Jan Burke - Dear Irene

“Her mother got a job in an aircraft factory – Mercury Aircraft. She was sort of a Rosie the Riveter, I guess. She got transferred down here near the end of the war. Mercury had two factories in Southern California then. Now it just has the original plant, the one in Las Piernas.”

I made notes, not sure any of what he told me would help. I found myself circling the word “Mercury.” After receiving the letters from Thanatos, names and words associated with mythology often caught my attention. They were everywhere. Among other things, Mercury had lent his name to a planet, an element, an automaker, and a dime. I reminded myself that at this rate, if E.J. Blaylock had ever eaten a Mars bar, laughed at Mickey Mouse’s dog, suffered insomnia, or used a mnemonic device, it was all going to be Greek (or Roman) to me.

“That’s how E.J. first came to Las Piernas,” Steven was saying. “I don’t know too much more about her childhood, just that she was always good in school. She loved history. She got straight A’s in every history class she took, even through college and grad school. She got into Las Piernas College on a scholarship. She went on to UCLA for her doctorate. She met a man there and married him.”

“Hold on a minute – she was married?”

“Briefly. It lasted less than a year. James, I think his name was. She went back to her maiden name, and has – had – used it ever since.”

“She ever tell you why the marriage broke up?”

“Not really, just said it had been a case of two people doing what was expected of them and then learning it was a mistake. No details. To be honest, she never talked much about the men in her past, which was fine with me.”

“She didn’t stay in Los Angeles?”

“No. After she graduated, she had several offers to teach, but she took a job here in Las Piernas so that she could take care of her mother. Her mother was ill by that time. Some kind of lung disease. She had been a heavy smoker and worked around some toxic chemicals, but there was no way to know which gave her the problem, which was… let’s see…” He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Emphysema, maybe? I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten. Anyway, they lived together for about fifteen years. E.J. took care of her the whole time. Her mother died about ten years ago.”

“So, in about 1980?”

“Somewhere around there. I guess E.J. sort of came alive then. I don’t mean to say she had never dated or was some kind of shrinking violet under her mother’s thumb. She loved teaching and enjoyed being with students; she was a very popular instructor. She really went out of her way to try to get students excited about history.”

“So how did she ‘come alive’?”

“E.J. just had less of a load to carry. She told me that for several years before her mother died, she had felt helpless to ease her mother’s pain. She had watched her suffer and waste away. She hadn’t realized what a toll it was taking on her until after her mother died. But she was lonely without her mom around.”

“So she put time into her teaching and writing.”

“Exactly. And yes, she went through a time of involving herself sexually with some of her graduate students. The Express has made quite a big deal out of that,” he said bitterly.

I held up my hands. “Wait a minute. I’ve told you. I’m not here to dig up dirt on her. Quite frankly, I don’t blame the other reporter for mentioning it, but it’s old news at this point. I just thought you’d like to help me discover who had something against her, or what she might share in common with whoever this Thalia may turn out to be. I’m just trying to find the link between Thanatos, Thalia, and Dr. Blaylock.”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Baker, the other reporter, wasn’t rude to me or anything. It’s just that afterward, I felt angry. I guess I was just upset about some of the coverage.”

“I can understand that,” I said gently. “It’s an upsetting time for you anyway.”

It was either the wrong thing to say or the wrong tone to use. He was better off a little angry. To keep him from getting all choked up on that teaspoon of sympathy, I said, “When I was in college, it seemed to me that professors who were very popular with students were distinctly unpopular with most other faculty members.”

He spread his fingers on the table top and pressed down on them. “Yes, there was some of that. But there has been for years.”

“Anyone in particular?”

He shook his head. “You should talk to other faculty members. It would be hard to find a faculty group in any academic institution that didn’t suffer some in-fighting. But I don’t know of anyone who was especially upset with E.J. She didn’t have any sworn enemies, if that’s what you mean.”

“Is anyone else on the history faculty very popular with students? Someone who is very cheerful all the time, perhaps?”

His brows knitted. “You think someone has a grudge against the history department?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

He relaxed his hands. “Well, let’s see. To be honest, I can’t think of anyone who would fit that description. They’re not a somber lot, but no one is a really happy-go-lucky type.”

“I’m trying to come up with someone who might fit Thalia. How about someone in another department on campus? Drama? Communications? Theater? Anyone else who’s very popular?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “I hate to admit this, but I’m not a very good person to ask about this. I’m a graduate student – all my classes are in history now. And the reason I’m a graduate student in history is because all my favorite classes as an undergraduate were in that department. I’m sorry.”

“What about this ex-husband? Was there a lot of bitterness? Or something that might have become important between them?”

He shook his head. “Highly doubtful. Like I said, I don’t even remember his last name. There was never any rancor in her voice when she spoke of him, which wasn’t often.”

I was stewing over this when a young woman strolled up to our table. The hem of her black leather skirt just made it past her skinny behind. She had long, straight blond hair and saucer-like brown eyes. Her cherry red lips formed a moue, and she cocked her head to one side in an affected way. On Sunset Boulevard, it could have earned her an hour’s work.

“Steven,” she said on a sigh that made it a much longer name. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at it like it was a leech, and she removed it.

“Hello, Lindsey,” he said then. She eyed me but he didn’t introduce us. She looked back at him.

“Are you okay, Steven? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’m doing fine, Lindsey. Thank you.”

She swayed her weight from high heel to high heel, then said, “Well, I’ve got to go. But I just wanted you to know I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to get any more out of him than that, she turned and walked away.

“See what I mean?” he said with exasperation. I nodded. He didn’t have to say anything more.

“Look, I’ve got a deadline to make, so I’d better scoot. I appreciate your meeting with me.” I gave him a business card. I added my home phone number, hoping he didn’t think that meant I was hitting on him, too. I paid up and we left.

Out on the sidewalk, he seemed to relax a little more.

“This is the first time I’ve felt like someone really wanted to know about her. The other – well, maybe it was just that I was so upset. I still can’t believe it happened. She didn’t deserve this. No matter what she may have done, she didn’t deserve this. No one does.”

“I agree. By the way – are you familiar with her research and writing?”