Murder in the Collective

by Barbara Wilson

  “Well, couldn’t he?”

  “I’m thirty-six, honey. I’ve been away from home a long time.”

  The waitress, a favorite of mine named Sally, came over. She wore harlequin glasses and a watch pin. “Long time, no see, sugarplum,” she told me, and then to Hadley, “I’ve known Penny and this little gal here since they were knee high to ladybugs.”

  “I think it’s grasshoppers, Sal.”

  “Never you mind those old ugly grasshopping things. Nice young ladybugs is what you and Penny are. Now, what are you and your friend having, Miss Pam?”

  We told her and watched her go back to the kitchen with a swing in her step, a firmly-built woman in her sixties with a wigfull of auburn sausage curls.

  “I’ve been wondering a lot about older women,” said Hadley, watching her. “My hair started going gray all of a sudden last fall. I don’t know what it was, maybe just the hair genes kicking over all at once, but it sure gave me some sense of what it’s all going to be like. Forty years of being called Ma’am and Mrs. Harper started last year.”

  “You look good in gray,” I said, then blushed. But Hadley came back easily, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “That’s Miss Pam to you.”

  “You don’t fool me,” she smiled. “You’ve got a little experience under your belt too.”

  I blushed again.

  I was grateful that Sally brought our coffee just then. At some point I would have to explain to Hadley that I was straight, not at all wavering, and that I didn’t feel attracted to her, but just wanted her for a friend, even though I’d never had a lesbian friend before and had no idea if you even could…but fortunately we had other things to talk about now.

  “If you had a list of suspects,” she said, “would they all be from B. Violet?”

  I nodded and tried to defend myself. “Margaret and Anna seemed to hate the idea so much…and if you’d seen Fran drinking and how worried Elena is, after finding the car keys—well you’ve seen Elena. Fran must have been there.”

  Hadley sighed. “And I have a disinclination to trust Ray and Jeremy, just because they said so little at the meeting—and because probably ninety-nine percent of the violence in the world is done by men.”

  Bristling, I said, “Ray would never destroy anything…and Jeremy—he’s just a little wimp, if you knew him.”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t. But he kind of gives me the creeps, the way he hems and haws all the time. It seems forced somehow. Is he really as young as he seems?”

  “He’s twenty-five and wishes he were ten years older like all his heroes. I think he had older brothers and sisters or something who used to lock him out of the garage where they smoked dope and played Jefferson Airplane in the sixties. He’s spent his life trying to get in that garage.”

  Hadley laughed. “There are some of us who’ve spent our lives trying to get out of it.”

  “But he’s harmless, really, and he does care about politics; he’s learning to, anyway. I’ve been noticing that he’s getting involved with June. I think it will be good for him.”

  “Tell me about her, tell me about all of you,” Hadley said, digging into the monstrous Chef’s Salad Sally had just brought.

  “June? She’s always been a little more Penny’s friend than mine. June likes danger, and so does Penny, in her rational way. They’ve done some amazing things—Whitewater rafting, kayaking, they go skydiving together if you can believe it. As for me, I’m a total physical coward…anyway, June’s about the same age as Jeremy, but what a difference. She grew up in Seattle, went to Garfield High and got married right after. To a nice guy, I guess, a really nice guy. But he was shot, in one of those weird freak accidents. June says a bunch of them were fooling around, they were still teenagers, someone had an ‘unloaded’ gun and somehow it went off. I think June was holding it, though she’s never been able to say it.”

  “Christ.”

  “There wasn’t a trial, just a hearing. No one was blamed…but June was left with a one-year-old and then found out she was pregnant again.” I paused to take a bite of my burger. “She worked days, went to school nights and did a printing course. She’s been working with us for three years, almost since the beginning.”

  “Well, count June out of the sabotage. Zenaida too. I can’t imagine her wanting to scratch her fingernail polish.”

