Phyllis tensed and whispered, “There comes the girl who took Nora Carson’s part in the play. Christine Forbes.”
Shayne asked, “Where?” without turning his head.
“They’re trying to find a table. There’s one right by the door, but they don’t seem to care for it,” Phyllis reported. “She’s got a handsome guy in tow. They’re having the waiter move the table over to that shadowy spot by the stone wall.” She lowered her voice and added, “I’ll bet it’s an assignation.”
“You would think of that,” Shayne said.
“You taught me to think of things like that.”
Casey chuckled and thumped the table with his fist “Faith, Mike, you’ve met your match and more.”
Shayne grunted and twisted his head to watch the slender young understudy being seated at the secluded table by a young man who was built like an All-American fullback. His hair was tawny with a crinkly wave. He had blunt, resolute features, and heavy black brows, a startling contrast to his fair hair.
With her blond wig and make-up removed, Christine had become a vivacious brunette. The young man drew his chair up close to hers, and when he sat down he covered her hand with his, leaned close to her in an intimate, almost conspiratorial pose.
Shayne studied the couple for a moment, then said, “There should be some way to slip around the other side of that wall and not be seen.”
“Michael! You’ll be peeking through keyholes next.”