Eddie, My Love

by Patricia Green

  Chuckling, he gave her one more tight squeeze, then gently disengaged. With two fingers, Eddie raised her chin and gave her a kiss on the nose. "Now, pull up you panties, little girl. We have some work to do."

  Suddenly embarrassed by her humiliating dishabille, June hastily pulled up her panties and smoothed her skirt down. It took her a moment to find her linen handkerchief, but she pulled it out of her purse and wiped off her eyes. It came away streaked with mascara, but after she got out her mirrored compact and made some repairs, she wasn't too bad. A little more blood red lipstick finished the job.

  "Ready to go?"

  She nodded.

  "After you."

  June followed his gesture and left the little office. Fran was there, trying to look busy. June figured the brunette had overheard some, if not all, of the goings-on, and shame made June hot to the roots of her hair. But she held her head high. She was not going to give that bitch a chance to gloat.

  "See ya later, Fran," Eddie said, pressing his hat firmly on his head. He gave June a presumptuous slap on the butt as they walked out.

  * * * * *

  They drove north, up through the Sepulveda Pass, and into a valley, passing small ranches and some new housing tracts on the way. Orange orchards stood out, with heavy branches bearing bright fruit. Heading east, they got to a street marked Laurel Canyon Boulevard, and they took that up into the canyon and then turned on a side street.

  June was somewhat amazed at how well Eddie navigated Los Angeles. If he was a real person—and she was more and more convinced that he was—he must be from Los Angeles and know his way around the town. Of course, June didn't know when Eddie had begun the dream. He might have been here for days before she arrived. Either that, or Romantek was teaching him the way as they drove. She wasn't sure that was even possible, but she accepted that they got where they were going.

  The street was narrow and wound up the hillside steeply, but Eddie seemed to know how to park on the hillside and soon he got out and opened the car door for her.

  They were parked in front of a large, shingled house, surrounded by big and densely clustered trees. There was a concrete sidewalk with stairs leading up to a covered, dark oak porch and a white door. Windows dotted the walls, cleanly reflecting the dappled sun, and the profusion of camellias that blossomed on the bushes outside. The grass had been recently mowed and the smell of cut turf mingled with the loamy beds of the camellias and other flowers. Traffic noise didn't intrude on the scene.

  June walked up to the door, but Eddie rang the bell. They waited, and soon the door opened and a small black woman with gray hair and a little white cap looked up at them. "Yes, sir?"

  Eddie showed the black-uniformed woman his private detective's badge. "Good morning. I'm Edward Strong and this is Miss Tarryton from Premier Insurance. We need to see the scene of the suicide, ma'am."

  The older woman turned her head to look inside, then turned back to them. "I been cleaning the place up, getting it ready to close down 'till it can be sold. There ain't much to see anymore."

  "May we come in?"

  "Sure. If it'll help any."

  June and Eddie stepped into the darkened room where the outside trees shaded it from direct sunlight. The furniture and fixtures were covered in white sheets and a couple of rugs were rolled up in a corner.

  "What's your name?" Eddie asked the maid kindly.

  "I'm Melva, Mr. Strong. I been Mrs. Grayson's maid since she married Mr. Grayson all those many years ago. I'm mighty sorry to have her go this way. I honestly can't cotton it."

  "She was in a good frame of mind?"

  "Happy as a jay bird, she was. I ain't never seen her so happy since she first married Mr. Grayson. It was like she was suddenly free."

  "Maybe she was," June opined.

  Melva nodded sagely. "Yes'm, I think maybe she was."

  "Did you find the body?"

  "I did, yes."

  "Would you tell us about it?"

  "There ain't much to tell. I got up to do the usual daily chores, went out into the living room to bring the paper to the chair where Mrs. Grayson always sat and took her morning coffee. She was there." Melva pointed to a beam in the middle of the room. "Hangin' by her neck. Her head was at a funny angle and she was blue as blue can be. It was a horrible sight. I'll never get it out of my head."

  Eddie's voice was gentle. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Were there any other people around? Houseguests? Cleaning people?"

  Melva shook her head. "No, sir."

