The Enemy at Home

“Ye gods, Nora, Fran—I almost forgot to tell you . . .” Connie set down her drink. She’d had a few cocktails before dinner and was a bit tipsy. She looked at Nora at the end of the table and then at Fran, seated across from her. She nudged her date, Roger Tallant, on her right. “Roger has a good friend on the police force—in the homicide division . . .”

Neatly dressed in a tan suit and a bow tie, Roger, an engineer at Boeing, had thick, wavy black hair. Nora figured he was about thirty and that he’d probably once been the cute boy-next-door type, but now was a bit past his peak. He’d brought Nora flowers, and from what she’d seen so far, he seemed like a nice guy.

“Roger has all the latest on the murder,” Connie went on excitedly. “You know, the girl who was strangled . . .”

“What murder?” piped up Jane, seated on Connie’s left.

“Oops,” Fran said, cracking a smile.

Wide-eyed, Connie turned to Nora again. “Don’t your kids know about it? Oh, God, did I say the wrong thing?”

Nora caught Chris squinting at her as if baffled. Seated between Fran and his uncle at the other end of the table, he shifted in his chair.

Nora gave Connie an offhand shrug. “It’s okay. I didn’t mention it to anyone because I didn’t really know the poor woman—”

“What poor woman?” Jane pressed. “What happened? Who was strangled?”

“Should I tell?” Connie asked Nora. “Or would you rather I just drop it?”

“Well, after this buildup, you can’t leave us hanging,” Ray said over his highball glass. “Please, one of you has to spill your guts about this. Who got murdered?”

Nora worked up a smile for Connie and finally nodded. “Go ahead. You can tell them.” Then she shot Jane a look. “But if you get nightmares tonight, don’t blame me.”

“I won’t,” Jane promised. She turned to Connie. “What happened?”

“Well, this girl from Arkansas who worked with her sister in the wing assembly section, her name was Loretta Bryant . . .”

Connie seemed to relish holding court as she explained who Loretta was, though she admitted to knowing her only slightly.

Nora sat back and observed her dinner guests—to make sure everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. She’d made chicken fricassee, which was relatively easy to throw together. Looking at the empty plates around the table, Nora assumed everyone was happy with the meal. Ray had bought the liquor, set up the bar and kept the refreshments flowing. Connie was the only one who had obviously imbibed too much, and even then, she wasn’t a sloppy drunk. She was just having a good time.

The only glitch in the evening—so far—had happened right before Fran DeLuca and her son had arrived. Jane had discovered that the flusher to the powder room toilet wasn’t working. The rod connected to the chain had broken. They were able to take the lid off the tank and flush the toilet manually. But for the party, they kept the powder room door closed and sent everyone upstairs to use the bathroom. Nobody seemed to mind. Nora told herself, if that was the worst thing to happen at the dinner party, then she’d be lucky.

For Nora, it was a novelty to see her work friends “all dolled up.” Wearing dresses, and with their bandanas off and hair coiffed, Fran and Connie said they almost didn’t recognize each other.

The kids were on their best behavior, and Ray hadn’t offended anyone—yet. In fact, he was very charming and funny. From the way Connie laughed at all his jokes and flirted a bit, she seemed quite taken with him. Her date, Roger, didn’t seem to mind. He laughed at all of Ray’s wisecracks, too.

The only guest not having fun was Fran’s son, Marty, who sat at Nora’s left—and beside his mother. He was shy and awkwardly self-conscious. And who could blame him? Fran had told Nora this would be his first social gathering since his release from the navy hospital. Marty was a good-looking, baby-faced Italian boy with curly black hair, a chiseled jawline and a cleft in his chin—but then there was the ugly pink scar around his left eye. And his artificial eye was so obviously glass—and cheap-looking—that it seemed to desecrate his face.

Nora had assured Fran ahead of time that Marty shouldn’t feel ill at ease about his eye. This was a doctor’s house. She and the kids had seen all sorts of scars, cuts and injuries. Whenever there was an accident in the neighborhood, they could count on a visit from the victim. Nora had gotten used to cleaning up the blood.

And just in case Chris and Jane had forgotten how to act around someone with an obvious injury, she’d reminded them: “Don’t make a big deal of it, okay?”

