Wake Up With a Stranger

by Flora, Fletcher

  “So he’s dead,” Gussie said quietly. “We all knew it would happen sooner or later, darling. For God’s sake, don’t fall apart on me.”

  “I’m all right,” Donna said. “I’m perfectly all right.”

  2.

  It was two-thirty when Daniels came. She was aware at once that he was not at all what she would have imagined if she had imagined anything. He was slender, almost slight, dressed neatly in a gray suit with which he wore a white shirt and maroon knit tie and black shoes, and in the rich simplicity of the shop he seemed neither out of place nor ill at ease. He sat down with motion that seemed almost practiced, a suggestion of exceptional coordination and of strength in excess of its first impression. His hair was light brown, cut close to his head, and his eyes were brown and as light as his hair, having at times a yellowish cast.

  “I’m afraid I upset you on the telephone this morning, Miss Buchanan,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not at all,” she said.

  “Nevertheless, it must have been a shock to learn of Mr. Burns’ death in such a manner.”

  “It was a shock, but it was not entirely unexpected. We all knew that he had a heart condition.”

  “That’s been established. Two previous attacks, I believe.”

  “I think so. He had one since I became associated with him.”

  “I see. Well, it’s now certain that he died of another attack. Early Sunday morning, as nearly as it can be fixed. It’s probable that he simply dropped over without ever knowing what happened to him.”

  “If it was necessary for him to die, I’m glad that it was that way.”

  “Yes, I suppose it’s easier if it happens quickly. Sometimes I wonder, though, if I wouldn’t like to have a little time to die in. A little time at the end, I mean, to try to put things together and make some kind of sense of them.” The thin light of his smile flared briefly and went out. “Just an odd notion, of course.”

  She thought herself that it was odd, especially coming from him, from whom she would not have expected it. It suggested that he had thought seriously about the matter and had developed already, though he was still young, a kind of prospectus for dying. Looking at him with an interest that was more than what he had originally evoked because of his role in her own situation, she wondered what kind of man he was — what books he read, what music he listened to, how and to whom he might make love.

  When she made no response to his thoughts on dying, he said, “Did you know Mr. Burns well, Miss Buchanan?”

  “Quite well, I think. I worked with him closely and enjoyed his confidence, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You referred to yourself as his assistant. What does that mean, precisely?”

  “I don’t know that it means anything very precise. I design gowns which are sold in this shop, and I managed the business when he was recovering from his second heart attack.”

  “That’s certainly indicative of confidence, I’d say. Did you know him socially as well?”

  “We occasionally had dinner together.”

  “Nothing more than that?”

  “I’m not quite sure what you are trying to get at. Are you making an implication I should resent?”

  “I hope not. I’d only like to know if he ever spoke to you about his personal life.”

  “It’s very likely, isn’t it? It would hardly have been natural if he hadn’t. Only a minute or two ago you were telling me yourself, though I’ve just met you, your personal feelings about dying.”

  “So I was.” He paused and stared down at his feet for a moment. “Let me put it this way. Did Mr. Burns give the impression of being a happy man?”

  “Happy? I don’t think I could say. I don’t even think I know what happiness is.”

  “I’m very certain that I don’t, so far as that goes, but you’re equivocating, Miss Buchanan. Taking happiness to be merely a reasonably good adjustment to life, would you be willing to say that he was happy?”

  “He was successful and adjusted and, if you insist on your term, I suppose he was happy.”

  “From Mr. Burns’ housekeeper this morning, I gathered that his marriage was not successful. Is that so?”

  “Are you prepared to credit the gossip of a cleaning woman about something like that?”

  “Not at all. That’s why I’m asking for your opinion.”

  “All right. His marriage was not successful, but it did not disturb him. He had reached a point where it no longer meant anything to him, one way or another. If you are thinking that he might have committed suicide because of it, you are certainly mistaken.”

  “I don’t think he committed suicide. When I told you it was established that he died of a heart attack, I was telling you the truth.”

  “In that case, why are you still concerned as a policeman? Why am I compelled to answer your questions?”

  “You are not compelled to answer. You are not compelled to talk to me at all. Frankly, there is something in this that disturbs me, and I hope you will answer a few more questions voluntarily in order to help me clarify it for myself.”

  “What is it that disturbs you?”

  “Are you willing, then, to help?”

  “I can’t think what could possibly concern you in Aaron’s death, since it’s established as natural, but I’ll help you if I can.”

  “Thank you. Many men, when their marriages turn out badly, look for satisfaction elsewhere. With other women, or another woman. Did Mr. Burns do that?”

  “I don’t think I’ll answer that question.”

  “Your refusal to answer indicates that he did.”

  “Nothing of the sort. It indicates that you are certainly prying into something that is none of your business.”

  “Look, Miss Buchanan. I’m no moralist. At least I am not functioning as a moralist in this instance. Perhaps I had better tell you what I have in mind.”

  “Perhaps you had.”