  "Did you hear anything, see anything the night before?"

  "No, sir. Not particularly. Mrs. Grayson's son, Arthur, was here, the night before. He comes late and leaves later, but Mrs. Grayson is very patient with him and sees him at all hours. I went to bed while they were talking here in the living room."

  "That was the last person you saw her with?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you didn't hear or see anything after you were off for the night? Mrs. Grayson didn't call to you or wake you for any reason?"

  "No, sir. I went right to sleep. My room's off the kitchen. I usually sleep so good, but that night I had a nightmare. It was so vivid, it woke me. But I listened and looked into the dark—you know how you do when you get the night terrors?"

  Eddie nodded.

  "Well, there weren't nothing there, so I went back to sleep."

  "Okay, Melva. You told the police all of this?"

  "Well, all except for the dream. I forgot about that until you asked about waking up."

  "Thank you. Would you mind if we look around?"

  "No, sir. Go help yourself."

  Eddie nodded, but his eyes were already scanning the room. June thanked Melva herself, and followed Eddie in a bit further. He uncovered the sofa half-way and then replaced the sheet, looked over the area under the beam, walking around an out-of-place chair as he did so. Without looking up, he asked Melva, "Was this chair always here?"

  "No, sir. It was usually in the corner." She pointed to a corner about ten feet from where the chair sat. "Mrs. Grayson, she used that chair there to boost herself up so she could drop down to be hung." The little woman's voice caught, but she tipped her chin back up bravely.

  Eddie looked over the scene, reaching into his pocket to get out one of his PEZ candies. Satisfied with that, he examined the chair more closely, picking it up and setting it back down again. "Melva, about how big was Mrs. Grayson?"

  "Oh…" She thought for a moment, turning toward June. "A few inches shorter than Miss Tarryton, sir. She was a slight thing. Energetic but fragile."

  Nodding, Eddie gestured toward June. "June, can you pick up this chair and move it back to the corner?"

  "Sure." June didn't know what Eddie was getting at, but she was fascinated by his line of questioning and his gentle treatment of Melva. In the 1950s, black people were treated unfairly, but Eddie didn't let that fact influence his twenty-second century upbringing. June was totally convinced that Eddie was a real person and not a computer-generated avatar.

  She went to the big, wingback chair and tried to lift it from the back. It was very heavy and she couldn't lift it up. Next she walked around to the front and tried to move it by the arms. It wouldn't be lifted. June found she could drag it, inch by inch on the hardwood floor, but it made a scraping sound, and the metal feet on the bottom left marks in the wood. She didn't want to ruin the floor, so she stopped quickly.

  Eddie examined the marks and then looked around on the floor from the corner to where the chair sat. June got an idea of where he was going with this, so she asked, "Was there a rug here, Melva?"

  "No, ma'am. Mrs. Grayson thought rugs were dusty, mite-beleaguered things. She had a couple, but they were for high-traffic areas only."

  They looked at the situation for another minute, until Eddie covered the chair back up with a sheet.

  "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, Melva," June said, trying to be as respectful of the little woman's feelings as possible. "Do you thin
k Mrs. Grayson would kill herself?"

  "I would never have thought so, no. But, I would have been wrong. I saw it myself."

  "Thank you," Eddie said, turning to leave. He paused for a moment at the door and turned back into the room. "Here's my card," he said, handing the maid a little paper rectangle. "If you think of anything else, you should call me."

  "Yes, sir. I'll do that."

  Eddie nodded and smiled and escorted June out. June gave the maid a soft goodbye and they left.

  Chapter 4

  They sat in Eddie's car for a moment, and when he asked, June provided the address to Arthur Grayson's place. At least she didn't throw it at him this time. Eddie was beginning to really respect her intelligence, and some of the extrapolations she made had him suspecting that she was a real person and not a Romantek construct. He didn't know exactly how nuanced the Romantek characters could be, but the possibility that she was not computer generated had him wondering. The fact that she was constantly consulting things in her purse was a clue. It almost seemed like she was scrambling to learn her role as much as he was. It was worth thinking about and testing.