When Fran and Marty had first arrived, bringing along the apple pie Fran had made for dessert, Nora had mentioned to them that Connie and her date hadn’t shown up yet.

“Well, I’ll keep an eye out for them!” Marty said, and then he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I don’t mean that literally!”

Everyone had laughed—although with a trace of uneasiness. But the joke had broken the ice, and Nora had figured it would be smooth sailing after that.

But she was wrong.

Marty had tried to talk with Chris about the University of Washington Huskies upcoming football season, which was like talking physics with a cocker spaniel. Chris’s lack of interest in sports made it a strained, one-sided conversation—until Chris finally told Marty: “I’m really sorry, but I don’t follow college football much . . .”

After that, Marty seemed to quit trying. He clammed up, and no one could really bring him out again. Nora hoped she and his mom were the only ones to notice. He smiled his polite smile—and quietly answered all questions in a sentence or two. He ate his dinner and complimented Nora on her cooking. But she could tell he didn’t want to be there. Or maybe he just wanted to be invisible.

He seemed temporarily content while Connie had everyone’s attention—and no one was looking at him.

“I’m not saying they were a couple of floozies,” Connie pointed out. “It’s just that the sisters were fresh off the farm and living it up now that they were out on their own. Anyway, like I say, the older sister, Jo Ellen, she’d brought this sailor home, and they discovered her sister dead . . . strangled. So, the police think maybe Loretta had brought someone home, too. I should let Roger explain. His friend, Phil, is the one who’s a detective with the homicide division. He said the killer didn’t have to break in. There was no sign of a . . . a pressured door . . .”

“Forced entry,” Roger corrected her.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you tell it,” Connie said.

“Well, the police figured it was about an hour between the time Loretta left her sister in the bar and when Jo Ellen found her dead in the apartment’s upstairs bedroom at twelve forty-five,” Roger explained. “They’re pretty certain Loretta met her killer on her way home from the bar. Either he offered her a lift or volunteered to walk her home. A neighbor heard her chatting and laughing with someone by the front door around a quarter to twelve. So . . . the killer was either someone Loretta knew or had just met that night. Anyway, there was no forced entry. She’d willingly let him inside the apartment.”

“She had to know him from before,” Jane said. “Who would bring a total stranger into their house?”

“Well, he’d probably made her feel safe while he’d driven or walked her home, and then he managed to talk his way inside,” Roger said. “The sister, Jo Ellen, said she’d let the sailor who had walked her home come in for a cup of coffee.”

“A couple of floozies,” Fran remarked.

“Or just very trusting,” Nora offered.

Roger nodded. “We think he must have been a good-looking guy, a real smooth talker. He charmed her and put her at ease—”

“Sounds like our bartender tonight!” Connie said, flirtatiously smiling at Ray. “I’m not sure I feel very safe. Where were you a week ago tonight? Do you have an alibi?”

Ray smirked at her. “I was laid up in a naval hospital in San Diego. I still have a couple of bedsores to prove it. You’re welcome to check—”

“Ray, do you mind?” Nora cut in. “Some of us are still eating.” She turned to Roger. “You were saying that the killer must have used his charm to put her at ease.”

Roger nodded. “The neighbor didn’t hear any screams. The police are pretty sure he snuck up and surprised Loretta while she was changing her clothes in the bedroom.”

“They think the guy might be like a Jekyll and Hyde character,” Connie said.

“That’s just Phil’s theory,” Roger said.

“Phil said it’s possible the killer might not even remember strangling her,” Connie went on. “One minute, he’s a perfect gentleman, and the next he’s a raving lunatic.” She shuddered. “It gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. I mean, what if the guy works alongside one of us at the plant? How would we know? He could be—”

A loud pop of glass shattering interrupted her.

Startled, Nora turned to see that Marty had dropped his water glass. It had broken against his dinner plate. Shaking uncontrollably, he sat hunched over the table. Shards of glass rested on the soaked tablecloth. “I-I’m so sorry,” he gasped, grimacing at Nora.

She put a hand on his shoulder. She could feel him trembling. Heat radiated through his shirt. “Oh, Marty, please, it’s okay,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about it . . .”

“I’m sorry, everybody!” he announced, a tremor in his voice. His one good eye welled with tears. He couldn’t stop shaking.

Across the table from him, Roger immediately stood up.

“He gets these spells,” Fran said, her hand on Marty’s other shoulder. “The doctors at the navy hospital said they’ll go away eventually . . .”

Roger came up behind Marty and pulled at his chair. “Hey, c’mon, buddy, let’s go outside and grab a smoke.” He pulled out the chair, helped Marty to his feet and started to lead him toward the front door. Marty was still shuddering and seemed to lean against the other man as they stepped outside together.

“I’m so sorry,” Fran murmured. “Nora, your beautiful tablecloth, and the glass . . .”

Nora carefully picked up the pieces of broken glass and set them on Marty’s plate. “Oh, please, Fran. The water won’t leave a stain, and the glasses were cheap.” She got to her feet. “I just hope Marty’s going to be okay.”

“It’s some form of battle fatigue,” Fran explained. “He gets these shaking spells. They just sneak up on him . . .”

“I don’t know if Nora told you,” Ray piped up. “But I was in an accident and ended up in the naval hospital in San Diego for nearly a month, and I saw some guys with the same condition, guys who’d come back from combat with injuries. In the first war, the Brits called it shell shock. In the air corps they say the guy is flak-happy. But in the navy, I don’t think they have a name for it.”

“If we just leave him alone for a little while, I think he’ll be okay,” Fran said. “The idea that people are watching him when it happens, that’s the worst part for him.” She looked across the table at Connie. “Thank God for Roger. He was so quick to react. He’s a real sweetheart. You hang on to him, honey.”

Nora could see both Chris and Jane were a bit unnerved by what had just happened—and all the murder talk preceding it hadn’t done much good either. “Jane, could you help me clear off the table?” She got to her feet. “Everyone else, stay put. We have ice cream and Fran’s apple pie coming up for dessert.”

Picking up Marty’s plate, Nora stole a glance toward the front door, which was open. She saw Marty and Roger sitting and smoking on the front stoop. Maybe it was the distance, but it looked like Marty had stopped shaking. Roger was patting him on the back and whispering to him.

“The apple pie is better heated,” Fran said. She turned to Jane. “Honey, don’t get up. Let me help your mom . . .”

Once Nora and Fran had collected the dishes and silverware, Fran slipped the apple pie in the oven. Then she put on an apron with a daisy pattern. “This apron is awfully cute,” she remarked as she moved over to the sink. She turned on the water.

“Fran, you’re not going to wash the dishes,” Nora protested, reaching in front of her and turning off the water. “It’s enough that you made dessert. You’re supposed to be my guest tonight.”

Fran turned the water back on. “I have to do something or I’ll go crazy,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. Grabbing a plate, she held it under the water and started to clean it with a dishrag. “Did I tell you how it happened, how he lost the eye?”

Standing next to her, Nora stacked the dinner plates. She shook her head.

“He was on a destroyer in the Solomon Islands,” Fran said. “Martin and some friends were having coffee in the break room. He’d just given up a sofa seat to a fellow crew member when a shell hit. Marty was grazed with shrapnel, and the other sailor—the one who’d just sat down in Marty’s spot—he was killed.” She stopped scrubbing the plate for a moment. “He and Marty were friends. The last thing Marty saw with his two eyes was his friend getting blown apart.”

Taking a deep breath, Fran rinsed off the plate and set it in the drying rack. “Anyway, I want to thank you for having us tonight. I know we aren’t exactly a perky pair, but I’m really glad he got out of the house. In a weird way, I’m even glad he had one of his episodes in front of everyone. Now he knows it’s not the end of the world if somebody sees. He’s so afraid people will think he’s a coward.”

“Nobody was thinking that tonight,” Nora said.

Fran shrugged helplessly. “He hardly leaves the house at all—except late at night. Then he goes out driving, God knows where. He won’t say. That scares me because of the blackout. It’s not so easy to see things after dark. And, of course, he can’t make out distances. Plus, he’s using up all our gas ration points.” Standing over the sink, she seemed to work up a smile for Nora. “Anyway, honey, I hope we didn’t foul up your party. But I’m sure glad to be here. Thank you.”

* * *

“Perfect timing!” Fran declared.

She and Nora had just finished passing out dessert when Marty and Roger returned to the table. Nora had replaced Marty’s water glass.

Fran’s son wouldn’t look at anyone. He took his seat next to Nora and picked up his fork. His hand still had a slight tremor. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he muttered to everyone.

“Listen, Marty, don’t worry about it,” Nora said.

“Yeah, c’mon, it’s no big deal,” Ray chimed in.

Marty turned toward Nora but wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Sorry that I broke one of your glasses.”

“Hey, I’ve broken at least five from this set,” Chris announced, holding up his water glass. “So you’ve got a ways to go before you can catch up with me. I’m still the champ.”

“Yeah, champion klutz,” Jane said.

Everyone laughed.

Nora patted Marty’s arm, and he seemed to work up a smile. Then Connie started talking about work. Marty didn’t say anything after that.

Just fifteen minutes later, once they’d finished dessert, Marty whispered to his mother. Then Fran announced that it was time for her and Marty to head home: “I don’t want to even think about work tomorrow. And four fifteen seems to roll around faster on Monday mornings.”

Connie and Roger stuck around for only a few minutes once Fran and her son had left.

At the front door, Nora shook Roger’s hand. “You saved the party tonight,” she said. “I’m very grateful. So was Fran; she said so. The way you helped Marty, you were so kind and considerate. You knew just what to do.”

“Well, thanks,” Roger said. “They release these guys from the hospital or from the service, and the poor guys aren’t really healed yet—at least, not in their minds. I think—”

“You know, I’m going up and powder my nose before we head out,” Connie interrupted. She’d had “one more for the road” after dinner and was now pretty drunk. She’d just been upstairs to get her coat off the bed in the master bedroom. “Nora, could you come up with me?”

Nora turned to Roger, who just smiled patiently and nodded.

“Excuse me, Roger,” she said.

Connie teetered slightly as they headed upstairs together. In the hallway, she hooked her arm around Nora’s, and they turned into the bedroom. “I really don’t have to use the bathroom,” she whispered. “I just wanted to ask if you think your brother might want to go out with me.”

Nora was thrown for a loop. “Well, Connie, he’s only here until Thursday. Then he’s going back to his unit in San Diego, and they ship out after that. What about Roger? He’s such a sweet man. I thought you and he—”

“Yes, yes, yes, he’s nice and sweet and handsome. But I’m not his type. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’m giving up on him.” She let out a sigh. “You know, I have a brother in Walla Walla. If I want to be treated like somebody’s sister, I’ll move to Walla Walla.” She let out another sigh and then nudged Nora. “Meanwhile, speaking of brothers, yours is cute, funny, and I get the distinct impression he’s interested in me—and not as a sister-type pal. Would you put in a good word for me—and give Ray my number? I really like him, Nora.”

Nora hesitated. “Well, I’m not sure it’s such a great match, Connie. Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to see Ray with a girl like you. He’s my brother, and I love him. But he’s kind of irresponsible and reckless. I’m just afraid he’d cause you some trouble . . .”

“Trouble I could use right about now,” Connie said. “I’m so tired of Roger respecting me. It’s been months and months and months since I’ve actually been with a man. And I like your brother. I’m not looking to marry the guy. I just need some male company. Are you shocked?”

“No, I understand completely,” Nora said, with a glance over at the double bed. She knew exactly what Connie was talking about. “I-I’ll talk to Ray tonight, feel him out and see if he’s interested. Then I’ll let you know at work tomorrow.”

Connie gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much!”

Nora couldn’t help feeling strange about what Connie wanted her to do. This wasn’t quite matchmaking. Nora knew the word for her role in this kind of setup, and it wasn’t used in polite society.

After saying goodbye to Connie and Roger, she kept wondering why the two of them didn’t click romantically. She mentioned it to Ray: “I don’t understand. They seem so right together, and Roger’s a terrific guy . . .”

“He’s a Section Eight,” Ray said.

He was disassembling the makeshift bar he’d set up on the kitchen counter. Nora was drying off the last of the pots and pans. She could hear the radio in the family room. Chris and Jane had finished their homework, so she’d let them listen to the Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy Show.

“What’s Section Eight?” Nora asked, pausing in her work for a moment.

