Blood on Biscayne Bay by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online Page A

his eyes. He muttered, “I don’t understand. Do you suppose—can Mrs. Morgan be right?” He cut himself off abruptly, as though he suddenly realized he was speaking aloud thoughts that were not for strangers.
    Shayne laughed and slapped him lightly on the back. “It does happen on the best of honeymoons,” he assured the worried man. “Nothing to worry about.”
    “But she hadn’t told me. I didn’t know—”
    “You’ve been married only a month,” Shayne reminded him. He turned on Painter and said harshly, “You’ve got to be careful what you say to a woman in her condition.”
    Tiny beads of sweat were standing on Painter’s face. He mopped it away with a handkerchief and mumbled, “How was I to know? I’m through with her anyhow for the time being. What about this brother of yours, Hudson?”
    “I doubt whether Floyd’s up yet. I imagine Mrs. Morgan will send him down. Here he is now,” Hudson added quickly. “Suppose we go back to the living-room.”
    The four men moved into the larger room. Floyd Hudson stopped in the center of the room and waited.
    Floyd Hudson was the man Shayne had seen at the Play-Mor Club with Natalie Briggs the preceding night.
    He blinked owlishly at the little group and demanded, “What in hell’s the excitement, Les? Mrs. Morgan said I was wanted down here.”
    “Just a formality, Floyd,” his brother assured him in a gentle voice. “This is Chief Painter of the Beach police force. They found Natalie’s body in the bay this morning, and there are some routine questions he has to ask.”
    “Natalie? In the bay,” Floyd Hudson looked shocked. “Are you serious? Did she commit suicide?”
    “I’ll ask the questions,” said Painter stiffly. “How well did you know the maid, Mr. Hudson?”
    Floyd shrugged and muttered, “What do you mean by a question like that? Are you insinuating—?”
    “I’m asking,” Painter said.
    “How well would I know a maid?” the younger brother demanded truculently. He pressed stubby fingers against his forehead. “Natalie wasn’t any prize, you know.”
    “When did you see her last?”
    Floyd turned his head slightly and looked at Shayne for the first time since he entered the room. He narrowed his bloodshot eyes and appeared to be concentrating on something. “Wait a minute,” he muttered. “Let me get this straight. When did she do it?”
    “Natalie Briggs was murdered some time last night,” Painter told him. “Right here in your back yard if I’m not mistaken. Pending an autopsy, the doctor’s first guess is around midnight.”
    Floyd looked at Shayne again and asked, “Is this another cop?”
    “I’m sorry,” the elder brother said. “Mr. Shayne, my brother. Mr. Shayne is an old friend of Christine’s,” he went on, “a private detective who is helping the police clear up Natalie’s death.”
    Shayne stepped forward and took Floyd’s extended and unresponsive hand. “I believe we ran into each other last night at the Play-Mor Club.”
    “Did we? Maybe so.” Floyd wet his lips and groaned. “My head. God, but it’s splitting. I suppose I might as well give it to you straight,” he said to Painter. “I took Natalie to the Play-Mor last night.” He saw his brother give a start of surprise and added defensively, “She’d been after me to take her some place like that ever since she’d been here. I didn’t see any harm in it.”
    Painter was making notations in his book. “Was this the first time you’d taken her out, Mr. Hudson?”
    “Of course. God, you don’t think I’d make a practice of it.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “She got half-tight on a couple of drinks and insisted on gambling. After she’d dropped all her own money she wanted me to put up for her. I was sick of my bargain by that time, and I slipped away and left her there.”
    “What time was that?”
    “About ten o’clock.”
    Painter looked at Shayne. “You say you saw him there with the maid?”
    “I said I