Shayne’s mouth was grimly set and his eyes were puzzled. His thoughts flashed back to several occasions when his apartment had been opened by police, or by Chief Gentry, himself. A few times both the front and back locks had been forced by criminals who had left plenty of evidence. He swore under his breath and muttered, “And now, bygod, a dame opens my door with a key, strips herself, and crawls into my bed.”
Shaking his red head savagely, he went to the refrigerator, took out a tray of cubes, and carried it to the sink. While tepid water ran over the bottom of the tray, he took two glasses from the china cabinet and set them on the drain-board; twisted the plastic container and spilled ice cubes into the sink. Then he filled the two glasses with ice.
“I just don’t know what to say,” said a girlish voice from the open archway behind him. “I’m completely confused. I’ve never seen you before in my life, but I know this is the right apartment.”
Shayne turned slowly and studied her for a moment. He said, “I’ve never seen you before, baby, but you look good.” His steady gaze went over her body. “Even with clothes on.”
“How dare you!” she exploded. There was maturity and courage in her uplifted chin and in the dark eyes that met his with angry challenge.
“Hold it,” Shayne ordered. “Stand where you are and let’s have a better look at you in the light.”
She wore a tailored suit of light material, beige or sun tan in color, that fitted her trim figure well. A vivid-yellow scarf was fluffed out under her chin. Her brown hair was tousled, giving her a youthful appearance.
“Well, what have you to say for yourself?” she asked curtly.
“Just this. My apartment is number one-sixteen. I live here. I don’t know your Ralph and I don’t know you. Have a drink?”
“I–I could use one,” she stammered.
Shayne’s back was turned while he filled the glasses with water. He swung around with them in his hands.
“How could there be a mistake?” she stormed. “The key fitted your door perfectly. The whole place is exactly the way it was described to me. It must be Ralph’s place.”
“It isn’t,” he said shortly, moving toward her. She stepped aside to let him pass into the living-room where he set the glasses on the battered oak desk. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Maybe we can make some sense out of this if we work at it over a drink. Cognac all right for you?” he added on his way to the liquor cabinet.
“Anything. Anything at all.” She crossed to a chair near the desk and sat down. “I haven’t got over my fright yet. I — you — well, you can’t expect me to be calm after finding myself in bed with a perfect stranger.” Her lips trembled and her hands were clenched together tightly in her lap.
Shayne’s brows quirked upward, and his gray eyes were wary. He padded to the desk holding a bottle of Croizet, gave her a crooked smile, and said, “It must have been quite disconcerting, if you’re telling the truth.” He began pouring cognac into her glass, and added, “Say when.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stiffen.
“What do you mean?” she flared. “Of course it’s the truth. Do you think I intended to go to bed with you?” Her glass was full to the brim. He filled his own glass and said amiably, “It would be a flattering assumption. I confess no woman has ever been so smitten with my charms that she forced entrance to my bedroom, but I can be optimistic, can’t I? If I hadn’t opened my big mouth so fast there in the beginning, maybe—”
“You — you beast!”
Shayne lifted his glass, held one out to her, and said, “Skip it. Let’s drink to what might have happened.”
A flush spread over her cheeks and she lowered her eyes as she took the glass in a trembling hand. “I’d have known,” she stated flatly. “Before you spoke a word, I sensed it wasn’t Ralph. But I kept telling myself it had to be. Don’t you see? Even when you said ‘Hi’ in a voice that sounded strange, I was so sure in my own mind—”
“Your drink,” Shayne interrupted. “It’s spilling. Suppose we drink to your husband. Then,” he went on firmly, “you can start at the beginning and tell me how you came to mistake my apartment for his.”
She took a drink, sputtered and coughed, reached quickly for the ice water, and gulped a mouthful. She regained her composure after a moment. The cognac seemed to ease her tense muscles. “I don’t know,” she murmured, “just where to start, because I still don’t understand. I was definitely told apartment one-sixteen. And the key fitted. Everything here is just the way I expected it to be — the kitchen door there, the bathroom, and bedroom.” She looked around with, wide, wondering eyes.
“Someone told you that your husband would be asleep here tonight?” Shayne asked patiently. “Someone gave you a key to my apartment so you could slip in? Why? I don’t know anyone who’d play a trick like that. Was your husband supposed to be expecting you?”
“Oh, no,” she answered hastily. “He didn’t know. That was the whole thing, don’t you see?” She took a small sip of cognac, and set the glass on the desk. “That’s why I undressed so quietly in here. I didn’t dare turn on a light for fear of wakening him. I knew that if I could just, you know, get in bed with him before he knew I was there, he’d have to—” She paused, her face crimson. “Can’t you see I had to do it?” she burst out. “Because I know he still loves me. It’s just his crazy pride. I had to have a chance to break it down, and show him that nothing is really different — that he’s still my husband, and I’m still his wife. You do understand, don’t you?” she ended, leaning tensely toward him.
“Hell, no,” said Shayne curtly. He took a sizable drink of cognac, leaned back in his swivel chair, and lit a cigarette. “Now, start at the beginning. What’s your name?”
“Nora Carrol. Mrs. Ralph Carrol.” She glanced down at a plain platinum wedding band and a diamond solitaire. She turned the rings on her finger as she continued, “We live in Wilmington. That is, we did, until Ralph came to Miami a few weeks ago to establish residence for a divorce.” Her shoulders sagged, and she lapsed into silence.
“And?” Shayne questioned sharply.
She lifted her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Shayne got up, padded into the bedroom, and returned with a handkerchief. Flipping it from a square, he tossed it in her lap. She wiped her eyes and face, drew a long breath, and expelled it with a tremulous sigh.
“I suppose I have to tell you all of it. You’ll never believe me unless I do. Well, we’ve been married less than a year. We were terribly happy. Ralph was so sweet, at first.
“Then he started getting those anonymous letters accusing me of the most dreadful things. He didn’t believe them, of course, but when they kept coming he began wondering. He started spying on me. That made me angry, because he didn’t love me enough to have faith in me.
“So, I did a dreadfully foolish thing. I began flirting to get back at him. And then, there was a week-end party and I–I drank too much.” She jerked herself erect and added in a stricken voice, “Well, I made a damned fool of myself.” She covered her face with Shayne’s handkerchief.
Shayne took a long drink, lit another cigarette, and waited patiently.
Nora Carrol dropped the moist handkerchief in her lap and resumed. “I don’t really blame Ralph for being angry and leaving home before I could even try to explain and ask him to forgive me. But he left me such a curt note, I felt awful. He wouldn’t answer my letters, and he wouldn’t talk to me when I called him long-distance. So, I came to Miami. It was just too terrible for words! He wouldn’t let me go to his room! When I tried to talk to him in the lobby he cut me dead. Then, he checked out of the hotel that very night, and nobody knew where he went.”