Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 12, No. 6, May 1963

Mike Shayne was watching Effie Bascom very carefully. He had seen the same thing so many times. A helpless, defenseless young girl, pushed to the extremes of stress and anger both, suddenly pointing a gun with every intention of using the weapon. Effie was very dangerous right now.

“Effie,” Shayne said quietly. “Use your head. You can’t do it this way. You need a lawyer. You can’t force it like this.”

Her eyes swung to him madly. “You knew all along, didn’t you? Sitting here all afternoon, pretending. You knew! How did you know?”

Shayne shrugged. “I should have heard you drive up. I didn’t. You had leaves clinging all over your clothes. I knew you had parked and come through the vegetation on foot. You, or more than likely, Tod slugged your grandfather, after pretending to have left for Tampa. I just happened along at the right time. You couldn’t know that Hat had phoned me already. So you and Tod hid at a safe distance when I drove up and pretended to arrive a little later. It would have been easy. Hat could have died from a head blow and people might have believed he fell down accidentally. After all, he’s over ninety.”

She nodded, watching her husband groan awake. “And that call from your secretary?” Effie asked.

Shayne smiled. “I learned you and Tod were married last week. Which meant he married you only after he came down here with you and heard from Hat’s lips personally about the will you were heir to. He only married you for money, girl!”

“Damnation,” Hat Raymond muttered. “I was right. My own kin — You were right, Shayne.” He turned to Effie. “You’re no flesh and blood of mine, acting like this.”

Shayne restrained him with a headshake, turned to the distraught girl, and said, “Effie, put that shotgun down. Murder won’t solve anything. Be sensible.”

Hat Raymond shook his head. “Stubborn — just like her mother.” But there was grudging admiration in his old eyes.

Tod Bascom was swaying to a standing position. Shayne guaged the distance. There wasn’t going, to be another chance.

“Effie,” he said. “Listen to me.”

She ignored him. “You all right, Tod?” Her eyes swung back to Shayne. “Well?”

“Listen to reason.” Shayne spoke slowly. “Old Hat here would straighten out all this and make you his legal heir without fuss if you’ll just—”

Tod Bascom suddenly came to life. “Effie,” he blurted wildly. “Don’t be crazy, honey. Don’t shoot! Even if we try to say you were pushed into killing Grandpa, you’ll lose all the money. I’ll — we’ll go to the chair. Shayne’s a witness. For God’s sakes, Effie, think of me!”

“Grandpa has to die,” she said coldly. “Tonight! Think I’m going to wait years while he takes his time to die and we live on crumbs? No! Now just get out of the way, Mr. Shayne and don’t try anything. Tod, come over here — away from them. This is a shotgun, not a rifle.”

And because it was a shotgun, Mike Shayne took the chance. He sprang forward, getting Tod Bascom’s body between him and the muzzle. Effie tried to shout, but too late. Shayne pinned Bascom’s hand and blocked his own body with Effie’s husband.

Hat Raymond took a hand once more. He dove behind the divan, creaking joints and all, hollering like an Indian again. Effie swung the muzzle, left and right, then left again, sorely confused and bewildered — her eyes glazed. Shayne was watching her closely and suddenly shot Tod Bascom toward her as he would release a bowling ball.

Bascom screamed and tried to cover his face with his hands. Effie jumped and tried to sight past him. There was too much blur for her to focus properly, and suddenly Tod crashed into her.

They were both a helpless tangle on the stairs. Shayne vaulted the divan, scooping up his fallen .45 as he went, and blasted twice over their heads. Effie dropped the shotgun and averted her face. Tod Bascom collapsed helplessly. Effie Bascom’s loud sobs filled the room.

“Damnation!” Hat Raymond cried. “Damn money! Bunch of vultures. Ruins everything. Even your own flesh and blood will kill you for money, Shayne.”

“Shut up, for a change,” Shayne said, not too unkindly. “If you didn’t play with people’s lives and dreams like an old fool, you wouldn’t tempt people into doing stupid things. Tod Bascom is a weakling who saw a chance to make money the easy way and you played on his weaknesses with all this will business. Why didn’t you tell me you had changed the will so I could know what the story was and do something about it? I had to find that out for myself.”

Hat Raymond’s eyes shone with admiration. He extended a leathery hand. “Shayne, I sure could have used a man like you forty years ago. What a time we would have had cleaning up things around here.”

“What about your granddaughter?”

The old man subsided. “A man has to take what comes. It doesn’t make me happy to know she wanted me dead. But she was temporarily out of her mind — almost insane. I’ll tell you this, young feller, I didn’t get to where I am crying over spilt milk.”

“No,” Shayne said. “I guess you didn’t, at that.”