“It’s the military status for mental cases and homosexuals,” Ray answered, putting the bottles of liquor away in the cabinet. “And he’s not a mental case. So you do the math.”

“Oh, come on . . .” Nora shook her head.

“Hey, I could tell the guy was queer the minute we met. The way he looked at me—and Chris even. Then he was all over that poor guy with the shakes. I caught a glimpse of them outside on the front stoop. I thought he was going to end up kissing him.”

“Oh, you are so wrong,” Nora argued. “He was being considerate—”

“You’re just naïve,” Ray said, brushing past her as he emptied an ashtray in the garbage. “I’ve been around, Nor. Guys like him are on the make for me all the time. No big deal. Comes with the territory when you’re good-looking. But I know whereof I speak. And he’s a homo.”

“Good Lord, you’re so conceited,” Nora said, drying a saucepan. “You think everyone’s interested in you.”

“Your friend, Connie, certainly was. And her ‘boyfriend’ couldn’t have cared less.”

“Could you please get over yourself? I mean, try it for just twenty-four hours.”

He laughed. “He and your friend, Connie . . . I could see there’s nothing going on between them. Ask her. She’ll tell you that he’s been ‘a perfect gentleman.’ I’d make book on it.”

Nora put the saucepan away. What Ray said made sense in light of what Connie had told her earlier. He was probably right. But she’d be damned if she’d tell him and give him the satisfaction.

She was equally reluctant about fixing him up with Connie. She’d wait until work tomorrow and talk to Connie when she was sober. If her friend still wanted to get together with Ray, then Nora wouldn’t stand in their way.

She started drying another pan. “Anyway—Roger’s an engineer at the plant. He’s got an essential war job. He’s not a Section Eight.”

“Fine, but he’s still queer either way,” Ray said. He put the lid back on the cocktail cherries and took the jar to the refrigerator. “Not that I care. To each his own, y’know? It’s just, you asked me what I thought, and I told you.”

Closing the refrigerator door, Ray turned to her and rubbed his hands together. “Listen, Nor, I know you have work in the morning and need to hit the sheets early. But for me, the night’s still young. Do you think I could borrow the Packard and see what Seattle has to offer after dark?”

* * *

Nora woke up to the sound of the car pulling into the driveway.

Ray was returning from his exploits. Nora had been wary about letting him take the Packard to go out carousing. But she didn’t want him stuck in that garage apartment with nothing to do.

She rolled over and squinted at her alarm clock: 2:10. Nora remembered thanking the kids for being so much help with the dinner party, and then she’d gone to bed before them. She’d fallen asleep around ten fifteen.

Now she thought she heard murmuring—and a high-pitched giggle.

Staggering out of bed, Nora threw on her robe and headed out to the hallway. She padded down the corridor to the window. Moving aside the blackout curtains, she peered out toward the backyard. The Packard was parked in the driveway.

A light was on in the living room window of the garage apartment. Ray hadn’t closed the blackout curtains. Typical, Nora thought.

Hunched close to the window, Nora watched as a petite blonde teetered toward the sofa. She threw off her coat and started unbuttoning her blouse. Ray staggered in after her. He already had his shirt off. He must have taken it off in the stairway.

“Oh, God,” Nora groaned. It dawned on her that Chris had a perfect, unobstructed view of the garage from his bedroom window. If he was up, he could see all this. She glanced toward his closed bedroom door. She didn’t see a strip of light at the threshold. But that really didn’t mean anything. He’d keep the lights off so that he couldn’t be seen watching from his window.

Across the way, the blonde took off her brassiere and playfully flung it in Ray’s face. Naked from the waist up, she stood in front of him and waved her arms above her head. Nora could hear the muffled laughter.

The woman plopped onto the sofa. Ray came toward her. He started to unzip his pants.

Nora stepped back from the window and pulled the curtain back in place.

Part of her was outraged and disgusted. Another part of her was jealous that her brother was having a good time. Okay, but did he have to do it with the curtains open? And did he have to do it with some drunken stranger? God only knew what he might end up catching from that floozie—or what she’d catch from him.

As she wandered back toward her bedroom, Nora muttered to herself, “He’s leaving on Thursday. Just four more days . . .”