  “All right. I strongly suspect that a woman spent the night, or part of it, with Mr. Burns. The night before his death. She may have left, of course, before his death, or she may not have, and I would like to know which way it was.”

  “If she was there at all.”

  “Of course. If she was there at all.”

  “Why do you think she may have been?”

  “It’s usually pretty apparent when two people have slept in a bed.”

  “No cigarettes with lipstick on them?”

  “No, nothing so obvious.” He smiled thinly. “Are you being sarcastic, Miss Buchanan?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I am probably being a bore, so I don’t really blame you. As a matter of fact, however, the absence of lipstick-stained stubs is a point in itself. A kind of negative one. If other signs indicate a woman’s presence, the missing stubs would seem to suggest that she may have left after his death, since she took the trouble to dispose of them. Sudden death during an assignation, even natural death, would make a nasty mess that any woman would prefer to avoid.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t smoke. Perhaps she simply didn’t want the housekeeper to know she’d been there. Perhaps Aaron disposed of them after she was gone. If she was ever there.”

  “You needn’t restate the condition every time, Miss Buchanan. It’s thoroughly understood. All the points you make are possible, of course, and you are clever to think of them so quickly. It took me a while longer. Now all I have is a bed which appears to have been slept in by two people.” He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and, leaning forward, extended it toward her. “Do you smoke?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She took a cigarette and accepted his light and drew smoke deeply into her lungs. He thought, watching her, that she was a very attractive and clever young woman, to say nothing of being an extremely self-possessed one. She was, in fact, the very kind of young woman that he himself would like to have. When she held out the cigarette so that he could see clearly the vivid stain on the end th
at had been between her lips, he looked at it and up at her and smiled again his thin smile.

  “I have nothing to compare it with, Miss Buchanan. Besides, even if I did, it would prove nothing definitely.”

  “Do you really wish to prove something definitely? Couldn’t you prove it by fingerprints or something like that?”

  “I might prove that someone had been there. I couldn’t prove when. Anyhow, there was definitely nothing extraordinary in Mr. Burns’ death, and I am not particularly anxious to flay a straw man.”

  “Why are you doing it, then?”

  “Am I? Perhaps I am. It’s only that I always feel a strong compulsion to gather up a loose end.”

  “How do you intend to gather it?”

  “When I came here, I had a couple of devious tactics in mind. Now that I have met you and talked with you, I prefer to ask directly if you were with Mr. Burns when he died, or in the house the night before.”

  “I’ll not answer that, of course. Your loose end, I think, must remain ungathered.”

  “Do you think so? As for me, I think I’ll just consider it safely tucked in.” He stood up and extended a hand which, after a moment, she accepted. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Buchanan. You’re a most attractive woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d enjoy very much seeing you again, but I suppose that’s impossible.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Goodby, then.”

  “Goodby.”

  In the evening after the shop closed Gussie stopped in before going home. “How did it go with the copper?” she asked. “He was only trying to gather up a loose end.”

  “What kind of loose end?”

  “He thinks someone may have spent Saturday night with Aaron.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Does he think she may have had something to do with his death?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. It’s definite that he died naturally of a heart attack.”

  “Then why the hell does he care who may have slept there? I don’t get it.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s some kind of offense of omission if you know about a death and don’t report it. He didn’t seem inclined to make much of an issue of it, however.”

  Gussie leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  “Was a woman there with Aaron, darling?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You’d know if you were the woman, wouldn’t you?”

  “Do you think I was having an affair with Aaron?”

  “Affair? That’s a fancy word that I wouldn’t know about. I know damn well you were sleeping with him.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Darling, darling, this is old Gussie speaking. You don’t have to play cat and mouse with me. I’ve slept with enough men myself to be able to tell when one’s being slept with. Especially one like Aaron, who simply exuded gratitude and devotion. Don’t you think I’ve seen him looking at you?”

  “I didn’t dream that it was so apparent.”

  “To no one but Gussie, darling.”

  “Do you blame me, Gussie?”

  “God, no! Don’t be absurd, darling.” Gussie laughed softly. “He was a starved and lonely guy with a thousand vague oppressions, married to a bitch and living from habit. He needed you and had you, and I’m glad. I truly loved the sad bastard in my own way, and I’d have slept with him myself if he’d ever asked me.”

  Watching Gussie’s face, like a death mask with its closed eyes, Donna had for the first time an intimation of just what burden of grief might now be carried in Gussie’s heart, silently in the bony body. It had not once occurred to her that Gussie might feel for Aaron any emotion beyond the ordinary. And she was ashamed that Gussie had been so sentient, while she had been so dull. She was also ashamed she had lied to Gussie about Saturday night. She would have liked now to renounce the lie, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. So she decided, as a compromise, to tell still another lie that would at least embrace part of the truth.

  “The truth is,” she said, “I went to Aaron’s, but I didn’t stay all night. We went there after dinner, and later he took me out to Mother’s.”

  “Did you tell the copper that?”

  “No. I didn’t think it was necessary. I refused to answer his questions about it.”

