Erle Gardner: The Case of the Haunted Husband

Stephane Olger gripped the counter over which hats were checked by the patrons of Zander’s Tropical Shack. She could feel the skin drawn tight across her knuckles, could feel blood pounding in her cheeks as she watched the departing back of the manager.

Back of her, Emily Carr, a poker-faced brunette with swiftly competent fingers and thin lips, went quietly about the job of straightening coats on the hangers.

“Well,” Stephane said, without taking her eyes from the manager’s back, “ that was crude.”

“He isn’t noted for finesse,” Emily Carr observed, smoothing a flap over a pocket, “Funny how much a man will try to get in one overcoat pocket — no, pardon me all to hell — how much he will get into an overcoat pocket... What are you going to do?”

“Walk out — under my own power,” Stephane Olger said.

Emily Carr turned away from the rack of coats to survey Stephane’s blonde beauty. “It won’t work, Stephane. He is plenty smart. You have been high-hat with him. He isn’t accustomed to that and he doesn’t like it. So what? He gets a couple of patrons to put marked dollar bills in the tips. You check out the coin. The tips aren’t there. Where does that leave you?”

“Emily, I don’t know what happened to that money. I distinctly remember both tips. I put them in the drawer, and...”

“And were called away?” Emily asked.

“Yes, why ?”

“Oh, nothing. He lifted them out himself while you were gone — and left all the rest of the money. Then he checks up. You are responsible. You have been knocking down on tips. What are you going to do? You will do as he says now.”

“I wish I had slapped his face. I will do it yet.”

“He will blacklist you for dishonesty. Tip chiseling is the one thing they won’t stand for in this business.”

“Emily, you never have trouble like that. I have plenty. What is wrong with me?”

“You leave yourself wide open.”

“What is a girl supposed to do with a man who takes advantage of his position?”

“Laugh him off,” Emily Carr said easily, “before he gets funny ideas.”

“I didn’t notice any preliminaries.”

“I did. Not today, but yesterday, the day before, and most of last week. I went with a fighter once. He told me never to let the other man get set. He said to keep them off balance. Whenever the other man gets set, you are going to get jarred. Don’t let them do it.”

Stephane said, “Well, I am tired of checking hats. I am going after something else. I have got a friend in Hollywood. You remember Horty?”

Emily shook her head.

“The girl who came to call on me when she was on her vacation. I brought her in here...”

“The girl with the upholstered curves?” Emily interrupted.

“That’s the one.”

“I shall bet nothing gets her goat,” Emily Carr said.

“You are right. She would take something like this right in her stride.”

“Listen, Stephane, use your brains. Don’t get all worked up because...”

“I am fired?” Stephane asked.

“That is what he said,” Emily agreed. “Those were the words he used, but he doesn’t mean it that way. He means that you are to come to him filled with tears and humility while you try to convince him someone else got the dough. I told you he wasn’t noted for finesse.”

Stephane looked at her watch. “Think you can handle it alone, Emily?” she asked.

“If you want it that way.”

“I do. If he comes back here looking for me, tell him I have decided to... Tell him I have decided to look for a new proposition.”

Emily Carr’s sensitive mouth twisted into a quick smile. “He would appreciate that.”

“Yes, I suppose he would.”

“Need any dough?”

“No. I shall hitchhike.”

“What’s your middle name, Stephane?”

“Claire. Why?”

“All right, drop the Olger. It sounds hard, and with your complexion it sounds sort of Russian. Make it Stephane Claire. That will take. You can’t tell, babe, you just might get a break in Hollywood. And if you get a break, you shall make good. You are not like those yellow blondes that fade fast. You have got that white-gold touch. You are metal, the kind of metal that takes a temper and holds it.”

“Thanks,” Stephane said, and put on her coat and hat.

“You are different from most of us in this game — and you are running away from something. What is it, a husband?”

Stephane said, wearily, “No, from money with strings tied to it.”

“What money, and what strings?”

“A rich uncle. He thought he could dictate to me — even pick out the man I was to marry.”

Emily studied her. “Better go back, kid.”

“Not me. I am headed for Hollywood. You can’t tell, I might bust into pictures.”

“You might at that. Tell Sam Goldwyn hello for me. Tell Clark Gable I sent my love. Any messages you want to leave for the manager?”

“Yes, one.”

Emily’s eyes twinkled. “I will try and convey it to him so he will understand. Good-Bye, kid.”

“Bye.”

“Luck.”

“Thanks.”

The man said, “That is Bakersfield ahead. I am sorry, I am not going through.”

“How far to Los Angeles?”

“A little over a hundred miles. You can make it in a little over two hours’ driving time. I wish you wouldn’t insist on going through tonight.”

“Oh, I shall be all right. I have a friend in Los Angeles. I can stay with her.”

“I shall be glad to... to get you a cabin. There is a very fine auto hotel here.”

“No, thanks. Don’t bother.”

“It is rather late, and...”

Stephane smiled. “Listen, I can take care of myself. I have done this before.”

“Well, here is the traffic circle. Los Angeles traffic goes around... Tell you what I will do. I will run you out to a boulevard stop. It is in a well-lighted district. That will help you catch a ride.”

“Oh, don’t bother. I can get a ride anywhere.”

“It is only a short distance.”

“You live here?” Stephane asked.

“No. I am stopping over on business.”

Stephane opened the door. “All right,” she said, smiling, “I am getting out. Quit worrying about me.”

“I wish you would let me take you down to the boulevard stop, and...”

“No. This is fine. Thanks a lot. I appreciate the ride and everything. You were — nice.”

She gave him her hand. He held it for a moment, a man in the late forties who looked on a girl of twenty-four as a mere infant. His solicitude was flattering but annoying. “I shall get along all right,” she repeated, withdrawing her hand, smiling and closing the car door.

He didn’t drive on at once, but sat watching, as though waiting to size up the person with whom Stephane was going to ride.

She came back to him, laughing. “Listen, you can’t do that. It looks like a racket. Motorists won’t stop when they see you parked here keeping an eye on me. I am sorry,” she added at the expression on his face.

He started the car. “Try and pick a woman driver. It’s late, you know.”

Stephane, holding her handbag in her left hand, watched the tail light out of sight, then looked hopefully up the highway. It was only a little after ten. She should be in Los Angeles by one o’clock.

For the space of nearly a minute, there were no cars, then they came in a bunch, four of them in a procession of blinding headlights. Stephane knew that cars in a string seldom stop. Each driver is too intent on jockeying for position and getting past the others to bother with hitchhikers. She stepped back a few paces.