Erle Gardner: Turn on the Heat

I said, “You can charge it as a necessary expense.”

She said, “Be your age, Donald. There’ll be other expenses. The more we pay to other people, the less we have for Bertha.”

I said, “It’ll cost more than seventy-five dollars trying to follow a cold trail.”

Bertha Cool shook her head. “That’s out. Think up something else.”

I picked up my hat, and said, “All right. I will.”

My hand was on the doorknob when she called me back. “And get to work on this thing, Donald. Don’t mark time while you’re trying to think up ideas.”

“I am working on it. I’ve put an ad in the Oakview Blade asking for information about Mrs. James Lintig or about her heirs, indicating that someone has died and left her property.”

“How much did that ad cost?” Bertha asked.

“Five dollars.”

Bertha looked at me over the smoke that spiraled upwards from the end of her cigarette. “It’s too damn much,” she said.

I opened the door, said casually, “It probably is, at that,” and closed the door behind me before she could say anything.

I drove the agency car around to the address of Eva-line Harris. It was a cheap, three-storied brick apartment house. By the mailboxes was a list of the tenants and call buttons. I found Evaline Harris was in 309, and pressed the button. I had rung the third time when the buzzer announced that the door was being unlatched. I walked in.

There was a lobby stretching across the building and extending back some fifteen feet. It was dark, gloomy, and filled with odours. A door marked Manager was on the left. Midway in the corridor a weak electric light glowed over the entrance to an automatic elevator. I rattled up to the third floor and walked back towards 309.

Evaline Harris was standing in the door, peering down the corridor with sleep-swollen eyes. She didn’t look either mousy or virginal. She said, “What do you want?” in a voice that was rough as a rasp.

“I’m an adjuster for the railroad company. I want to make an adjustment on that trunk.”

“My God,” she said. “It’s about time. Why pick this hour of the morning? Don’t you know a girl who works nights has to sleep some time?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and waited to be invited in.

She stood in the doorway. Over her shoulder I caught a glimpse of a folding wall-bed let down, the covers rumpled and the pillow-cases wrinkled.

She continued to stand in the doorway doubt, hostility and avarice all showing in her manner. “All I want is a cheque,” she said.

She was blonde, and I couldn’t see any dark line near the roots of her hair. She was wearing wrinkled orange pyjamas, a dressing-gown thrown over her shoulders and loosely held in front with her left hand. The back of the hand said she was about twenty-seven. With make-up, her face could have passed for twenty-two. I couldn’t get much of an idea of her figure, but she stood with the balanced posture of one who is young and lithe.

She said, “Oh, well! Come on in.”

I walked on in. The apartment was smelly with sleep. She jerked the covers back into position, propped herself on the edge of the bed, and said, “The comfortable chair’s over there in that corner. Drag it out. I have to move it when I let the bed down. What do you want?”

“I want to get some more particulars on your claim.”

“I’ve given you all the particulars,” she said. “I should have asked for two hundred dollars. Then you’d have settled for seventy-five, which is my actual damage. If you’re trying to chisel, don’t waste your time and mine. And don’t ever call me before three in the afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

There was a package of cigarettes and an ash-tray on a stand by the head of the bed. She reached out for a cigarette, lit it, and sucked smoke down deep into her lungs. “Go ahead,” she said.

I took out one of my own cigarettes and lit up. “I think I can get the claim through the department for you after you’ve cleared up one or two details.”

“That’s better,” she said. “What are the details? The trunk’s down in the basement if you want to see it. One corner’s smashed in. Splinters of wood ruined my stockings and one of my dresses.”

“Do you,” I asked, “have the stockings and the dress?”

She avoided my eyes, and said, “No.”

I said, “Our records show that while you were in Oakview, you went under the name of Evaline Dell.”

She whipped the cigarette out of her mouth and stared at me with wide-eyed indignation. “Well, of all the snoops! No wonder you’re nursing a black eye! What business is it of yours what name I went under? You smashed the trunk, didn’t you?”

I said, “In adjustments of this kind, the railroad company has to get a valid release.”

“Well, I’ll give you one. I’ll sign it Evaline Dell if you want. My name’s Evaline Dell Harris. I’ll sign it Eleanor Roosevelt if that will help.”

“You’re living here under the name of Harris?”

“Of course I am. Evaline Dell was my maiden name. Harris was my husband’s name.”

“If you’re married, your husband would have to sign with you.”

“Bosh! I haven’t seen Bill Harris for three years.”

“Divorce?” I asked.

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”

“You see,” I explained, “if the railroad company made a settlement and got a release, and that release wasn’t signed by the person who owned the property, the railroad company would still be liable.”

“Are you trying to tell me I don’t own my own trunk?”

“Not that,” I said. “There’s a discrepancy in names. The railroad company insists that discrepancy be explained.”

“Well, it’s explained now.”

I said, “The head of the Claim Department is very particular, Mrs. Harris. He—”

“Miss Harris,” she said.

“Very well, Miss Harris. The head of the Claim Department is a stickler for detail. He sent me to find out why you made the trip to Oakview under the name of Evaline Dell instead of under the name of Evaline Harris.”

She said sullenly, “Give him my compliments, and tell him to go jump in the lake.”

I remembered the expression of avarice in her eyes when she had stood in the doorway. I got to my feet, said, “All right. I’ll tell him. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I didn’t know you worked nights,” and made for the door.

I had my hand on the knob when she said, “Wait a minute. Come back and sit down.”

I crossed over to drop ashes off the end of my cigarette into her ash-tray and went back to the chair.

“You said you were trying to get the adjustment through for me.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re working for the railroad company, ain’t you?”

“We’d like to get the adjustment off our books. Of course, if we can’t get together, we’ll turn it over to our legal department, and let them handle it.”

“I don’t want a lawsuit.”

“Neither do we.”

She said, “I went to Oakview on business. It’s my business. It’s none of yours.”

“We’re not interested in the business, only in your reason for taking another name.”

“It wasn’t another name. It’s my name.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t make that stick.”

She said, “All right. I went there to get some information about someone.”

“Can you give me the name of the party?”

“No.” She hesitated long enough to drop the ashes off her cigarette, and then went on: “A man sent me to Oakview to get some dope about his wife.”

“I’d like to check that. Can you give me his name and address?”

I can, but I won’t.”

I took out my notebook, and said dubiously, “Well, I might put that across for you, but I think the Claim Department’s not going to be satisfied. With this confusion about names, they’re going to want the whole story.”