Her white fur chubby hung open, revealing the scarlet scarf which vied with her cheeks for color. He wondered, fleetingly, whether she had been questioned at the betting windows regarding her age, in keeping with the state law against selling tickets to minors. She was clinging to Gil Matrix’s arm, her head level in height with his, though Shayne suspected she stood on tiptoe as she peered anxiously in all directions. When she saw him towering above the throng, she dragged the editor toward him. She laughed triumphantly up into his face and showed him a sheaf of bills in her purse, cajoling: “Don’t take me away now, Michael. I’m having a wonderful time. I’m winning! Honestly!” Shayne looked steadily at her, his eyes roving from the top of her little hat to the tips of her white sports shoes. His gaunt face softened and a smile quirked his wide mouth. He said, with excessive gravity, to Matrix, “We’d better turn her over to the police for investigation.
