He grinned and said, “How in hell do I know? I don’t even know where Littleboro is.”

Lucy said, “It’s about a hundred miles upstate and inland. A farming town.”

They went out onto the street together and she said uncertainly, “I guess I was foolish to bother you tonight. But Mrs. Groat was so darned worried… and like most people in Miami she has complete faith that a redheaded lug named Michael Shayne knows all the answers.”

Shayne grinned down at the moonlight glinting off her brown curls and turned her away from his car parked in front. He said, “I’ll walk you home and come back for my car. It wasn’t foolish, angel. Here’s a guy just been rescued from the dead after ten days or two weeks keeping alive in a life raft… and he walks out on his ever-loving wife the first evening he’s back. No use getting her hysterical, but there’s got to be some reason.”

They had walked east on the south sidewalk until they were opposite the modest building housing Lucy’s apartment, and as they started to cross the street, Shayne said quietly in a low voice, close to his secretary’s ear, “Don’t look now, but we’re being followed.” Her fingers tightened on his arm but she continued walking steadily beside him across the empty street. “Where, Michael? Who?”

He said, “Behind us. I’ll find out who after I let you in your front door. Keep your place locked tonight.”

He raised his voice as they reached the opposite sidewalk and crossed to the front door of her building. “Nothing else we can do about Groat tonight, Lucy. We’ll start wheels turning in the morning if he isn’t back. Got your key?”

She said, “Right here,” in a steady voice. They stood close together at the top of the steps and she opened the outer door leading into a small hallway with mail boxes on each side. She put both hands on his biceps and pressed close to him, turning her face up in the faint moonlight.