She turned to Shayne, puckering her nose in distaste. “Heliotrope perfume. In the excitement, I forgot all about the female you were interviewing while Mr. Painter was proving me a liar. Was she pretty, Michael?” “Ugly as a mud fence,” he assured her. “She had a dripping nose with a wart on the end of it. She tried to hide a bad case of B.O. with heliotrope perfume, but—” “Stop being funny. I know when you’re trying to throw me off the scent. What did she want? Did she know anything about Jim Lacy?” Shayne said, “U-m-m,” and strode past Phyllis toward the bedroom. She hurried after him, grabbed his arm. “No secrets, Michael. I’m already in it as an accessory before or after the fact or something.” Shayne grinned down at his wife’s serious face. “You know I wouldn’t hold out on you. Oh, she was pretty enough, I guess. Big blue eyes and platinum hair and one of those figures that melt into a Lastex bathing-suit.
