Dream of Fair Woman

by Charlotte Armstrong

  He said, ‘L-l-listen. I thought maybe she’d let me stay a couple of days. I can’t stand those ratty hotel rooms. I mean, Bobbie got me mixed up in this and I was going to make her take me in. But listen, it’s true. The gas is pouring out of someplace and she’s in there. I could just see … The oven door was open. It was switched on. She’s on the floor, wearing her pearl beads. Her face … Well, she had her eyes open. She’s dead. Dead as a … dead—’

  ‘Well, she never did it!’ said Alison. ‘Believe me, she never did it. Oh, that poor fool woman! I know what she did. I told her, Larry. Listen, I told her a thousand times …’

  ‘What are you …? What is …? Where’s Lilianne? Oh,’ he said with a thud of knowledge.

  ‘She’s in the hospital and what am I going to do?’ wailed Alison. ‘What am I going to do? My God, Bobbie probably told them! How do I know she didn’t tell them where I am? Maybe they’re coming after me. Larry, you got a car? My God, I’ve got to get out of here.’

  She was tearing things out of the closet, throwing them into the blue suitcase on the floor of the closet. She dropped the wrapper and stood naked before him. Neither of them seemed to notice it. She began to climb into her panties. She hooked her bra. ‘I’ll pack my own stuff,’ she was chattering, ‘I can wear Lilianne’s junk. Maybe Bobbie didn’t tell them. If anybody comes here, they don’t have to know I’ve even been. I got to go someplace. Larry, listen, would your wife mind …?’

  Larry was sitting, holding the edge of the chair with both hands. ‘No,’ he squeaked. ‘Not her. I won’t let her. What you better do is go to the cops. You don’t have to say anything about—’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot all your life!’ The girl was wiggling into her slip. She emerged and bent for her stockings. ‘How can I say that? Not me, brother. You didn’t go to the cops, did you?’

  ‘No,’ he groaned.

  ‘O.K. There’s going to be something to show that Bobbie didn’t do it herself. The cops are smart enough for that. So let them figure out who did two murders. But not three, don’t forget. Not me, too!’

  ‘Yes, but I mean—’

  ‘You want me to get killed? Do you, Larry? Really? Do you?’

  ‘No,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘All right then. I can play Lilianne. I even fooled you, just now. I ought to be able to play Lilianne. I had enough practice. So why should Dorothy’s uncle and Megan Royce kill Lilianne?’

  ‘Say, why don’t you go up to that nutty Alfreda’s place?’ he said. ‘You could fool her and hang around her place. Huh, Alison? Why not, Alison?’

  The girl was pulling her hair down around her face. She snatched at her coat and her handbag.

  ‘I got some money. I got all Lilianne’s I.D. stuff. Her wallet and all. I can walk like her, if I have to. I mean, I can mooch along and nobody will even look at me. So come on. Let’s get out of here.’

  But standing over him, dressed and ready, fierce and dominant, she pushed at her hair. ‘Listen, Larry, you think about this. Never mind that old jail bit. Is it going to do you any good if the cops find out you were up at Bobbie’s? Maybe they’d figure you had a mad on her. I mean, they want to see you already. I mean, how are you going to explain that, huh? I’m not going to say one word and you can believe me. That’s if you’ll take me where I want to go and then forget it. So it’s a deal or it’s no deal.’ She was full of threat and storm.

  Larry had no power. He stood. ‘I’ve got my car,’ he said feebly. ‘Where do you want to go, Alison?’

  ‘You mean Lilianne.’

  ‘Lilianne?’

  ‘I want to go back to Yuma,’ she said in the different voice, the childish treble. ‘I want to go back and see dear old Miss Gray. I can pay the bus. Will you take me to the bus station, please, Larry?’

  He said in a squeal, ‘I’m not going near any bus station.’

  ‘Then just to the corner? I can take a bus to the bus station. Can’t I, Larry?’

  ‘Hurry up,’ he said nervously and picked up her suitcase.

  They crept down the walk. Alison shivered in the open air. The streets were stirring only a little; only a few early workers were abroad. In the car, she combed a hank of hair down over her left cheek with nervous fingers. She fished in the handbag for a handkerchief. When the car stopped, about a mile from the little house, at a business intersection where no shop was yet open, she got out, handkerchief to her mouth.

  ‘Where will you be?’ he said thickly.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be wherever dear Miss Gray tells me to be,’ she said, in Lilianne’s voice. ‘I’ll be all right, once I’m back in Yuma. I’ll be out of it.’

  ‘You want me to drive you to Yuma?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Oh, no. Thank you very much.’

  ‘You don’t care where I go, do you?’ he said bitterly. ‘Like hell or something?’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Alison-as-Alison, ‘and take off, you damn fool. The bus is coming.’

  Larry stepped on his accelerator and went off, a little too fast.

  She watched him turn the corner. The bus came, stopped, wooshed its door at her. She stepped backwards and shook her head. The bus went on.

  Alison began to walk. Her heels hit the sidewalk too noisily. She tried to walk on her toes. It was going to be a long walk and uphill too. But she had to make it. She had to get lost, but she wasn’t going to dear old Miss Gray. Dear old Miss Gray would put her in the loony bin. Put Lilianne, that is.

  ‘Oh, honey, you’re home!’ cried Dolores Wimberholtz.

  He held her warmth and let his bones shake. ‘It’s O.K. It’s O.K. The car’s in the garage. Nobody saw me.’

  ‘They’ve been around and been around,’ she told him, ‘but maybe they won’t come around any more. If they do, you can just keep in the back room. Can’t you? Please? Larry, I missed you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter too much any more. I’m not going to have too much trouble. I’m not going to be charged with murdering old Alison. She just happens to be alive.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dolores with delicious relief, ‘that’s wonderful! Oh, Larry, why don’t you call up the police, right now?’

  ‘Well,’ he said uneasily, ‘not now. Not yet. I don’t feel like it. I been so miserable, honey, so lonesome—I missed you.’

  ‘Ssh,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to do it this minute. Let me fix you some hot breakfast. I didn’t say one word. I did what I told you. I just sat tight.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘That’s right. We’ll just sit tight. If anybody wants to bother us—O.K. That’s time enough. Besides, probably she isn’t going to fool Miss Gray.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Lilianne’s old teacher. Runs this school. Used to try and help her.’

  ‘Oh, that’s where Alison is?’

  ‘That’s where she’s going.’

  ‘You can tell the police that.’

  ‘Sure. Any time,’ said Larry. ‘So we’re all right.’

  Dolores said, ‘Of course! Of course, we are!’ very vehemently, because she wasn’t quite sure that they were.

  Alfreda, uprooted so early in the morning, sat behind her desk in an ordinary blue quilted bathrobe and a pink nightgown. The girl in the other chair would not look at her. She kept her head bowed and her hair half over her face. ‘I knew you’d help me,’ she said, ‘I know you won’t let them bother me. I was told.’

  Alfreda’s mouth went wry. ‘I will help you if I can,’ she intoned, ‘but I hope you are not imagining that you can fool me.’

  Now the girl’s face came up with a look of terror. She began to weep violently. She slid to the chair’s edge. She reached out blindly over the desk. She wept and implored.

  Alfreda said in brisk tones, ‘Well, you are a mess, aren’t you, Alison?’

  ‘I don’t know how I got in such a mess,’ the girl sobbed. ‘I don’t know what to do. My mother is dead and she didn’t do it herself. I might as well die, too, and get it over. If somebody
doesn’t help me … I didn’t mean to fool you …’

  ‘You couldn’t have done that. I am very very close to your sister, in ways you cannot understand.’

  ‘Ah,’ Alison beat her forehead on the desk. ‘Just help me, why don’t you?’

  ‘I must dress,’ said Alfreda, rising. ‘You must weep. We shall see.’

  Alison, with her head on the desk, sobbed in diminuendo. She began to listen intently. The temple was a silent place. She could hear nothing. She had lifted her head and lit a nervous cigarette, when the big woman came back, treading softly, wearing her white robe.

  The girl looked up at her. Alfreda said nothing but the girl, responding to her wordless suggestion, blurted, ‘What shall I do with it? I’m sorry.’ Alfreda smiled and pushed a small empty vase across the desk. Alison stubbed out her cigarette against its inside.

  ‘Have you touched bottom?’ said Alfreda. ‘Are you quite sure that you must have help? That you can no longer help yourself?’

  The girl whimpered.

  ‘You have come to me? You are putting yourself in my hands? Very well, I shall, of course, give you sanctuary and I shall show you how to be healed. But you must, first, accept your position. Completely. You are afraid. Afraid of the police, afraid of the newspapers, afraid of the light, afraid that the sins of your younger days will be known, afraid that you will have no career, afraid that you have been used by criminals, afraid that they will be afraid of you—’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ Alison wept, ‘I couldn’t tell the police anything, not anything, really. I’m just afraid …’

  ‘Afraid of death? So very much afraid of death that you long to die?’ The big woman was almost chanting. ‘So all your ways have led you into fear. You have come to an end. Your mind and body. They rattle and jangle and you have no peace. You have no resources. You need to be told what to do to be saved. Very well, my dear. Very well. You must sink down, deliberately. You must let everything fall away. You must rest deeply, deeply. Sink. Fall. I will attend to the circumstances that trouble you. I will protect you from the world. There is time now—time to give up, to sink down, to rest and be healed. You must let go of everything and be nothing. You may sleep.’

  Lt Clarence Tate said to Tony Severson, ‘Who let you in?’

  Tony was holding his nose. ‘Is it safe in here?’ he said nasally.

  Tate said, ‘Beat it. Who said you could mess around in that desk?’

  ‘Yah look,’ said Tony, letting go of his nose. ‘Lookit here!’ He had Bobbie’s little black book in his hand and he flipped the pages. ‘Lilianne. 438½ Opal Street. You know who that is?’

  ‘Let me guess,’ the lieutenant said sourly.

  ‘That’s the twin sister.’

  ‘Give me that, and beat it.’ Tate snatched the book.

  ‘Can I quote you it was suicide?’ said Tony, backing away.

  ‘You can’t quote me, period,’ said Tate, ‘Vamoose.’

  Tate went back into the orderly confusion of the kitchen, where the smell of gas was even stronger. ‘Wonder it didn’t blow up,’ he growled. ‘The neighbour’s got a good nose on her, I’d say.’ There was a sheeted mound on the floor, still. A man was dusting the handles of the gas stove with powder. ‘Looks like I won’t get a thing,’ he announced cheerfully.

  Tate grunted. ‘What do you say, Doc?’

  The man he addressed said, ‘Somebody took a good hold on her throat. I’ll say that. Blacked her out, no doubt of it. But she was breathing afterwards.’

  ‘Breathing in the gas, eh?’

  ‘That’s right. So whoever took her by the neck, didn’t do her any good.’ The doctor had some curiosity. ‘Any suspects?’

  ‘A couple,’ said Tate. ‘One or two. Or three.’

  ‘Don’t I see by the papers you’re after her ex-son-in-law?’

  ‘I’m pretty hot after him,’ said Tate.

  He went back into the living-room. The fingerprint man was now working on the solitary liqueur glass. ‘Looks like hers and hers alone.’

  ‘Drinking alone?’ said Tate thoughtfully. ‘That stuff?’

  He went back into the kitchen and opened the cupboards, found the shelf where the glasses were kept, looked closely at the five little ones. Four were dusty. One was shining.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Betty, having steeled herself, said as she came to the breakfast table, ‘Good morning, I hope. Matt, I’m sorry I screamed at you last night. I won’t do it again.’

  ‘That’s O.K., Betts, forget it. I was probably talking like a jackass. Good morning.’ They exchanged narrow smiles.

  Peg kept her peace. They would have to patch things up by themselves, if patching were possible. At least the mysterious girl would be gone, very soon—whatever wrack she left behind her. Matt had telephoned the hospital and reported that Leon Daw was sending an ambulance for her at nine o’clock. Matt seemed to have accepted this.

  At eight-thirty, the phone rang. Peg took up the kitchen extension. Matt saw his mother stagger and jumped to put a supporting hand on her back and snatch the instrument.

  It was Tony Severson. Very excited. Bobbie Hopkins found dead! Suspicion of murder! Lieutenant Tate in charge! Larry Wimberholtz suspect and wanted! Tony knew they would want to know.

  Matt hung up and said, ‘O.K. That does it.’

  ‘Oh, poor woman,’ wailed his mother. ‘I wonder … I wonder … could we have—’

  ‘Now, listen, Peg.’ He was stern. ‘One thing for sure it’s not your fault. And you hear that, Peg. Now, I’m going over to the hospital and no matter what I have to do, I’m going to stop them taking her.’

  ‘Oh, Matt—’

  ‘Nope. There’s too much going on that nobody understands. You never mind, Ma. I know you’ve washed your hands and so has Betty. But I can’t. And it doesn’t matter why, either.’

  ‘This is terrible. All this is terrible,’ Peg said with control, ‘about the Hopkins family. But what does it change for us? We still know that the girl who fell asleep upstairs must be Dorothy Daw. And Mr Daw and his new wife, they are her people. Nobody else claims her. Poor Bobbie Hopkins gave her up, and whatever you think, you can’t change her mind again. And if what Leon Daw wants to do is simply take her to another hospital, how can we object to that?’

  ‘I object,’ Matt said, ‘I say she isn’t Dorothy. I say they are not her people, I can say, if I have to, that they are a couple of murderers. Twice over.’

  ‘Twice! You can’t mean they murdered Bobbie Hopkins! Matt, if you say that and it isn’t true—’

  ‘And if it is true, and I don’t say it?’

  Mother and son faced each other and the impasse.

  Betty said, ‘Isn’t it a police matter, really?’

  Matt turned on her. ‘So when they kill her, too, we can shrug that off. Blame the police?’

  ‘When all you have is an intuition …’ Betty began. She felt frightened.

  ‘We should talk to Lieutenant Tate,’ said Peg. ‘Yes. We ought to do that much. I do agree.’

  ‘First, I have to stop them from taking her. The time’s too close.’

  ‘What will you do, Matt?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Matt, with a killing glance at Betty Prentiss. ‘Maybe I’ll jump up and down and scream. Or be pious. Or flirt with some nurses, use my sex appeal. I may cry. Because why in hell can’t I have an intuition?’ he roared.

  Betty was furious all over again. She said, ‘Before you make too much of a fool of yourself, may I remind you that there is somebody who claims her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Alfreda.’

  ‘The great healer? The witch-woman? She hasn’t even checked to see if Lilianne was missing from Opal Street. She hasn’t even seen our girl, yet.’

  ‘Exactly,’ snapped Betty.

  Matt stared at her. ‘But we know she’s wrong. We talked to Lilianne.’

  ‘Did we?’ said Betty.

  And Peg cut in, ‘But she’s
right, Matt. This Alfreda must be allowed to see her. Now, that’s fair. And that’s the way to hold things up … until the police might … until things are clearer.’

  ‘Might work at that,’ Matt said, suddenly calm. ‘Alfreda is so sublimely sure of herself, she could upset the little old applecart by sheer bulk and gall. O.K. I’ll go up to the temple and drag Alfreda down in two seconds flat.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Peg. ‘You go to the hospital and tell them they will have to wait. You can say I said so. I’m responsible. I’ll go up to the temple. Betty has been there and seen this woman. Betty will go with me.’

  ‘Betty doesn’t want anything to do with it,’ said Matt. ‘It’s none of her business.’

  Betty was on her feet, white with anger. ‘Perfectly true!’ she said. ‘That damned beautiful nothing, on the hospital bed, means absolutely nothing to me. But I’ll take your mother anywhere she wants to go.’

  ‘Do that,’ said Matt. ‘Thank you.’

  Ten minutes later, Betty and Peg stood on the temple’s porch and Betty wielded the brass knocker insistently. The sun was high now. From this eminence, the view was wide. They could see the life of the city flowing in its veins, but the sounds of traffic were afar.

  Alfreda opened the door, at last, and faced them—tall, white-robed, heavy of presence.

  ‘I am Mrs Cuneen,’ Peg said briskly. ‘You know Betty Prentiss. We have come to take you to Cooper Memorial Hospital, right away. It is very important.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Alfreda gravely.

  But Peg’s impetus carried her on. ‘They plan to take the girl away but we say she mustn’t be let go, quite yet. Mrs Hopkins has been … is dead.’

  ‘And you are afraid?’ said Alfreda kindly. ‘Very well.’

  She stepped backward, leaving the door open.

  ‘I will come in one moment.’ Alfreda went off to their left, Peg stared in at the odd room beyond the shallow foyer. Betty took in a deep breath. They heard no sound. Peg seemed to be sensing the aura of this place and resenting it with every fibre.

  Alfreda returned in the moment she had promised, having fetched a white robe, a simple garment like her own, which she carried on her arm. Now she simply stepped upon the porch, did something to the edge of the door, closed it firmly behind her. Betty seemed to hear the lock engage.