Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 7 & 8, July/August 1999

“I doubt it. Not Dal Reeves. Only thing Dal could install was his butt into a chair. And anyways, he’d been gone three, four months already before I arrived, and she got here after that. She must of done it herself.”

“Why would she if the management would re-key it?”

“Maybe she didn’t know any better. Or maybe the management wouldn’t help her. Ask the owner when you spring it on him about the illegal garbage chute.” He chuckled. “He’s gonna love that. Anyways, the girl’s bed was slept in, and you can see she’s been clearing her mail, so she must be coming around here sometimes, right?”

Robideau handed back the envelope without comment. As he moved to the door, Leonard called after him, “So what are you goin’ to do about them gerfeedy criminals, huh?”

The chief sat in his car thinking. He agreed with the cantankerous Boski that, at least superficially, things appeared normal. The apartment was messy but not alarmingly so. Nothing overturned or broken, no sign of foul play. But certain things were troubling. The clock showing winter time when it ought to have been rolled forward to daylight-saving ten days ago. The girl was last seen on the twenty-ninth — almost a week before the clocks changed. And then there were the plants. Mrs. Robideau kept plants and wouldn’t dream of neglecting them. If she went away, she left explicit instructions as to their care — water twice a week and a careful dusting of the leaves — and woe to the chief if he forgot.

Miss Lemay liked plants, too. Dressing them up with little ornaments like that gnome. If she had been missing since before the clocks changed, her plants ought to be pretty dry. But the soil that little gnome was sitting on was as moist as a West Coast rain forest.

Somebody was watering those plants.

Roald Overberg, owner of the Highcliff Apartments, was a tall, observant septuagenarian erect as an obelisk behind the calf-lined blotter of his teakwood desk. He gazed back at Robideau with eyes like two bright blue crystals. His skin was tanned, the legacy of a winter vacation. He wore a gray silk tie, a cashmere sweater, and showed half an inch of starched white shirtcuff at both wrists.

“The letters went out two months ago,” Robideau told him. “You must have got one. Besides, the new bylaws are the talk of the town.”

Overberg shrugged, displaying a patronizing smile. “I generally disregard the ‘talk of the town,’ chief. To a man of my years it hardly seems relevant. And as to the letter, well, no doubt it’s misfiled. I’m not as organized as I once was.”

The chief replied with a doubtful glance. The room was tidy to the point of fastidiousness, even the objects on the desk appearing to have been positioned with a special template. He said:

“There’s one other matter...”

“Oh?” Overberg’s trim gray eyebrows moved.

“It seems as though one of your tenants is missing.”

“Really? How strange. I’ve never misplaced one before.”

Robideau gave him a caustic look. “Don’t you want to know who I’m referring to?”

“Oh yes. Of course.”

“I mean Miss Angela Lemay. She’s not been seen for weeks. You weren’t aware of it?”

Overberg’s teeth were startlingly white in that tan face.

“Chief Robideau. Really. People lead their own lives. It’s not my province to meditate on their whereabouts. But since you drive me to it, my guess would be that she’s on a vacation.”

“That’s my guess, too, but I need to nail down some dates. Can you show me her last rental payment? She doesn’t use postdated checks, I hope.”

“As a matter of fact, she pays cash.”

“Then you’ll have a receipt stub.”

Overberg studied him. Still smiling, he made a circular motion with his hand. “Again, it will be here somewhere. I need time to locate it, that’s all.”

“Fine. I’ll call back. One last thing. The lock’s been changed on her apartment. When was that done?”

“I have no idea.”

“Not changed by you at her request?”

Did his smile twitch slightly? “No, sir, it wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, people changing locks like that? I’d imagine you’d want access in some situations.”

“Good Lord, chief, I don’t have access personally. I leave that to my superintendent. I have enough keys to lug around.” He flourished a key fob, which Robideau’s sharp eyes noticed held only four keys and a small metal charm.

“It seems odd,” Robideau said, “that she’d replace a lock at her own expense when she could have had you re-key the old one.”

“When you find her you’ll have to ask her about that, won’t you?”

Robideau held the steely blue gaze a moment, then got up.

“I hope,” he said from the door, “you’ll act promptly on those bylaw infractions. The fire door. And that garbage chute...”