, doorless closet was empty, the cretonne curtain drawn aside and flung over the extension rod on which it hung. A hatbox and two new suitcases lay open on the floor, and feminine garments lay in little heaps around them. On Shayne’s left, set in