  “Well, under the circumstances, that’s merely a way of telling him everything without committing yourself to anything. I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you, darling, and if you need any expert lying done, don’t fail to call on Gussie. I’ve had a lot of experience, and I’m one of the most convincing liars on earth.”

  “Thanks, Gussie.”

  Donna stood up and walked around the room, stretching the muscles of her back and legs. She felt exhausted by the tensions of the day, and she was thankful it was over. Her head throbbed, and she pressed her hand against her forehead.

  “Is everyone gone?” she said.

  “Yes. I assumed the authority to tell them not to come in tomorrow. Was I right?”

  “Of course. We must certainly remain closed at least until after Aaron is buried.”

  “What will be done about the shop, I wonder.”

  “I don’t know. It will be up to Aaron’s wife, I suppose. His widow. It’s a fine shop, and it’s getting better all the time, and if she’s wise she will let it continue to make money for her.”

  “She’s not wise. She’s a stupid, lazy slut who likes to lie on her tail and play sick, and it’s my opinion that she’ll convert her responsibilities into cash as quickly as possible.”

  “I hope not.”

  “So do I, but I shouldn’t count on it. It will be a damn, shame if she does, especially for you, darling, now that you’ve got started so beautifully with your originals.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it — about the shop, I mean, and what will happen to it — and perhaps I’ll go and talk to Mrs. Burns about it.”

  “To try to sell her on keeping it open?”

  “Yes. I could manage it for her, Gussie. With your help I know I could do it. I did it while Aaron was in the hospital the last time, and I could do it permanently if she would only let me.”

  “Of course you could, darling. Your judgment is as good as Aaron’s was, and you have other assets that he lacked. Actually, given a free hand, you would certainly make a bigger thing of the shop than he could have.”

  “Do you think she will let me, Gussie?”

  “I told you that I don’t, and I don’t. I’m sorry, darling, but she simply won’t want to be bothered with it.”

  “What shall we do if she refuses?”

  “Look for jobs, I guess. What the hell else will there be to do?”

  Donna stood quietly for a moment, gnawing a knuckle.

  “Damn her to hell,” she said. “She tried her best to ruin Aaron’s life, and now, because she is a stupid woman, she’ll ruin ours if we don’t stop her. Gussie, how much do you think the shop would sell for?”

  “I don’t know. As a guess, two hundred thousand. Certainly no less. Why?”

  “I was wondering if it would be possible to buy it. For me to buy it.”

  “I don’t know where you’d get two hundred thousand dollars, or even two hundred thousand cents in a hurry, but I know where we can get a good strong drink, which is available and at the moment even more essential. Are you interested?”

  “No.” Donna shook her head. “Thanks just the same, Gussie, but I think I’ll stay on for a while.”

  “All right, darling. If you want me, you know where to find me. Take care, now.”

  Gussie went out, and Donna sat down and removed her glasses and began to rub her eyes. She heard the rear door open and close as Gussie left and continued to sit and rub her eyes, wondering how she could best approach Aaron’s widow, or how she could possibly get hold of enormous amounts of money like two hundred thousand dollars.

 
; CHAPTER IV

  Sharkey Mulloy was a man who loved his work. Those who saw Sharkey on the streets of St. Louis were never aware that in him existed a glimmer of the glory that had been Greece, a speck of the grandeur that had been Rome. It was true that there were some, even in this enlightened age, who considered his work pagan in practice and sinful in nature, but even Sir Thomas Browne, himself a Christian, was unable to discredit entirely this vestige of Christian idiocy.

  Now, this day, Sharkey sat in a vault below a chapel and listened to the sound of a mourning organ. He could hear the organ only faintly, and he wished he could not hear it at all, for he did not like it. He did not, as a matter of fact, like anything about what was now going on in the chapel, for he considered it a sticky business better eliminated. A realist, however, he accepted it as a necessary prelude to his own work, something to be tolerated out of deference to deluded folk who paid the tariff but couldn’t understand the proper way of doing a thing. After the organ was silent and the chapel was empty, when what was left came down on the elevator into his hands, things would be different and better by far. The whole complex and obscure confusion of dogma and display would become, under his definitive ministration, serene and clear, and pure as fire.

  In due time he heard the elevator descending and went out to receive his charge from Mr. Fairstead, who always made the delivery himself in what Sharkey had to admit was a nice gesture in the last phase of a last rite. Today, as usual, Mr. Fairstead looked somber below the neck and quite cheerful above, and his voice, when he spoke, agreed with the part above.

  “Well, here he is, Sharkey,” he said. “Be sure to give us back our three percent.”

  “Net,” Sharkey said.

  Mr. Fairstead laughed and went, the elevator groaning upward, and Sharkey took over, warmed as always by the intimate little exchange that had not varied a bit in twenty years, except that the personal pronoun changed its gender to suit the occasion. He worked swiftly and efficiently, and it required only a short while to complete in the vault what had been begun in the chapel, to make in action the grand consignment that had already been made in words. This done, and with a period of waiting now to be endured, Sharkey put on his hat and went around the corner to a tavern.