Beware the Curves

back.“
    “Then what?”
    “Then he’ll ask you what you’re going to do.”
    “Then what?”
    “Tell him that you have plans that will rip Citrus Grove wide open.”
    “Then what do I do?”
    “Hang up.”
    “Then what happens?”
    “The zoning ordinance gets passed and you can complete the deal with your factory.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Hell, no, I’m not sure. It depends on how deeply the council members are mixed into the thing. It depends on how much Nickerson has been pulling your kg- It depends on whether he’s ever given a dime of the fifteen grand to anyone else.”
    “Of course,” she said, “I don’t have a thing on him.”
    “You paid the fifteen thousand in cash?”
    “Yes.”
    “How?”
    “In three installments of five thousand each.”
    ”Where did you get the money?”
    “From the bank, of course.“
    “ How?”
    “I drew out checks payable to cash.”
    “Five grand at a time?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Why the three installments?”
    “That’s the way Nickerson wanted it.”
    “How long an interval between the three installments?”
    “One day each. He wanted five thousand on a Monday, five thousand on a Tuesday and five thousand on a Wednesday.”
    “Where did you pay him the money?”
    “Here.”
    “In this apartment?”
    “Yes.”
    I said, “Tell me about this factory.”
    She hesitated.
    “Or don’t. Just as you see fit,” I told her. “And don’t tell me anything in confidence. I’m working on another matter. As long as it becomes advisable to play i your case as a trump card in this case I’ll do it.”
    “You mean the Endicott murder case?”
    “I could mean that.”
    “After all, I don’t know but what I’ve kept some things to myself that I should have publicized.”
    I looked at my watch.
    “All right, I’m going to tell you,” she said.
    “The factory is a novelty company. It wants to make citrus candies out of some sort of gumdrop material oranges that look like the real thing only on a miniature scale, shipped in little packing boxes. Lemons, the same way. It wants to make a lot of Southern California souvenirs, catering to the gift trade and stuff that can be sent back East. Souvenirs from California. It wants the Citrus Grove address on its stationery and printed on the boxes. The management feels that the words ‘Citrus Grove, California’ will be a good trademark.”
    “They’re going at it on a big scale?”
    “On a big scale. They’re going to sell direct by mail. They’re going to place their products all around at various places where people buy gifts. At the airports, in railroad stations, at scenic points.”
    “How much land do they want?”
    “Ten acres.”
    “Ten acres!”
    “That’s right.”
    “What in the world do they want with ten acres?“
    “Because this plot of ten acres has facilities for a railroad siding, and—”
    “A railroad siding!”
    She nodded.
    I thought things over. “Are you dealing direct with the company, or with a real estate broker of some sort?“
    “I’m dealing direct with the company. The president of the company is a man by the name of Seward, Jed C. Seward.”
    I gave the matter a lot of thought. “Look,” I said. ‘All of this ten acres isn’t zoned.”
    “Part of it is zoned as residential property. Part of it is in a limited business district.”
    “How come there are ten acres without buildings that—”
    “Oh, there are buildings on it,” she said. “The buildings are little, cheap cracker-box affairs.”
    “How come you own them all then? How does it happen that the ownership isn’t scattered around?”
    “Because my aunt was shrewd. She said this piece of property would be exceedingly valuable as the town grew, and she worked very quietly over a period of years buying up pieces of property as they came on the market. Then finally she went in with a whirlwind finish and paid some very, very fancy prices for some of the holdouts.”
    “And now you have it all?”
    She nodded. “I was the only relative. I’ve got property I don’t know what to do with. I don’t like managing property. I’m an artist. I like to draw and paint. Now I’m stinking rich.”
    She looked at me speculatively. “I need a manager, some shrewd man who can understand me—”
    “Want some advice?” I interrupted.
    “From you, yes.”
    “Go to your bank,” I said. “Turn everything over to their trust department. Tell them you want income and let them turn your