“You see, darlin’,” Pat Casey said, “murderers follow Mike around so’s to keep him in practice.”
“Even on our vacation,” Phyllis said bitterly. “You’d dig up a case if we took a rocket to Mars.”
Shayne grinned at her and finished his drink. “We’ve got about two minutes before the curtain goes up.” He turned to Casey. “You’re not going to the play?”
Casey’s bullet head waggled negatively. “’Tis a tough gate to crash, I hear. And me without a monkey suit or a messy jacket.”
Shayne stood up and drew Phyllis from her chair. “Do this for me, Pat. The sheriff and a couple of boys from the State Patrol are on the job. I wish you’d wander up there and keep an eye on things. They’re all right, but none of them are homicide men.”
“I’ll do it, Mike, but I’ve got a job of my own I haven’t finished telling you about.”
“It’ll have to wait. Maybe I can help you on it.”
“Sure,” Phyllis said as Shayne hurried her through the room. “Why not? One case is hardly enough to keep you busy while we’re on a vacation. Take on a couple more so you won’t have any time for me. I can always amuse myself.”
Shayne chuckled. “You forget you married a working man, angel. When a murder case slaps me in the face I can’t run from it.”
The curtain was a few minutes late going up. The huge central chandelier which had originally held many kerosene lamps, and which had been the pride of mining pioneers, was lighted with myriads of electric bulbs, but the footlights began to glow as they found their seats, the last two vacant chairs in the building that had once been the most pretentious playhouse between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean.