The Black Dream_Rue Morgue Vintage Mysteries

by Constance Little

  "No."

  "Well, look—as a matter of fact, I wish you would. I need you badly because I want to have eyes only for you all night."

  I laughed. "You mean you want to make Alice sit up and take notice. But you must have a bunch of other girls coming who could do the job for you."

  He shook his head. "She knows all the others."

  "And she knows you're not like that about any of them?"

  He nodded, with a serious expression on his face.

  "Why do you want to run after a girl that you have to get that way? If you get her."

  "Listen," he said, "Alice's beauty may be only skin-deep, but it certainly looks good on the outside."

  I considered it for a moment and asked, "Are you inviting the man next door—the brokenhearted Emerson?"

  "Oh, there you go!" he groaned. "He has all the women swooning in the aisles. Of course he's invited. Lucy asked him first of all—phoned him at his office. He accepted, too. That guy loves parties—with all the dames cast themselves at his feet."

  "Only I won't be able to, will I? Because I have to cast myself at your feet."

  "That's the girl," he said, and gave my shoulder a pat that nearly dislocated it. "But don't look so bored about it—I'll keep you entertained."

  "Are you going to do card tricks?"

  Lucy came to the door behind us. "Here you are, children! Eugenia darling, Mary's on the phone and wants to talk to you."

  I went along to the telephone, and Lucy followed and stood close beside me.

  "Mary?"

  "Eugenia, I hate to disturb you like this, when you're supposed I getting a rest, but I'm simply out of my mind with worry, and I want some advice. I know Homer never ran off with Betty Emerson. In the first he'd never have dreamed of leaving me—and anyway, they weren't even slightly interested in each other—I'd have known if they were—I'd have sensed it. I think something has happened to him, and I must find out. Do you think I should call in the police?"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I WAS SUDDENLY BORED and exasperated with Homer and his wild oat, and I wished to high heaven that I had never come to Mary's apartment. All I had wanted—and needed, too—was a little rest.

  "Eugenia, please!" Mary was fussing in my ear. "You must help me. I'm asking for only a little clearheaded advice."

  "But I hardly knew Homer," I protested. "I saw him only a few times when you brought him into New York. How could I possibly know what he'd do or wouldn't do? You ought to know whether he went off of his own accord or not. What about his clothes and luggage? Did he take them?"

  "Well—but that's just it—I'm not sure. Homer had so much stuff— clothes and traveling bags and things. I did look once, but I couldn't tell whether anything was missing. Of course when they disappeared together we all assumed that they had gone away together—and then right away Mrs. Budd had that card from Betty, you see. But I never heard from Homer, and I've been thinking the whole thing over quietly here, and I know Homer wouldn't just run away with Betty, like that."

  I drew a long breath and said patiently, "Yes—I see. Well, in that case I think perhaps you'd better call in the police. They'll find out where he really is, and at least you won't be fretting over that part of it any more."

  "Yes—you're right!" Mary said with sudden decision. "Then I'll do that. My dear, you don't know the relief-—to have decided on something definite! I shall have to come to town then. Tomorrow."

  "Why don't you make it tonight? I'm told that we're having a party," I said, and felt like a tattletale. But I'd had an uneasy feeling that she ought to know.

  However, it was wasted effort, for she said abstractedly, "I know—Lucy told me—it's nice for Ken. But, Eugenia, just see that there are ashtrays everywhere, will you? And coasters. The coasters are in the corner cupboard in the dining room, and there are a lot of extra ashtrays there too. And for a party like that I always use the cheap glasses in the kitchen. I keep my good ones in the dining room—so don't get them mixed, will you?"

  "I'll take the utmost care." I told her. "I'll protect your things with my life."

  "Well, it isn't that I mind, really, and I don't like to fuss or anything, but if you're a little careful ahead of time it saves so much."

  "You're absolutely right," I agreed, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "Anyway, don't worry—I'll see to everything."

  "Well, that's wonderful, dear, and I'll see you tomorrow."

