There was an office number, and below it a notation, “After office hours, call Glenwood 6-8345.”
Mildreth Faulkner dialed the number, found that it was a telephone service which made a specialty of handling and sorting telephone calls for professional men. She explained that she wished to make an appointment with Mr. Mason on a matter of important business, and asked if it would be possible to see him that evening. The woman who was taking the call asked Mildreth for the number of the phone from which she was calling, told her to hang up, and she’d be called back within a couple of minutes.
Mildreth saw the attendant bringing her car up, opened the door of the telephone booth to motion him that she would be out in a minute. He nodded, swung the car off to the left by the gasoline pumps, and Mildreth stepped back into the booth just as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
“Is this Miss Faulkner?”
“Yes.”
“This is Della Street, Miss Faulkner, Mr. Mason’s secretary. Could you tell me something of the nature of your business?”
“Yes. I have the Faulkner Flower Shops. It’s a corporation. I have a business competitor who’s managed to buy a few shares of stock, the only ones not controlled by my family. I think he’s going to make trouble. I want to know what to do about it.”
“Won’t an appointment tomorrow be all right?”
“I presume so. I — well, to tell you the truth, I acted on impulse in calling just now. I’ve been worried ever since I learned about the transaction a few minutes ago.”
“Will ten-thirty tomorrow morning be convenient?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, Mr. Mason will see you then. Good night.”
“Good night,” Mildreth Faulkner said, and, feeling somewhat relieved, got into her car, and drove at once to Carlotta’s house out on Chervis Road.
Chervis Road wound around the contours near the summit of the mountains which looked down on Hollywood from the north. Carlotta and Bob lived in a stucco hillside house which gleamed white by day, but now appeared as a grayish oblong of mysterious shadows, silhouetted against the twinkling cluster of city lights which lay far below.
Mildreth inserted her latchkey, clicked back the lock, and entered the living room where Bob Lawley was sprawled out in a chair reading a newspaper. A small, leather-backed memorandum book was in his left hand. A pencil was behind his right ear. He looked up, frowning at the interruption, then, as he saw Mildreth, managed a smile of welcome. She noticed that he hastily shoved the notebook into the side pocket of his coat. “Hello, Millie. I didn’t hear you drive up.”
“Where’s Carla?”
“Upstairs.”
“Asleep?”
“No. She’s lying there reading.”
“I’ll go up for a few minutes,” Mildreth said. “You aren’t going out, are you, Bob?”
“No. Gosh, no. What gave you that idea?”
“I want to see you.”
“Okay.”
She paused in the doorway, turned, and said, “When you’re figuring the race horses, Bob, don’t think you have to fall all over yourself putting things out of sight just because I happen to walk in unannounced.”
For a moment he flushed, then laughed, and said, somewhat sheepishly, “You startled me, that’s all.”
Mildreth climbed the stairs to where her sister lay in bed. Pillows propped against her back elevated her shoulders to a comfortable position. A rose-shaded reading lamp was fastened to the head of the bed, threw light over her left shoulder to the pages of the book she was reading.
She turned the shade of the light down so that the room was filled with a soft, rosy glow, and said, “I’d about given you up, Millie.”
“I was detained. How’s everything today?”
“Getting better day by day, in every way,” Carlotta said with a smile.
She was older than Mildreth, and her flesh had a bluish-white appearance. While she wasn’t fat, the tissues seemed soft and flaccid.
“How’s the heart?”
“Fine. The doctor said today that I can drive my car within a couple of weeks. It certainly will seem good to get out. I’ll bet my little coupe has forgotten how to run.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” Mildreth cautioned. “Take it easy, particularly when you start moving around.”
“That’s what the doctor said.”
“What’s the book?”
“One of the new ones that’s supposed to have a deep social significance. I can’t see it.”
“Why not try something lighter?”
“No. I like these. The other stories get me excited, and I have difficulty sleeping. Another ten pages of this, and I’ll drop off to sleep without having to take a hypnotic.”
Mildreth laughed, a low, rippling laugh. “Well, I’m sorry I was late. I just ran in to see how you were getting along. I’ll run down and talk to Bob for a little while and be on my way.”
“Poor Bob,” Carlotta said softly. “I’m afraid it’s been pretty hard for him, having an invalid for a wife. He’s been just simply splendid, Millie.”
“That’s fine.”
“You don’t... you never have really warmed up to Bob, have you, Millie?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Let’s not talk about that now. We’ll get along all right.”
Carlotta’s eyes were wistful. “He feels it, Millie. I wish you’d try and get better acquainted with him.”
“I will,” Millie promised, her lips smiling but her eyes purposeful. “I’ll go down and begin right now. You take it easy, Carla, and be sure not to overdo as you start getting better.”
Carlotta watched Mildreth through the door. “It must be splendid to be so vibrantly healthy. I wish you could give me some of your health for about an hour.”
“I wish I could give it to you for longer than that, Carla, but you’ll be all right now. You’re over the worst of it.”
“I think so. I know I’m lots better now than I was.”
Carlotta picked up her book. Mildreth gently closed the door and walked quietly down the stairs.
Bob Lawley folded the newspaper. The pencil was no longer behind his ear. “Drink, Millie?” he asked.
“No, thanks.” She sat down in the chair opposite him, accepted one of his cigarettes, leaned forward for his match, sat back, and looked at him steadily. “Don’t you think it might be a good plan if we all three sat down and had a business chat?”
“Not yet, Millie.”
“Why?”
“Carla shouldn’t be bothered with business right now. I’ve talked with the doctor about it, and he says she’s doing fine, but it’s largely because she’s accustomed herself to washing her hands of business. Why, what’s wrong?”
“Harry Peavis was in tonight.”
“That big clod! What does he want?”
“He wants to buy the business — a controlling interest in it.”
“He would. Tell him to go peddle his papers.”
“I did, but it seems he’s a stockholder now.”
“A stockholder!” Bob exclaimed, and she saw swift alarm on his face. “Why, how the devil could he...” He hastily averted his eyes.
“Corinne Dell. You remember she married a man who works for Peavis. I suppose her husband got her to turn over the stock. I should have picked up that stock before she left. To tell you the truth, I’d entirely forgotten about it. It’s such a small block and...”
Bob seemed positively relieved. He laughed. “What can he do with that? It’s only five shares. That’s a drop in the bucket. Tell him to go to hell — put on assessments and freeze him out.”
She shook her head. “Harry Peavis won’t be pushed around. He wants something... I’m just a little afraid of him. He may be entitled to look over our books. Perhaps that’s what he wants. I don’t know. I’m going to see a lawyer in the morning.”