Sylvia sat through it all, listening with amazement at the good-natured and obviously affectionate banter between the two men. It was not until the Judge left them alone that the detective turned his full attention on her. She felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through her. He was a goddamned handsome man, she thought… handsome and virile, too. He had come up in her estimation considerably. Judge Morse had called the detective one of his “favorite” people; that meant Shelton was o.k. all the way down the line.
“What will you have to drink?” he asked.
Shelton merely held his hand up about shoulder height, and a waiter almost immediately appeared carrying two Tarnquerays with a lemon twist.
Sylvia knew her earlier pose of snobbish superiority had been shattered; even so, she tried to regain her composure and command of the situation… after all, he was working for her. She toyed with her drink, refusing to look directly at him. “How did you and Judge Morse come to know each other?” she asked.
“I used to deliver papers to his office. He was just a struggling attorney at the time. Horribly poor. Near starving. We used to share cheese crackers together.” Shelton laughed in remembrance, and Sylvia suddenly realized she liked his laugh. “It was the Depression then. He didn’t have any money, so I gave him credit. I was only nine years old, living with an uncle. My folks died when I was six, I guess I felt sort of protective toward Tom. He couldn’t pay his bill for almost nine months, then he finally won a case, his first big one. When he paid me, he tried to give me ten bucks extra. I refused to take it.”