“It seems that the women all came out in a group, chatting and laughing. Carson said, ‘That’s my wife on the edge of the sidewalk, the one in green,’ and then ducked down out of sight. What he didn’t realize, the way Dayton tells it, is that there were two women in green. Dayton was looking at one, Carson at the other.
“Anyhow, it seems that Dayton started shadowing a woman who was having an affair all right. Dayton got plenty of evidence and reported to Carson he had enough stuff to make winning the case a lead-pipe cinch. Carson filed a cross-complaint. I let Carson go right ahead with my house. Then when they started taking depositions it turned out Carson had got himself on the end of a limb.
“In any event, the judge who tried the case awarded one of the lots to Loring Carson, held that the other one was the separate property of Vivian Carson, his wife, and I’d built my house straddling the two lots.
“Well, of course I thought it would simply be a matter of paying through the nose. I had made a mistake and was willing to pay for it. I sent a representative to Vivian Carson. My agent told her I was sorry about the mix-up, to put a price on her lot... Evidently she thought I was all tied in with her husband. She was coldly furious. She told my representative that I could go jump in the lake.
“I felt that if I moved into the house I’d be in possession and then we could work things out some way.
“Well, it seems Vivian Carson is a fighter. She got the judge to issue a restraining order against all persons, her husband or anyone claiming under her husband, from interfering with her possession. When I was away over the weekend she got a surveyor, construction crew and a locksmith. They bored holes in the house right on her side of the boundary line between the two lots, strung barbed wire through the house and pool, and when I came back there she was, living in what she says is her part of the house on one side of the barbed-wire fence, me on the other. She handed me a certified copy of the restraining order and told me she intended to rely upon the very letter of its wording.”
“Who was the judge?” Mason asked.
“Judge Hewett L. Goodwin. He’s the judge who tried the divorce case.”
Mason frowned. “I know Judge Goodwin very well,” he said. “He’s very conscientious. He tries to decide cases so that the decisions represent substantial justice as between the parties. He gets impatient with technicalities.”
“Well,” Eden said, “he certainly loused up the job this time.”
Mason frowned thoughtfully. “You’re married?”
Eden shook his head. “I was married. My wife died about three years ago.”
“Why did you want to build a house of this sort to live in by yourself?”
“Darned if I know,” Eden said. “I like to design things. I like to fool around with a drawing board and pencil. I started designing this house and then it became something of an obsession with me. I simply had to build it and live in it.”
“What’s your occupation?”
“I guess you’d call me a retired sharpshooter. I made a pretty good wad of dough buying and selling. I like to buy and sell. I’ll buy anything that looks good.”
“And you’d never met Mrs. Carson but had had all your dealings with her husband?”
“That’s right.”
“When did you first meet Mrs. Carson?”
“Yesterday,” Eden said. “That was Sunday. I came back from a weekend trip and noticed the fence on the outside. I opened the front door, went in and found the barbed wire divided the house. The kitchen door was open and I could see this woman in there cooking, just as calmly and naturally as though she had built the place.
“I guess I stood there with my mouth open. She came walking over to the fence, showed me a certified copy of the restraining order, told me that since we were neighbors she trusted I’d try to cause as little inconvenience as possible and that, as a gentleman, I wouldn’t intrude on her privacy. Then she told me she didn’t care to have any further conversation and walked away.
“Neighbors!” Eden exclaimed. “I’ll tell the world we’re neighbors! We’re living a cheek-by-jowl existence. When I went out to the swimming pool, there she was in a bikini, taking a sunbath. When I tried to sleep this morning, she was making coffee and the aroma was driving me crazy. I wanted a cup, but she had all the cooking facilities on her side of the house.”
“So what happened?” Mason asked.
“Oh, I got up, and I guess she saw from the way I looked that I was dying for a cup of coffee. She asked me if I’d like a cup and I said I would, so she passed me a cup and saucer through the barbed wire and asked me if I liked cream and sugar; said it was just a little neighborly gesture while I was getting settled in my side of the house, that after I’d got settled she didn’t care to carry on any further conversations.”
Mason smiled and said, “Look, Eden, this is all too theatrical. She’s simply laying a foundation to get a fancy price for her lot.”
“That’s the way I felt at first,” Eden said. “But now I’m not so sure. That woman is furious. She’s mad at her husband for filing that cross-complaint and, as she insists, ruining her reputation. She wants to get even with him in some way.
“I guess Loring Carson was pretty much of a rounder and she evidently had the deadwood on him. He thought he was going to get by with it because of the false lead his detective had given him.”
Mason pursed his lips. “Mrs. Carson has an attorney, of course, and...”
“She says she doesn’t,” Eden said. “She says she had an attorney to represent her in the divorce action, but as far as her property is concerned, she’s going to manage it herself.”
“You made overtures about a price?”
“I made overtures and got turned down cold and hard.”
“And she’s a woman who can wear a bikini to advantage?” Mason asked.
“I’ll say!” Eden exclaimed. “I understand she was a professional model. How a guy like Carson ever got to first base with her is more than I know. She’s really class.”
Mason glanced over at Della Street, who caught his eye and smiled.
Mason consulted his wristwatch somewhat ruefully. “As I told you, I have an appointment, Eden,” he said. “I think I’d better take a look at the premises later on. First, however, I want to talk with Judge Goodwin. I think perhaps we can get him to modify that decree once he understands the facts. I don’t suppose that you’ll want to try to live there until...”
Eden’s jaw set belligerently. “Now, that’s where I’m going to fool Vivian Carson,” he said. “She can’t move into my house and dispossess me. I’m going to put in a portable electric grill in the bedroom. My side of the house has a fireplace in it. I’m getting a charcoal grill for the fireplace. I’m going to barbecue steaks, I’m going to fry onions, I’m going to do a little cooking on my own. She has to diet to keep the sort of figure she has. I’ll bet the aroma of my cooking will raise hell with her calorie chart.”
Mason frowned thoughtfully.
Della Street, turning the pages of Mason’s appointment book, said, “Any time after your two-thirty appointment this afternoon. That appointment shouldn’t be canceled — you had to cancel it once before. But after that you will have the entire afternoon. You had set that time aside to dictate the brief in the McFarlane case.”
“How long will it take me to drive out there?” Mason asked Eden.
“From here, about thirty-five minutes.”
Mason looked at his watch. “When a client has an appointment I don’t like to keep him waiting,” he said. “If you’ll just step in the other room with Miss Street, you can draw her a map showing just how to get there. I’ll try to be out there late in the afternoon.