Erle Gardner - Turn on the Heat

“The dismissal of the divorce action will appear upon the records.”

“What if it does?”

“It’s news.”

“All right, publish it.”

“And you’re here. That’s news.”

“All right, publish that.”

“And your comments are also news.”

“I haven’t made any. You did the talking, and I don’t care to discuss it. I don’t want you to publish a word I’ve said. Good-bye, Mr. Lam.”

I bowed affably. “Thank you very much for the interview, Mrs. Lintig.”

She slammed the door behind me as I walked out into the corridor. I went back down to the Blade office.

“Do you,” I asked of Marian, “keep a rewrite boy?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Lam,” she said, “for the star reporters, we do.”

“Where is he?”

“Over in that corner. His name is Mr. Corona, Mr. Smith-Corona.”

I said, “Before I go to all that trouble, I’ve had an interesting interview with Mrs. Lintig. She’ll deny it if we publish it, and threatens to sue the paper for libel. Do we publish it or don’t we?”

“We don’t,” she said quickly.

“I could make a swell story out of it, one that would interest your readers.”

“Would it get us any new subscribers?” she asked.

“It should.”

“And where would they come from?”

“That’s taking a low-down, unfair advantage,” I said.

She smiled. “Well, we’re definitely not progressive, Mr. Lam. My uncle is old-fashioned, and he doesn’t like libel suits.”

“He told you to go out to dinner with me and get a story,” I said. “That shows a nose for news.”

She said, “I’m glad you reminded me of my duty. How about that story?”

“No,” I said, “if your uncle publishes it, I’ll sue him for libel.”

“You might at least satisfy my personal curiosity.”

“I know you,” I said. “As soon as you get the story, you’ll quit stringing me along. I prefer to be strung along. Look at the way you showed me how to order dinner.”

She said, “My uncle won’t let me go out with you unless I get results.”

“That,” I admitted, “is a thought. I’ll try and think up something.”

“How did you get along with Evaline Dell’s trunk?” she asked abruptly.

I said, “Now wait a minute. One thing at a time. What’s this about Evaline Dell’s trunk?”

She said, “I have to hand it to you, Donald. You’re resourceful. We checked back on Miller Cross and Evaline Dell and found out the names and addresses were fictitious. That’s as far as we got. Naturally, we checked up on what you’d been doing.”

“And found out what?” I asked.

“That you’d been asking questions about the trunk.”

“And so?”

“And so we wrote the railroad company. I have a letter here this morning stating that a claim was made, not by Evaline Dell, but Evaline D. Harris.”

“Did you get her address?”

“Yes. The railroad company gives country newspapers a break now and then.”

“Are you going to see her?”

“Are you?”

“That depends.”

“What did she say, Donald?”

I shook my head.

She regarded me bitterly for a moment, and said, “You certainly play a funny game, all take and no give.”

I said, “I’m sorry, Marian. You wanted to play partners and pool information. I couldn’t do it that way. You’re working for the newspaper and want a story. I want something else. Publicity wouldn’t help my game any.”

She drew little aimless diagrams with her pencil on the pad of paper in front of her. After a minute, she said, “Well, we understand each other.”

“Your uncle in?” I asked.

“No. He’s gone fishing.”

“When did he go?”

“Early yesterday morning.”

“Then he doesn’t know about the big news.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Lintig’s arrival.”

“Oh,” she said, “he knew that before he left. He didn’t go until after he’d heard about her.”

“And he left you on the job to cover the big event and get the paper out?”

She drew more diagrams before she answered. Then she said, “It isn’t a big event from a news standpoint, Donald. No one here cares very much about Mrs. Lintig. That’s ancient history. The people who knew her moved away. They were the younger set. When business left, they left.”

“Just what did happen to this town?” I asked.

She said, “The bottom dropped out. The railroad moved. The Pennant mine struck a water pocket and the works were flooded. They were never able to pump them out. It’s just been a long succession of things like that. After a city starts on the toboggan, people leave.”

“Your uncle went through the boom?”

“Oh, yes. He’s a native. His feet are anchored in Oakview.”

“How about you?”

Her eyes sparkled with the intensity of her hatred. “If I could only find some way to shake the dust of this dead town off my feet,” she said, “I’d be on my way so quick it would surprise you.” She pointed her finger towards a little closet, and said, “My hat and coat are in there. Show me a way to make a living in the city, and I won’t even stop to put on my hat and coat.”

“Why don’t you come to the city if you feel that way about it, and make some contacts?”

“One of these days I’m going to.”

“And what would Charlie say?”

“You leave Charlie out of it,” she said.

“I don’t suppose your boy friend would be a big man with a cleft chin and a mole on his cheek, would he?”

She drew diagrams at furious speed. “I don’t like to be kidded,” she said.

“I’m not kidding. I’m asking.”

She dropped the pencil to the counter, and looked up at me. “You’re playing a game, Donald Lam,” she said. “You’re not fooling me for a minute. You’re smart, and shrewd, and cautious. There’s something big in the wind. If I could find out what it was, I could use it to get out of this town and get established in something in the city. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Under those circumstances,” I said, “the only thing I can do is to wish you luck.”

“Luck?” she asked.

“Bad luck,” I said, and started for the door.

I could feel her standing at the counter, staring at me, wistful and indignant at the same time, but I didn’t look back.

I walked over to the hotel. The clerk told me long distance was calling. I went to my room, got on the line, and after a ten-minute wait heard Bertha Cool’s voice. She was putting on her best wheedling act. “Donald, darling,” she said, “you mustn’t ever do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Walk out on Bertha in a huff.”

“I had work to do,” I said. “I went out and did it. There’d been too much delay as it was. After this, when a telegram comes in collect, addressed to me, pay for it.”

“I will, Donald,” she said. “Bertha was in an awful temper. Some little thing had gone wrong and thrown her all out of balance.”

“Did you,” I asked, “ring me up long distance to tell me about your temper?”

“No, lover. I wanted to tell you that you were right.”

“What about?”

“About Dr. Lintig. I’ve just checked back through the records of the medical board. It took me a little while to get the right line into their office, but I did it.”

“What,” I asked, “did you find out?”

“In 1919,” she said, “Dr. Lintig filed a certificate showing that he had changed his name to Charles Loring Alftmont. So they changed their records accordingly, and he’s now practicing at Santa Carlotta — eye, ear, nose, and throat specialist.”

I said, “That’s fine — only you still haven’t told me what you called up about.”