Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 22, No. 5, April 1968

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Men and money — these had been her life. But now she lay crumpled in death, as Mike Shayne raced against a murder deadline to avenge the luckless party girl who had talked too much, too freely — and to the wrong man...

Michael Shayne returned to his office at 4:30 that afternoon. Lucy Hamilton looked up at him urgently and nodded her pretty head toward the inner door to his private office.

“There’s a lady waiting, Michael,” the brown-eyed Lucy said. “She looks like she’s in terrible trouble.”

Shayne arched a ragged red eyebrow. “You’re sure she’s a lady, Angel?”

“I am, Michael,” his secretary said, “and see that you remember it.”

Shayne winked at Lucy and painted a wicked leer on his face as he walked on into his private office. When he saw the “lady” in his office the leer faded instantly. He saw why Lucy called his visitor a lady.

“Mr. Shayne?” she said nervously, trying to smile.

She looked like someone’s mother — everyone’s mother. A small, stout, white-haired lady of about sixty-five. Her kind, pink face was motherly; her small hands fluttered in motherly fashion; she wore a motherly print dress that had not cost much but was heat and looked good on her.

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