Shell Scott invades a nudist camp!
“There was a fire in her eyes that was scorching me — me, Shell Scott, the private eye who couldn’t tell whether a dame wanted to kiss me, or kill me!”
From the back:
No matter how you look at it, 36-22-35 are magic numbers. They have a real message for me. I’m Shell Scott, the private eye, and I’m very good at figures. You might say I follow them very carefully. I’ve been following this one figure for several days and learned her name is Sherry. She looks as though she were designed by a sex fiend, and I hated to think she was mixed up in murder. It almost made me crawl back into my Shell. But somebody was planning to send me to my friendly neighborhood mortician and I had to find out who — or die trying.
Shell Scott was being hounded to death — by bombs, bullets and blondes!
“This book is dedicated to: HUDSON’S BAY SCOTCH, KENT CIGARETTES, and YUBAN COFFEE without which it might never have been written.”
Man, she had a shape to make corpses kick open caskets — and she was dead set on giving me rigor mortis
Man, oh, man, she was slaying me, inch by inch — smile by smile!