  “Don’t underestimate Zee. She’s a cool character. Sometimes I wonder if she hasn’t got more guts than any of us. But she’s working with the anti-Marcos group and has more important things on her mind. She wouldn’t have time to think about B. Violet.”

  “She’s got a thing with Ray, am I right?”

  I nodded without saying anything. I still didn’t find it easy to talk about somehow, but Hadley didn’t notice. She said, “What about him? He’s definitely physically capable of wreaking havoc. Where’s he coming from?”

  “Straight from the arms of pacifism. His parents are both doctors for the Red Cross. His mother’s Japanese, her parents died in Hiroshima. His father’s Mexican-American, but one of those people without a strong national identity anymore. They moved around a lot, Ray with them sometimes, in school in California other times. I know he’s got a temper, but he’s heard enough about violence and destruction to last him a lifetime.”

  “He didn’t want a merger though.”

  I tried not to remember Ray’s comment earlier about ‘Now, at least, we don’t have to merge,’ and defended him. “You heard his reasons. It wasn’t misogyny, but the racism issue, the starting all over again with a bunch of white women. He’s had to do a lot of educating—he likes having Zee and June there…”

  Sally filled our cups for the fourth time with the dark, bitter brew. I was beginning to get a nervous, unpleasant buzz—a reminder of why I didn’t seek out the Doghouse more often.

  “I hear you,” nodded Hadley. “I guess I don’t really suspect him, but then…?”

  “There’s always me and Penny.”

  “Or Elena.”

  “Elena was the one who suggested the merger in the first place. And Fran’s her lover. You could never get me to believe that Elena would destroy B. Violet.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” said Hadley, but without conviction.

  “But Margaret and Anna could have,” I persisted.

  “Now let me do my defender bit,” Hadley smiled. “I’ve known Margaret for about six years. We’ve worked on a lot of issues together, put out a newsletter once for two years, lobbied for gay rights in Olympia, spoke on lesbian topics all around town. Margaret is absolutely true blue. Sarcastic sometimes; bad-tempered occasionally, but not violent. It’s impossible, I can’t picture her touching anything at B. Violet.”

  “But isn’t she, aren’t she and Anna, you know, separatists?” I asked, wading into dangerous water. “I mean, more than you?”

  “Me?” Hadley laughed, mocking a southern belle. “Why, I just love men, honey.”

  I pursued it doggedly. “That’s what’s behind this whole thing somehow. That’s what I think. Margaret and Anna might have preferred to wreck B. Violet rather than merge. To punish Elena and Fran maybe.”

  “They’d only be punishing themselves.”

  “Why did they seem so gleeful then this morning?”

  Hadley shook her head. “I wouldn’t exactly call it gleeful. I mean, it’s true they and Fran have had their differences, but…”

  She still hadn’t addressed the issue, I felt. My urgency increased. “Well, aren’t they lesbian separatists? Don’t they just want to work with women?”

  Hadley wasn’t smiling now. “Your voice is raised, Miss Pam. Very unbecoming. I also detect a note of hostility to your own sex—maybe even lesbian-baiting—also rather impolite.”

  We stared at each other, neither willing to risk a further exchange. I felt sure that she was hiding something, protecting Margaret in some way. I didn’t know what she thought, but there was a distance between us that hadn’t been there before
.

  “Shall we go?” she said.

  For some reason I felt close to tears. “Ready when you are.”

  We figured out the check, said good-bye to Sally, paid the cashier and went out into the balmy evening without saying much more than “So long.” Only as we reached our separate vehicles in the parking lot did I hear her voice.

  “Hey Pam. I’m sorry. I hurt your feelings.”

  I turned and saw her tall figure silhouetted against the Doghouse sign.

  “Me too,” I said. I heard my voice carry strangely in the suddenly still evening air. “I guess I was, you know, baiting.”

  Her truck door closed. She was crossing the parking lot, and her boots made a light firm clacking on the asphalt.