  In the meantime, he drove to Arthur Grayson's bungalow in the tiny community of Culver City. It was a charming little pueblo-style place, with whitewashed stucco and terracotta barrel tiles on the roof. There was a fruit tree in the front yard, and a small stand of bottle-brush trees dividing it from its eastern neighbor. Hummingbirds darted around the gaudy red brushes of the trees, siphoning off sticky sap from the flowers. The lawn was pristine and recently mowed. Framing around the front window and the door were terracotta red to match the roof. Louvered front windows were open to let the cool morning breeze in. Although traffic sounds shushed in the near-distance, highlighted with the grating squeal of a bad brake disc, it wasn't loud or obnoxious here.

  Eddie used the brass knocker to knock at the door and they waited. Once again, he knocked. No one answered, but Eddie discovered that the door was unlocked.

  June put her hand on his arm when he would have gone right in. "We shouldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "It's invading his privacy."

  "He left the door unlocked. And, he could be injured.”

  She pursed her lips, but at his arched eyebrow, she nodded her agreement.

  Eddie opened the door slowly. "Hello! Anyone home?"

  The room was dim, cluttered, and even downright dirty. Rugs on the floor were matted with mud, and the spacious living room had clothes thrown carelessly over chairs and the back of the sofa. There were a half-dozen or more liquor bottles on the coffee table and end tables. All were empty, and next to them sat a profusion of glasses of all sorts, also empty.

  "Mr. Grayson!" Eddie called.

  "Maybe he's not at home," June suggested.

  Maybe he wasn't, but some instinct had Eddie moving into the interior a little more. "Mr. Grayson! It's Eddie Strong. I need to talk to you about your mother. Hello!"

  There was a credenza along the dividing wall between the living room and the dining room. A ring of keys sat upon it. Eddie picked them up. There was a car key and some house keys. Grayson was home somewhere, or his keys would not be sitting around.

  "Mr. Grayson!"

  "Go the fuck away!" came a grumpy voice from deeper in the house. Eddie triangulated it to the kitchen, which must be off the dining room. He walked toward the dividing door and pushed it partly open. June tagged along silently.

  A man sat at the kitchen table with the shades drawn. It was dim and cool in there, scented by coffee and some kind of alcohol. "Mr. Grayson?" Eddie queried.

  Dressed in his striped pajamas, face unshaven, hair askew, the man grunted, never moving his head off his cradling hands. "Yeah, I'm Arthur Grayson. Go away."

  Eddie entered the room fully and June followed. He could feel her wave of disgust as she looked around the kitchen at the dirty dishes in the sink and take-out food cartons liberally displayed around the small space. "We need to talk to you."

  "I don't wanna talk," he grumbled. "Fuck off."

  "I'm afraid we can't do that."

  Arthur's head rose and Eddie saw his bleary, red-rimmed eyes. Dark circles lay beneath them, and his skin was pasty. "What do you want? Who are you?"

  "I'm Eddie Strong," Eddie offered his badge wallet, and Grayson reached for it automatically, but didn't even look at it before passing it back. "And this is Miss June Tarryton of the Premier Insurance Agency." Her little paper business card got offered, but was equally rejected. Eddie put his wallet away and June tucked the card back into her purse. "We need to talk to you about your mother."

  "She's dead. That's all there is to say."

  "You were with her the night before she was found?"

  "Yeah. I told the cops all about it. Ask them."

  June spoke up. "I've seen the police report, Mr. Grayson, but we still have a few questions. You know, you're a beneficiary on her insurance policy. It would be in your own best interest to talk to us so that the policy can be paid."

  That seemed to get his attention a little more. His bloodshot brown eyes fell upon them with nascent interest. "What do you want to know?"

  "Tell us about the night before your mother was found," June said.

  "Okay. I came over about ten o'clock. Mother was still up. She didn't usually go to her room until one a.m. or so, most nights. Normally, she doesn't mind when I come by late." He reached for a bottle of Cognac that sat to his right on the table. The coffee splashed as he poured some into his cup. Eddie was making mental notes.

  "What were you there to do?" June asked, prompting him during the pause.

