A woman came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. There were lines of irritation and worry on her thin face; her lips were tight and her eyes coldly wary as she surveyed the stranger on her doorstep.
“Mrs. Ludlow?” he inquired.
“Yes.” She stood at the hooked screen door and made no move to open it.
“I’m very anxious to see Mr. Ludlow,” Shayne told her smoothly. “I called his office but the girl said he was out and that you might be able to tell me where to reach him.”
“Was that you called awhile ago?” she demanded.
“Yes.” Shayne tried what he hoped would be a disarming smile. “My business with your husband is so important that I thought I’d run out and explain personally.”
“What business?” she demanded in a clipped voice.
“I represent a local firm employing more than a thousand people, and we want to have individual photographs taken for use on a new type of identification badge we’re issuing.”
“Why pick out Jack for a job like that?” She spoke with bitterness, and from her words Shayne felt she implied that there were many better-known commercial photographers in Miami who would be a more logical choice.
“It happens to be a personal contact with one of our executives,” Shayne explained. “When the project was discussed at conference this morning, one of our vice-presidents said your husband was just the man for the job, and he’d like to see him get it. Naturally, we don’t like to go over his head, and besides, I gathered he was an old friend of Mr. Ludlow’s. It’s a matter that has to be decided today.”