  I said good-by and hung up—and then bumped into Lucy, who had been standing directly behind me.

  She asked immediately. "What did she say?'"

  "New recipe for baked spinach." I said, and wended my way. I went along to my bedroom and closed the door firmly after me. and then discovered that the book I had been reading was still out on the little balcony. I got another one out of my suitcase and stretched out on the bed with the pillows propped behind me. I was glad that the spread had been left off, so that I need not worry about messing it up.

  I read over three chapters, this time, before Lucy interrupted me with a call to lunch.

  "We've lost Ken," she said dolefully. "He got himself a date for lunch— but it wasn't with that Alice. Wouldn't you love to know who he's almost engaged to?"

  I yawned and flung my book down to the bottom of the bed. "I do know ."

  "What! Who?" Lucy yelled.

  "Nobody. He's working toward it, and when he says 'almost' he's giving himself encouragement."

  "Oh." She considered it, and then the sun came out on her face. "I'll bet you're right, at that, and I'm glad. I hate to see the young men get hooked, don't you?"

  I yawned again and dropped my feet to the floor. "No," I said, "it's the young girls I worry about. There they stand at the brink of life—sweet, eager young creatures trying to see through the mists of the future all the lovely and exciting things that are going to happen to them—and when the mists clear away they find themselves surrounded by cooking, house cleaning, dirty dishes, and soiled diapers—all day and every day and the night—"

  "Listen, that lunch will be spoiled if you don't hurry," Lucy observed, poking at her hair in front of the mirror. "I made a sweet batch of hot biscuits. I thought Ken would be here."

  "He should have told you," I said sympathetically as we went out into the hall. "Now we'll have to eat them ourselves."

  She paused to finger a pair of small busts that adorned the top of the antique desk, and ended by turning them around to face each other.

  "They look better that way—don't you think? More cheerful."

  "Much more cheerful," I agreed. "At least they're staring at each other with their sightless eyes, and not at us."

  "That's right." She surveyed them for a moment, gave a satisfied nod, and marched on into the dining room.

  She had prepared a delicate little luncheon that would have been no than an hors d'oeuvre to Ken, had he remained. We disposed of it promptly and then leaned back and lighted cigarettes.

  "Now one of us has to go out and do the shopping," Lucy said busily, "and the other will have to stay and fix the place up all ready for the party."

  I groaned aloud. "I came here for a rest—I didn't want this party in the first place—I didn't even want to come to it. I hate all the bustle of getting ready for a party."

  "'Eugenia. I think you're downright queer," Lucy said seriously. "Trying to crawl into a hole all the time and pull the dirt in after you. It isn't normal. Now all you have to do is go out and buy these things—I have the list all made out."

  "You do the shopping, then," I sighed, "and I'll stay and hang the festoons."

  But she looked so crestfallen that I gave up and went to get a hat. I showed her the coasters and extra ashtrays and the cheap glasses in the kitchen, and then took her list and departed.

  I glanced at the thing when I got outside and found that nearly every item had a paragraph of explanation beneath it—and at the same time I realized that I had no money but my own with which to pay for everything. I felt
that the situation needed reviewing, and after a moment's hesitation I turned into an air-cooled drugstore and sought a booth at the back. A waitress appeared and rattled off, with apparent relish, a string of things that they didn't have.

  "It's all right," I said mildly. "I just wanted a vanilla soda, or anything else in that line that you happen to have."

  She went off, looking disappointed, and I hauled out Lucy's list and started to go over it. However, I got stalled on the second item when a woman's clear carrying voice, in the booth behind me, said, "Darling, you do love me, don't you? You told me you did—and you know I love you. I want to hear you say it again—now."

  There was a male laugh, and a familiar voice observed, "Don't get so serious, Dotty—you'll have lines between your eyebrows. Finish up your ice cream and let's get out of here."

  I took a cautious glance at the mirror that lined the walls. John Emerson and a blonde—presumably one of the ladies at his feet.