  “I want to tell you something,” she said when she reached me. “I have known Margaret a long time, but Margaret and Anna together is a different story. They’ve gotten funny together about some things, reinforced each other’s ideas. The merger is one. I’m sure they didn’t wreck the place, but I wouldn’t be completely honest if I didn’t say that they seem sort of pleased about all this. It’s true too—they only want to work with women and they haven’t gotten along with Fran for months.”

  “Listen,” I said. “It’s early.” I looked at my watch. “Not even eight-thirty yet. And I think we need to talk through some of this stuff. I’m glad you said something. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole in there.”

  “I guess I could go with a beer or something after all that java.” Hadley smiled a bit wickedly. “Ever been to Sappho’s?”

  I gulped a little. “No, but I’d love to.”

  “Great,” she said, turning back to her truck. “Just follow me.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Could we go by Best first, just for a minute? I want to raid the petty cash until tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty,” she said, but she seemed pleased when I insisted. “Okay, see you there in a minute.”

  That’s funny, I thought, pulling up in front of the print shop on its quiet sidestreet near the Kingdome. Who in hell left the light on in there? I couldn’t imagine that anyone was working late. The whole week we’d been short of business; there were no rush jobs of any kind. Besides, it wasn’t the front light, but one way in the back. It made a dim red glow. The darkroom, the goddamn darkroom. When was Jeremy going to learn?

  The door was locked. Just as I put my key in, Hadley pulled up.

  “There’s a light on,” she called out.

  “Yeah, Jeremy left the darkroom light on, I bet. He’s done it before.”

  “I’m going in there with you.” Hadley leapt out, holding a softball bat. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

  “Don’t tell me you play ball,” I said.

  “Hell, I’m the captain of the team.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, unlocking the door and striding boldly in. “All saboteurs out in the open.”

  It was quiet. Everything was in its place, of course. There was only the red glow coming from the darkroom, through its partially opened door.

  “I’ll kill Jeremy,” I said. “When the fuck is he going to learn?”

  I went to the back and opened the door to the darkroom wide. Whatever Jeremy was supposed to learn was unnecessary now. As was my threat to kill him.

  Someone had done it for me.

  9

  A RED LIGHT IS USED in the darkroom so that you can see to develop your film without exposing it. Jeremy had apparently been developing negatives, for the pans of different chemicals stood in the broad sink, the water was still running, and square and rectangular pieces of film had been hung like tiny negative laundry on a clothesline to dry; some pieces still had droplets of water clinging to them.

  The red lightbulb gave an extra dimension and feel to the small room, making it seem both warmer and more sinister. Jeremy, lying cross-angled on the floor, his eyes open blankly and his mouth twisted in a deplorably silly grimace, was as if bathed in red blood, though there was only a small sticky hole in his temple.

  Hadley and I stood clenching each other’s arms without saying anything at first. Then I started to sob. He looked so young lying there, with his angelic blond curls and empty wide eyes, skinny as an orphan. His Sony Walkman was still attached to his belt, but the earphones had fallen, loose and soundless, to the side.

  “Why did he do it?” I cried.

  “I don’t think he did,” said Hadley.

  Her normally relaxed voice came out dry and breathless. We clutched at each other again. The shop suddenly seemed to vibrate with our fear. We were all nerves, in the state when any noise will make you jump a mile.

  The office door in front swung open with a bang and Hadley and I both bit down hysteric screams.

  “Who’s there?” I shouted.

  “I saw your truck, Hadley, and I wanted…” The voice walked unsteadily towards us. It was a loud, shaky, deep voice that I almost recognized, but not quite. Hadley knew it, however; she turned as if to protect a view of Jeremy, but she wasn’t quick enough.

  Fran came barreling through the door screaming, “Elena.”

  She’d thrown herself down by the body’s side before she realized it was Jeremy. “Oh god,” she said, scrambling up heavily again. “I thought…”

  Like Jeremy’s, like ours, Fran’s face now had a softening red glow to it. It seemed like we were all moving in a film where clay models were used. Spatial distance was different and facial expressions dramatic and simple.

