She wrinkled her nose at him. “You make as much sense as usual. I wish you’d stop muttering in shorthand.”

Shayne grinned widely and tipped her shining head back to kiss her lips. “I keep in practice so you won’t learn too many of the darker details of the private detecting business. It was your idea to move down here and spend your days waiting for the telephone to ring.”

“But you needed a secretary.”

“I got along for years without one.”

She clung to the knobby fingers that touched her cheek. “Who is Jim Lacy? He sounded awfully queer over the telephone.”

Shayne shook his head. “Probably isn’t the bird I’m thinking of. Maybe you got the name wrong. Let’s wait and see.”

Phyllis wailed, “You make me so damn mad,” and Shayne said, “A drink will improve your disposition.” He pulled his fingers from hers and went across the room to the liquor cabinet, where he selected two wineglasses, a bottle of cognac, and a bottle of port wine.

Phyllis swiveled her chair to watch him while he set the glasses and bottles on a center table and went to the kitchenette. When his back was turned she made no attempt to hide the fact that she was hopelessly in love with her big redheaded husband, but when he came back carrying a brimming glass of ice water, she made a face at him and said, “There you go. Getting tanked up just when an important case is about to break.”

Shayne said, “One drink isn’t getting tanked up, and we don’t know it’s a case.” He filled one wineglass with cognac, the other with tawny wine. He arched a bushy eyebrow at his wife and asked, “Are you going to relax from your secretarial duties and join me, or are you going to have your refreshment while you remain militantly on duty?”