Fritz Leiber - Horrible Imaginings

“You stayed awake?”

“No, I dozed. Her scream awakened me. I started to get up, but then I remembered it was just part of the act. I lay there and after awhile I heard Mr. Groener coming back from the kitchen.”

“Had you heard him go?”

“No, that must have been while I dozed.”

“Did you hear the door to the dining room open or close? It’s just outside your bedroom.”

“I don’t believe so. No, I didn’t. It must have been standing open.”

“Do you sleep with your bedroom door open or closed?”

“Ope—” Miss Graves frowned. “That’s strange. I thought I left it open, but it was closed when the scream woke me up.”

The Lieutenant looked at her sharply. “Then are you quite sure it was Mr. Groener you heard coming back from the kitchen?”

“Certainly. I couldn’t be mistaken. He always made a lot of noise, even in slippers.”

The Lieutenant grunted. “And when did you finally get up?”

“When Mr. Groener came rushing into the hall and knocked on Mrs. Labelle’s door and told her to call the police.”

The Lieutenant stood up. “There’s one more thing I’ve got to ask you,” he said quietly. “Are you Mr. Groener’s mistress—or were you once?”

“No, never,” she said. “Oh, Mr. Groener was an attractive man, but she spoiled him for everyone.”

“But now that she’s no longer here…” The Lieutenant left that question hanging in the air and so did Mrs. Graves, though it seemed to start something working in her that almost had the look of hope. “That’s all then,” he told her. “Thank you. Ask Cohan to send in Mrs. Labelle.”

When they were alone, Detective Zocky said, “Hey, I’ll bet you got the same idea as me. There was no trigger for this suicide. But what if Groener had been having his coffee in Miss Grave’s bedroom, and his old lady knew it or slipped out and caught them. That’d make a wow of a trigger.”

“I take it Miss Graves is a dike no longer,” the Lieutenant said. “Ambidextrous at least.”

“Hell, that was just descriptive. I’d say Groener and this dame are practically the same type.”

“Yes, they’re both tall, good-looking people with gray hair,” the Lieutenant observed drily. “Bound to start making violent love to each other every chance they get.”

“Well, what the hell, it was a perfect set-up for them,” Zocky persisted. “The wife passed out and Mrs. Labelle the tolerant type, no doubt. I know this Groener puts on the pious reformed-alky act, but most ex-boozers his age do that. Why, my father-in-law—” He stopped talking as the dining room door opened and high heels clicked in the hall.

Mrs. Labelle was quite as sylph-bodied as Miss Graves but she dressed it in thinner silk—crimson. Under the coiled and gleaming blonde hair her face looked much younger. Its expression was teen-age, in fact, avid and pert. But there were more tiny wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and mouth than there had been around those of Miss Graves.

“Do I sit there?” she asked, pointing at the brightly lit chair under the bridge lamp before the Lieutenant could. She took it, tucking her feet under her and carefully drawing down her skirt after giving him a flash of high leg.

“This is quite an event for me,” Mrs. Labelle announced. “I’ve always been fascinated by police work. You must find out so many strange things about how people behave in funny situations.”

“Right now I’m just looking for a few everyday facts,” the Lieutenant said. “How did the Groeners happen to be staying here?”

“They’d lost their apartment without warning. I always feel very sympathetic toward them, because Mr. Labelle is an alcoholic too. We’re getting divorced. He lives at a hotel. Perhaps you can tell me what makes alcoholics tick, officer. They’re beyond me. I always told Mrs. Groener that if she’d just control her drinking—not stop altogether and get gloomy like her husband—but just take enough to feel bright and happy and relaxed—”

“Miss Graves now,” the Lieutenant interrupted. “How did she happen to be here?”

“I invited her. I thought the Groeners ought to have all their old friends around them.”

“And perhaps you were interested in seeing how people behave in funny situations,” the Lieutenant said. “For instance, Mrs. Groener thinking her husband’s mistress was sleeping in the same apartment.”

Mrs. Labelle giggled. “Oh that,” she said scornfully. “Mr. Groener chased every pretty woman in a lazy secret sort of way, but if he’d ever caught one he’d have scurried right back to his wife. I think she kept throwing it up to him just to keep him in line. I’m quite a psychologist—”

“Okay,” the Lieutenant said. “Now about tonight. Did you hear the Groeners quarreling after you went to bed?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. Mrs. Groener just let off steam for awhile as any woman will. I listened. It didn’t make much sense in her case. But it was interesting.”

“And when they quieted down you went to sleep?”

“Oh my no!” Mrs. Labelle gave a little wriggle and flirted her coiled blonde hair. “I had too many exciting things to think about.”

“Good! I want you to tell me exactly what you heard in the way of footsteps and other noises. It’s important you get them in the right order. Mrs. Groener quieted down. Suppose you start from there.”

Mrs. Labelle leaned forward, hugging her elbows, and briefly closed her eyes in happy concentration. “First a long time passed. It must have been an hour or more because I’d almost run out of things to think about and was wondering if I shouldn’t take a sleeping pill. Mrs. Groener’s windchimes were beginning to get on my nerves, though I’d hardly heard them at first. Then I heard Mr. Groener go clumping down the hall.

“I called to him, because I had some hints to give him about how to handle Mrs. Groener. But my door was closed and he didn’t hear me. Then I heard his footsteps stop for a moment and a door close. A moment later I heard him going on to the kitchen.”

“Are you sure about that?” the Lieutenant asked “Mightn’t he have been going into Miss Grave’s bedroom? Think hard, please, before you answer.”

Mrs. Labelle laughed. “Not a chance in the world. He’s scared of her. You know why? Because she’s actually been in love with him her whole life and too stuck-up to do anything about it. That’s why she never married. He wouldn’t have gone into her bedroom even if she’d begged him to. Anyhow, I know he must have gone on to the kitchen, because right away I heard him banging around out there making coffee. Men! After awhile it got quiet and then Mrs. Groener screamed.”

Mrs. Labelle shivered and momentarily closed her eyes. “It was a pretty dreadful scream, even for her, and just a little later there was a thud, as if she’d fallen out of bed. Only it wasn’t quite the same. If my window hadn’t been closed, I’d have probably heard the difference better and been the one to discover her. Just suppose I’d looked out and seen her perching on the sill ten feet away! That would have been a psychological challenge! As it was, I almost did get up though I knew her tricks. But when I waited, half-expecting to hear something else, there wasn’t a sound. Except the windchimes, of course.”

“Think carefully, Mrs. Labelle,” the Lieutenant said. “Wasn’t there some other sound then? Didn’t Miss Graves get up? Or didn’t Mr. Groener at least start back from the kitchen or make some kind of noise?”

“No, officer, it was all quiet as death—oh, I didn’t mean to say that, but it was. Mr. Groener stayed in the kitchen a long time—long enough for two or three cups of coffee, I’d say. I thought about a sleeping pill again and finally I took one and about then Mr. Groener came clumping back. I might have called to him, but I’d just taken the pill. Right after that he came charging out of the bedroom and pounded on my door and told me Mrs. Groener had jumped and to call the police. That’s all.” Mrs. Labelle buried her head in her arms and let out a large sigh.