Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

His eyes stayed locked with Stephanie’s.

Nodding quickly, the captain backed into the chartroom. The helmsman, a Chinese, stared at Shayne and the woman, letting the ship drift off course.

“Damn it, Lee, watch your course,” the captain roared at the helmsman.

Lee spun the wheel a few spokes, then huddled as close to the wheel as he could get, eyes fixed on the compass.

Stephanie, crouched, with the knife now ready for a gut-splitting upward slice, circled the bridge as Shayne did.

“The caper’s finished,” Shayne said in a soothing voice. “You and Forbes-Robertson planned it, using Chung Lee and then double-crossing him, isn’t that the way it was?”

Saliva dripped from the down ward curve of Stephanie’s lips and her face was an ugly mask of fury. “A million dollars in gold!” she spit at Shayne. “We had a buyer. The deal was made...”

Shayne held out a hand. “Let me have the knife, Stephanie. Cutting me isn’t going to help. Come on now.”

She threw herself at him. But this time Shayne was ready, anticipated her move, thrust out a foot and tripped the woman. She went headlong to the steel deck. Face down, knife arm pressed under her body, she raised her face to stare into his as Shayne knelt beside her.

“I... stabbed... myself.” Stephanie said it in a wondering voice and the madness faded from her eyes. Her head fell forward and her forehead bumped the deck.

Gently Shayne turned the woman over on her back to feel for the pulse in her neck. There was no pulse. Stephanie’s sightless eyes stared up at the overhead.

Forbes-Robertson came back into the wheelhouse, staring at Stephanie’s body with a horrified expression on his face. “The bird killed herself!”

Shayne faced the Englishman across Stephanie’s limp body.

He saw Forbes-Robertson through a red haze of hate. His seduction of Dr. Stephanie Scott and tempting her with a million in gold had led to this.

“You killed her,” Shayne accused.

“How can you say that, old chap?” She was a greedy bitch. “Now you and I can make a deal.”

Shayne took a quick step toward the man and pumped his right fist into his smug face. All Shayne’s weight and muscle was behind the punch.

Forbes-Robertson slammed back against the steel bulkhead behind him. The hollow thump of his head striking the bulkhead muffled the sharp crack of his neck. Glassy-eyed and gaping, the Englishman pitched forward to fall across the dead body of the woman. His legs kicked convulsively once, twice and then he was still.

Shayne stared down at the bodies, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. Then he looked up at the captain.

“Take us back into port,” Shayne ordered.

Mary Su Lin and Shayne were aboard a return flight to San Francisco. At Shayne’s suggestion the American consul in Tapei, Joseph Beardsley, had arranged for the Golden Buddha and the rest of the exhibit to be flown directly to Florida aboard an Air Force C130 as a good-will gesture toward the Taiwanese.

After what they’d been through together, Shayne had become more than just fond of the slim Chinese girl, yet he couldn’t find words to tell her how he felt.

Mary Su Lin touched his arm. “If you’re too bashful to say it I guess I must, Mike,” she told him with a sigh. “I want you to spend some time with me when we reach San Francisco.”

The Man in the Moon by James M. Reasoner

Markham was just passing through — until he saw the runaway children with bruises on their bodies!

* * *

I almost didn’t see the kids in time. They popped up in the glare of the headlights on the side of the road. I hit the brakes and swung out into the other lane to miss them.

I got a pretty good look at them as I went past. There were two of them, a boy and a girl, and neither one could have been more than ten years old. I wondered what the hell they were doing trudging along a lonely state highway in the middle of the night.

After spending the day in Arizona telling a grand jury all about a case I had been involved, in several months back, I had decided to drive all night and try to make it across the desert while it was still cool. I had opted for this state road instead of the interstate because I hadn’t felt like fighting the traffic.

The car came to a stop several yards past them. I put it in park and opened my door. When I got out and turned toward the kids, I saw in the glow of the taillights that they had stopped and were regarding me warily.

The boy was older, eight or nine maybe, wearing tennis shoes, blue jeans, and a tee shirt. His light hair was tousled and grew down to a slight widow’s peak.

His sister, which she unmistakably was, was two or three years younger, with the same light hair, cut short. She wore a sleeveless knit top and bright yellow shorts. She looked cold. Nights on the desert are like that.

I tried to make my voice as calm and reassuring as I could. I didn’t want to scare them. “Hi. Do you guys need some help? A ride maybe?”