Dolls Are Deadly Read Online Free PDF

cleaning fish. For two cents I’d throw it back.”
    “It’s sure been nice, Mr. Shayne,” Vince said.
    “It was nice of you to let me barge in.”
    “Not at all,” Slim assured him. “Any time.”
    They hesitated, glancing over at Sylvester. “You think he’ll be all right?”
    Shayne nodded. “I’ll carry him into the cabin. He’ll sleep it off.”
    The three men started down the dock, waving back at Shayne, who was standing tugging at his left earlobe. They were friendly all right, as Sylvester said. Weren’t they a little too friendly? Or was he too suspicious? He shrugged. That’s what a lifetime of poking your nose into other people’s crimes would do for you.
    Still, something was bothering the redhead. It was connected in some way with the big fish Ed was so unenthusiastically carrying away. No, not that fish, the other one. The barracuda Ed had swapped to the Cubans.
    Suddenly, he had it. Barracuda was the fastest spoiling fish on the coast. And they didn’t have any ice on La Ballena, as proven by the fact that they had borrowed a bucket of cubes from Sylvester for their drinks. Without ice to hold it, the barracuda would be unfit to eat by the time they made port in Cuba. Had the Cubans known that—they must have!—and accepted the fish just out of a Latin sense of politeness, because the charter crew on Sylvester’s boat had been so eager to be friendly? Or was there another reason?
    A policeman moved into sight from around the dock shed. The three men had taken no more than a dozen steps from the boat. As the young cop, walking purposefully, came toward them, the men seemed to falter infinitesimally in their stride. Then Vince and Slim moved out a little ahead of Ed who was carrying the bonito and with what appeared to be studied casualness, put themselves on either side of him, almost as though they were a bodyguard. They kept moving in a sort of inverted V, came abreast of the policeman and passed him. Without giving them a glance, he continued in his positive stride straight to Shayne at the dock edge.
    “You Michael Shayne?”
    The cop’s youth and truculence rubbed Shayne the wrong way. He nodded sourly.
    “Peter Painter wants to see you.”
    Shayne took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, flipping the match into the water. “Suppose I don’t want to see Peter Painter?”
    “It don’t make any difference what you want. When a guy’s found murdered with your address in his pocket, you’re involved, brother.”
    “Don’t ‘brother’ me! Half the people in greater Miami carry my address in their pocket.”
    “But half the people ain’t murdered. Henny Henlein was.”
    “What does Painter want me to do? Send flowers? It would be a pleasure—to Henny’s murderer.”
    The cop blinked uncertainly. “You hadn’t ought to talk like that. You’re in a bad enough jam as it is. And you’re not helping yourself by keeping Painter waiting.”
    Shayne took a deep drag on the cigarette and blew out smoke. “Maybe you don’t know how things are between Peter Painter and me. There’s nothing I’d rather do than keep him waiting—and vice versa.”
    The policeman stared at Shayne with the look of a boy who had been sent on a man’s job. “Come on now, Mr. Shayne. I’ve got a job to do.”
    Shayne growled, “Why didn’t you put it that way in the first place? Where’s Painter?”
    “On Washington, right off Alton—where they found Henlein’s body. Painter won’t let them move it till you get there.”
    “Flattering of Petey to call me in on consultation. All right, tell him I’ll be there, after I’ve put my friend where the mosquitoes won’t get him.” He turned abruptly and stepped onto the boat.
    When the policeman did not move, Shayne added, “Or would you rather make a real pinch and take me in handcuffed?”
    “Of course not, Mr. Shayne.” Now that he saw that the redhead was not going to be difficult, the policeman’s manner changed. He looked