  "But, John," she was saying—and she had lowered her voice and put a throb into it. "You haven't told me you loved me since Betty left—not once since she left. And that makes me think—well, quite a few things."

  "All of them right," I murmured, forgetting myself.

  "Now look, darling—" he began, but she interrupted him fiercely.

  "I want to know—I must know—are you going to divorce her and marry me?"

  John's voice began to hint his exasperation. "Dotty, there is no point whatever in our discussing this now. I would have to wait some years before getting a divorce for desertion—and I can assure you that I will not divorce Eleanor's mother on any other grounds. Eleanor comes first with me, and you know it."

  "But, John dear—of course. Please don't be angry with me—you know I understand all that. But it's only two years for desertion, and I'd wait—if only you'd tell me to. If I only knew."

  I wanted to urge her to shut up—but since I couldn't, I tried to close my ears and concentrate on the list. It turned out to be a collection of trifles—bits and pieces of decoration, and candies of various colors—all of it foolish and none of it necessary, as far as I could see.

  My waitress returned and set a chocolate marshmallow sundae before me and departed again with a swish of her skirts.

  I picked up my spoon and heard John Emerson say coldly, "I'm afraid that you took that black eye too seriously."

  CHAPTER SIX

  THEY HAD LEFT the booth, and I turned and quite frankly stared as they passed. John Emerson, with his eyes on his check, was fumbling in his pocket for change, while the blonde drooped along at his elbow. Neither of them noticed me.

  I returned to my sundae, gave it a look of loathing because I never have liked chocolate, marshmallow, or sundaes, and decided that I was not going to eat it—war or no war. I got up and wondered whether it would be honest to walk out without paying, since I hadn't been satisfied, and the customer is always right—and then I realized that the customer wasn't half as right as he used to be, so I paid anyway.

  I went out into hot, bright sunshine and walked along slowly, thinking about John Emerson and what seemed to be his stock phrase to his lady friends: "you took that black eye too seriously." I wondered idly what color his own eyes were, and decided to look and see the next time he crossed my path.

  I got Lucy's gewgaws as cheaply as I could and wondered whether she'd forgotten about food and drinks, since her list was made up of such items as "four yellow candles—two yards exactly same color satin ribbon." Why satin ribbon? Was she going to tie bows on the candles? And if not, what was she going to use it for?

  I shrugged it away and arrived back at the apartment at last with numerous little packages dribbling out of my arms. It seemed too hot to go inside, so I made for a group of chairs that were arranged under a tree on the lawn at the side of the building. It was cooler there, and I sat in one of the chairs, cast my hat and the packages onto the ground, and lit a cigarette.

  I was getting comfortably drowsy when two men came and sat close by. They seemed to be arguing, and their voices were deadly serious.

  One of them, pudgy and perspiring, said, "I don't care what you say—it was cold." He mopped at his forehead, and after a moment's pause added, "In fact you could have thrown them against the wall and made it. You ought to have your head examined."

  I looked at the other's head. It was younger and more shapely, and the eyes were draped with sunglasses. He arranged his thin mouth in lines of satisfied superiority and then opened it to say with obviously false courtesy, "And what was I supposed to do with the spade?"

  "What spade?"

  "I suppose you've forgotten about the spade I had. Just tell me where I could have put the spade, and I'll go and have my head examined this afternoon."

  The pudgy individual was silent for a moment, and then he said flatly, "You didn't have a spade."

  The younger one smiled—nastily. "No spade? Then perhaps you can tell me what I did have?"

  There was another brief silence, and then, "Seven clubs, five diamonds—"

  "Oh, God!" I said. "Bridge."

  They both started, and turned to stare at me.

  "Well. I'm sorry," I said defensively, "but I couldn't make out what you were talking about. I was puzzled, so I had to listen."

  The younger man was clearly impatient of the interruption, but the other one laughed.

  "Go ahead," I urged them. "I know you want to find that spade."

  But the fat man wouldn't have it. He asked me if it were hot enough for me, made the usual comment on the humidity, and went on to say that he thought it might rain in a day or two. The younger one stood it for a while and then excused himself with brittle courtesy and left us to the weather.

