Just in time, he saw that Joe’s right hand held a heavy rock which he had picked up on his last trip to the ground. He waited for Joe’s lunge, ducked a vicious swing of the rock, then buried his fist in Meade’s midsection. Joe doubled forward with the breath driven from him. He went to his knees, hugging his solar plexus.
From behind Shayne, Casey asked interestedly, “What’ll I do with this she-wildcat? She still thinks it would be fun to christen you queen of the festival.”
With his eyes on Meade, Shayne said, “Take the bottle away from her and let her go.”
Joe was getting his breath back. He crouched forward on hands and knees like an animal.
Christine rushed to him and dropped to her knees beside him, begging, “Tell them, Joe. You haven’t anything to hide.”
Meade snarled an oath and flung her aside. Shayne saw his hand groping for another rock. He stepped forward and put his foot on Meade’s wrist and ground hard. Joe yelped with pain and sank back on his haunches. The madness went out of his eyes, but his face remained surly.
He muttered thickly, “What’s this all about, anyhow?”
“It’s about Nora Carson.” Shayne towered above him on widespread legs. “Where is she?”
“How do I know? I’m not Nora Carson’s guardian.”
Shayne said, “But I am. Start spilling what you know.”