Kept Women Can’t Quit

“That’s the trouble with realization,” I said. “It’s always short of anticipation. You should think of how I feel.”

Chapter 4

The garage was padlocked. Mrs. Charlotte reluctantly gave me the key and told me it was the last key she had and be sure not to lose it. The previous occupant had taken the key with her when she left. She’d turned in the key to the apartment but had kept the key to the garage.

I assured Mrs. Charlotte I’d have a duplicate key made at my own expense and give her back her key.

I drove out to the garage, fitted the key to the padlock, snapped back the hasp and opened the door.

The only ventilation was through a little louvered window in the side wall just below the roof. The place was fairly dark and smelled musty.

I turned on the light.

There was a collection of junk from several previous occupants; an old casing, a jack handle, an ancient hub cap, some empty oil cans, some greasy coveralls, a water-stiffened piece of chamois skin, old and worn, and a brand-new trunk in the middle of the floor.

I examined it carefully. It was of a standard, expensive make and It was securely locked.

I gave the matter thoughtful consideration. The trunk was sitting in the exact center of the floor where anyone entering the garage couldn’t help but see it. Evelyn had left Mrs. Charlotte a note stating she was leaving, that her rent was paid up, that Mrs. Charlotte could re-rent the apartment. She had placed the key to the apartment in the note but she hadn’t returned the key to the garage.

Quite obviously, then, Evelyn intended to give the key to the garage to some person to come and get the trunk and take it to her, or ship it to her. She had given this person the key to the garage and, so there could be no question, had left the trunk in the middle of the floor where it couldn’t possibly be missed.

I left the garage, locked the padlock, jumped in the agency heap and cruised down the street until I came to the first good-looking hardware store I could find.

I bought the very best padlock in the store. It was guaranteed to be unpickable. There were two keys which came with the padlock.

I hurried back to the garage, unlocked the old padlock, made sure the trunk was still there, put the new padlock on the door, drove down the block and called Mrs. Charlotte.

When I had her on the phone I said, “This is Mr. Lam, Mrs. Charlotte. I’m going to have to store some rather valuable papers in the garage and I don’t like the idea of the previous occupant having a key which hasn’t been turned in, so I’m going to put a new padlock on the door. I’m having extra keys made for you.”

“Why, that’s very thoughtful of you, Mr. Lam,” she said. “I have a call in for the maid. I’m trying to get the apartment cleaned up before evening.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” I said. “My wife will get the worst of it out of the way. I’ll be seeing you later.”

“You’ll be in this evening?”

“I’ll probably have to go to San Francisco,” I said. “I’m waiting on a call now, but I’ll let you know. My wife will be there.”

I stopped in at a baggage store, bought myself a trunk of the same make and size as the one in the garage, went to my apartment and packed it full of clothes.

I wrote myself a letter addressing myself as George Biggs Gridley. The letter read:

Dear Mr. Gridley:

I am sorry we didn’t get together in Las Vegas. I couldn’t join you in Los Angeles, but I expect to get in touch with you while you’re at the Golden Gateway Hotel in San Francisco.

Once we get together I think an equitable division of the property can be worked out.

I signed the letter with the initials “L. N. M.” and placed it in the side pocket of a sports coat I packed in the trunk.

After I’d closed the trunk, I packed a suitcase and a handbag, taking everything I’d need to keep me going for a week. Then I drove back to the Breeze-Mount Apartments and lugged the suitcase and handbag into the elevator.

Elsie had gone through the wastebasket and had a few crumpled papers smoothed out on the desk.

“Find anything?” I asked.

“There are some telephone numbers on these pieces of paper,” she said. “One of them, I think, is a San Francisco number.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

I copied the numbers into my notebook. “Anything else?”

“Rancid cosmetics, ends of lipsticks, various and sundry articles of female litter,” she said, “and that’s about it.”

“Okay,” I said. “The landlady’s trying to get hold of the maid so you can have the place cleaned up. Call a taxicab. When the cab comes, go to your apartment, pack up a suitcase with whatever you’ll need for two days and hurry back.”

She started to say something, then changed her mind, went to the closet and put on her coat.