  “Did he kill himself or what?” she asked, stupefied.

  “We don’t think so, we think…”

  “…murdered? But who would?”

  “Why did you think he was Elena?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, the hair, I guess. In this weird light.” Fran shrugged me off, gradually preoccupied with another thought. “But that means the cops will be here, and oh, goddamn it. What am I going to do?”

  “What are you talking about, Fran?” Hadley asked sharply.

  “Last night. B. Violet,” she said impatiently. “It was him.”

  “Jeremy trashed the place out?” I said. “Jeremy? No.”

  “I’m telling you, I fucking found the guy there last night. After you and Elena went and left me, I decided to go back down to B. Violet and get something I forgot.”

  “What was he doing, Fran?” Hadley asked. She was calm but worried now, and trying to draw us out of the darkroom’s red light.

  “He was in the back. Most of the damage had already been done. He was cutting the type fonts into little pieces.”

  We’d moved into the other room and I’d switched on the office light. The fluorescent illumination didn’t make the situation any more real. I kept thinking, we have to call the police, we have to call the police, but Hadley was trying to get Fran’s whole story.

  “The little wimp tried to get away; he was terrified. I said I was going beat the shit out of him for what he did to our shop and…then…I think I picked up a piece of glass and…” Fran shook her head. In the cool white light of the office she looked exhausted and old, with bloodshot dazed eyes and a tremulous shake to her hands, one of which had a cut between the index finger and thumb. “I just don’t remember. When I sort of came to myself again, I had some blood on my hand and he was gone. I guess he knocked me out. I didn’t know if I’d done anything to him or not…” A big flannel shoulder jerked towards the darkroom door. “But I sure as hell didn’t do that.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but the very thought of it gave me the creeps. “If you didn’t do it, why are you afraid of the police?” I asked.

  “I’m not afraid of them,” said Fran venomously, while beginning to back away to the front door.

  “Listen, Fran, let me get this straight,” Hadley put a restraining hand on her arm. “You went to B. Violet last night. Around what time?”

  Fran shook her head.

  “We left her at the Bar & Grill about ten-thirty, I think…” I said.

  “So it w
as probably between eleven and twelve, closer to twelve, maybe, when you found him there.”

  “Look, what is this? Just leave me alone,” Fran muttered. “Isn’t it bad enough that our whole fucking shop was destroyed? He deserved what happened to him.” She looked frightened at what she’d said. “I don’t mean that. Oh god, if the cops figure out I was there with him, they’ll think I wanted revenge.”

  “You probably passed out or were knocked out before you touched much of anything but that piece of glass, but you did leave your keys,” Hadley said.

  Fran flinched. You could tell she’d been desperately worrying all this time about what had happened to them. “And the cops have them?”

  “I have them,” said Hadley slowly. She reached into her pocket and drew them out, tossed them with a tiny clink to Fran. I wanted to tell her no, Fran had to be here when the cops came, so she could tell them about last night, but Hadley and Fran seemed locked in a private stare.

  “I’m getting out, I’ve got to,” mumbled Fran.

  “Wait,” I said, but Fran was already headed out the door, and Hadley didn’t try to stop her. “Hadley, why’d you let her go? They need her information.”

  “Cause she’s drunk,” said Hadley. “Talking to them wouldn’t help her or the cops.”

  “She didn’t seem drunk now. That was last night.”

  “When Fran gets drunk, she stays drunk for awhile. You probably saw her in her offensive my-father-was-a-logger stage. But she’s got others. I’m telling you, she was drunk yesterday, drunk last night, and she’s still out of it today. She’ll keep on for the next few days probably.”

  “Except for last night, she hasn’t acted it.”

  “If you knew her, you’d know that’s how she acts.”

  “But why isn’t anybody helping her then, if it’s that bad?”

  “You don’t think anybody’s tried?” Hadley looked both bitter and amused.

  “You mean Elena?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Elena’s a bit that way herself, attached to the bottle, I mean. That may be the source of their attraction.”