  "I was…does it matter?"

  "Yeah, it does," Eddie said. What was the man hiding?

  "If you really hafta know, I was there to get some money. My allowance is worth shit and it's spent before I get it. I was hoping Mother would give me a raise so I could live a little better."

  Considering the smell in the place—alcohol and cigarettes—Eddie thought maybe the allowance was going rather too far, rather than not far enough. Grayson reached for a deck of cigarettes and lit one up. His hand was shaky, and he inhaled deeply before he started talking again. Eddie said nothing, but smoke wafted around Grayson like a misplaced halo.

  "Did she give you the raise?" June asked.

  Grayson snorted. "Hell no. She threatened to take away what I got. Said I needed a job. What the fuck was she thinking? What am I gonna do, take a job at Grayson Industries? Work with my father? She knew that was a non-starter. I think she was just being a bitch."

  "Watch your language," Eddie told him. "There's a lady present."

  Grayson eyed June rudely and smirked. "What kind of trollop goes around with a private dick?"

  Eddie took two steps and grabbed the guy by the front of his pajama shirt, half lifting him out of his chair. He was heavy, but not too heavy for Eddie to hold him suspended with one arm for a few moments. The cigarette fell onto the linoleum floor, leaving a new scar to match the others already there. "Say you're sorry," Eddie ground out.

  "Yeah! Okay. I'm sorry!"

  Eddie pushed Grayson back down into his chair. "Watch your mouth."

  "Okay! I get it."

  June was looking at Eddie like he had just become a Neanderthal. And maybe he had. But he was a hard-boiled private eye in this dream, and damned if he was going to hold back. Private eyes in books and vids weren't gentle. They used force when necessary.

  Grayson tried to right his pajamas and reached down for his smoldering cigarette, putting it back in his mouth and sucking in a lungful. Another puff and he squashed the butt out in a overfull ashtray.

  June, her voice a little hesitant, asked another question. "Did you argue?"

  "Hmph. Yeah, we argued. We always argue. I'm 'argumentative and difficult' — didn't you know that? It's a bunch of bull-…er…nonsense. I'm only asking for my due."

  Eddie thought the guy was a louse and a looser. "How late were you there?"

  "Not l
ong. About an hour. I was tired of hearing her put me down. She was nothing but a pain in my ass. I'm better off now that she's dead."

  Seeing red, Eddie backhanded the man across the face. You didn't talk about your mother that way in Eddie's world, and especially not in 1950, whether you thought it or not. Grayson was looking like a prime suspect for murder.

  Grayson's chair rocked back as he was hit, tottering on two legs for a moment before the man righted it. He stood and confronted Eddie, poking a finger into the bigger man's chest. Eddie was taller, broader, madder. There was no contest.

  "You get outta my house, shamus! This conversation is over!"

  Eddie grabbed the man's hand, bending his pointing finger backwards until Grayson cried out. "Keep your finger outta my face, punk."

  June came over and took Eddie's arm. "Stop. We have enough. Let's go, Eddie."

  Eddie, angry still, bowed to June's sensibilities and let Grayson go. He thought the argument was far from over, but he stepped back and patted the guy on his cheek. It was then that he noticed a scratch along the right curve of Grayson's face, the side opposite where Eddie had hit him.

  "Where'd that scratch come from?"

  "I don't need to tell you anything," Grayson replied sullenly, rubbing the spot where Eddie hit him.

  "Mr. Grayson-" June began, but Eddie interrupted her.

  "Talk, bub, or I'll give you the treatment." Grayson seemed to respond to physical threats, so Eddie was not going to hesitate. He wanted to know where that scratch came from. Did Grayson get it during an altercation with his mother? June touched Eddie's arm again, so he backed down a little.

  "My mother smacked me," Grayson said, turning back to his table and his spiked coffee. "Not that it's any of your business."

  "Was your mother left-handed?"

  Grayson narrowed his eyes. "What kind of question is that? Who cares?"

  Eddie stepped into the younger man's space. "It's my question. Answer it."

  He slumped into his chair, and resentfully answered. "She was ambidextrous. She could slap me with either hand."