  It developed almost immediately that I was talking to J.X. Boxton, who admitted almost in the same breath that he was an undertaker. Since he was the first undertaker I had ever met, I looked him over curiously and found that he appeared to be somewhat like other people.

  I was wondering whether he would talk shop or not when Lucy suddenly appeared in our midst.

  "My dear!" she shrieked. "I've been calling you till my throat's ragged. Do you know what time it is? And all we have to do! I was up there on the balcony, simply yelling—I can't imagine why you didn't hear me—why, hello, Mr. Boxton."

  Mr. Boxton, who had got to his feet, bowed gracefully and urged her to sit down.

  "No, no—we have to get upstairs. We've a party on, and we'll have to work like fiends so much to do."

  She began to gather up the packages, and then an idea hit her: "Mr. Box-ton, you must come to our party—it's just spur-of-the-moment, you know. If you're not busy?"

  His face lit up, and it appeared that he wasn't busy. He said he thought he'd drop around, and then gallantly carried all our packages up for us.

  When we got inside Lucy confided to me that he was really an old bore but she'd had to ask him because of the shortage of men.

  "Entirely illogical," I commented.

  The apartment was transformed. Every piece of furniture in the living room and dining room had been moved, and while I eyed Mary's fancy glasses reposing on the table—instead of the cheap ones from the kitchen—Lucy bustled around and put the yellow candles into the candelabra. I waited to see what she was going to do with the ribbon, but she merely took it off to her room. I followed her, but it did me no good. She put the ribbon down on her dressing table and said, "We'll have some sandwiches—I have them all ready—and I'll make some coffee. We haven't time for anything else."

  "All right," I agreed, and submitted to being pushed out of her room. "But listen—do you know anything about John Emerson's black eye?"

  She said, "For heaven's sake! Some husband probably gave it to him."

  "No—I don't mean that. Hasn't he any other kind of a black eye?"

  "My dear, I don't know what you're talking about. Both his eyes are black—really, I've never seen such dark eyes. Fascinating. Now listen, when Ken comes in don't t
ell him about my inviting Mr. Boxton. Ken doesn't like him."

  "Rubbish!" I said, feeling contrary. "I like Mr. Boxton—I think he's a lovely little man. And why should Smith have anything to say about the people I want at this party?"

  "Don't be dumb, honey, you know we have to snake around the men a little, to get anywhere in this world. Shh—here he is."

  He was, and he had the food and drink. He seemed to be in high good humor and said cheerfully, "Hello, girls. I couldn't get cakes with yellow icing, Lucy, but I got some very nice pink ones."

  Lucy almost cried. "Pink is so naive," she wailed, "and it won't match anything—"

  "Maybe I'd better run out and change the candles and ribbon," I suggested, grinning.

  To my horror, she actually considered it for a moment; but then she shook her head regretfully. "No—it's too late. Come on—we'll have the sandwiches and coffee now."

  Smith was horrified in turn and muttered. "No!" but Lucy swept us both into the kitchen and put the meal before us. She and I had to eat at top speed in order to get barely enough, for Smith ate the sandwiches whole, with his hand hovering over the plate and his eyes on the ceiling—pretending he didn't know what he was doing. In no time at all there was nothing but coffee left, and we were again free to converse.

  Lucy put a cigarette into her long black holder and said thoughtfully. "That Budd woman seems possessed by an idea that her Betty could never have run away with Homer Fredon."

  '"She doesn't want to believe it," Ken said shrewdly. "But old Homer was pulling down plenty, in his job, and women like money."

  "But since he's left the job he's no longer pulling down plenty," I pointed out. "I think it's odd, myself. He might have been piling it up in some other bank, I suppose—but Mary must have known what he was making, and I should think she'd have spotted it, if any sizable amount was being deflected."

  "Something to that." Ken conceded.

  "Maybe he piled it up in his own bank and drew it all out just before they skipped," Lucy said without much conviction.