The Enemy at Home

Nora plugged in the iron and then took a few T-shirts off the basement clothesline. She’d let the laundry pile up this week. Before washing anything, she had to make room on the two clotheslines that stretched across the basement. The heavy-duty cord was still moving as Nora set aside the clothespins. The shadows of the remaining garments danced on the dingy gray walls.

Nora usually didn’t mind being down in the gloomy unfinished basement, except when she was alone in the house—like now.

The basement was one big room—including Pete’s work area with a workbench and cabinets, and her laundry nook with the big electric washer and the ironing board. Nora had tried to cheer up the space by tacking travel posters to the wall above the laundry sinks—all those places she’d probably never visit.

But the large room still seemed sinister—what with the storage closet and a couple of shadowy nooks that seemed like perfect hiding spots for a would-be intruder. A huge octopus furnace with its many ducts and a water heater occupied one corner of the room, right by the coal window. The place was cluttered with junk—including Jane’s childhood dollhouse, a stack of old shutters and some yard equipment that Jane was itching to donate to a scrap drive.

Nora was touching up one of the T-shirts with the iron when she heard a creaking above her. She glanced up at the ceiling and the cobweb-draped pipes. Just the house settling, she told herself. Though it was the middle of the day, Nora had locked the front and back doors before she’d gone down to the basement. She wasn’t usually that cautious, but there was nothing usual about someone strangling female riveters in their homes.

She touched up the second T-shirt. Then she pulled one of Jane’s school uniform blouses off the line, sprinkled some water on it and went to work with the iron. She did her best to ignore the shadows swaying on the wall again.

This morning, Chris had helped her post the APARTMENT FOR RENT sign at the end of the driveway. Nora had included their phone number on the placard. With the lack of traffic on their street, she didn’t expect to hear from anyone until an ad ran in tomorrow’s Seattle Times.

Chris had forgotten he had to do “volunteer work” today at a scrap repurposing center in South Seattle, part of a school project “to ruin my Saturday,” according to Chris. So this morning, at the last minute, she’d had to drive him to the industrial district. At least Chris would be bussed back to the school, and he could walk home from there. He would be back in time for dinner, he’d said.

As for Jane, she’d returned from her slumber party, ate lunch and then asked to be driven to her friend Doris’s house. She’d call when she needed to be picked up—probably sometime before dinner. Nora, for her part, didn’t have a clue what she was cooking for dinner tonight.

It was a typical Saturday—chauffeuring the kids around, cooking meals and ironing. How did everything go back to normal so quickly after Ray’s death?

Early last week, she’d reserved a plot in Lakeview Cemetery. She’d figured Ray was better off buried here than in Chicago beside their mom and dad. With him in Seattle, at least she and the kids could visit his grave. The plot was there, waiting for him—once the Department of the Navy decided to send Ray’s remains. She hadn’t received his personal effects yet either.

Nora heard another noise, and this time, she set down the iron. It seemed to come from somewhere near the front of the house.

The doorbell rang.

She almost jumped out of her skin. She turned off the iron and unplugged it. Then she hurried up the stairs. In the front hallway, she stopped dead. She wasn’t expecting anyone. All she could think about was another telegram—this time regarding Pete.

The bell rang again.

Catching her breath, she headed for the door and moved aside the blackout curtain to glance out the window. The stranger outside wore a dark gray suit. He was handsome and looked a couple of years younger than her. Through the glass, he gave her a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m here about the sign out in front!” he called.

Nora nodded, but hesitated. He was still a stranger. And there was still a murderer on the loose in Seattle, seemingly targeting female war workers. Not only that, she suddenly remembered all the landladies The Gorilla Man had strangled years and years ago. He’d worked his way into their homes by pretending that he wanted to rent a room.

She took a deep breath. “Chris!” she called, turning toward the stairs for a moment. “You and Ray are going to be late for football practice if you don’t shake a leg!”

Nora unlocked the door and opened it. “Sorry to keep you,” she said, working up a smile. “I was in the basement, and I thought my son was going to answer the door. Typical teenager, he’s with his buddy upstairs and they can’t be bothered. . .”

She wondered if he could see through her ruse about her son being home.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Is the apartment still available?”

He had a nice smile, and his manner was charming. He reminded her of William Holden, the young actor from Golden Boy and Our Town. But she was reminded of something else, what Roger had said about Loretta Bryant’s killer: “He must have been a good-looking guy, a real smooth talker . . .”

“Ma’am? You haven’t rented out the apartment yet, have you?”

Nora quickly shook her head. “No, it’s still available.”

“Is it the apartment over the garage?”

“Yes, but I was hoping to rent it to a married couple,” Nora said, keeping her stance in the doorway. What she’d said was true. She wasn’t just trying to get rid of him. She’d thought a married couple would be quiet, stable and dependable. A single man might be coming and going at all hours and inviting friends over.

“Well, I’m married,” he said. With a shrug, he chuckled and held out his right hand to shake hers. “I’m sorry, I was so excited to see the sign, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name’s Joe Strauss.”

Nora shook his hand. “Nora Kinney.”

He leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. I have a hearing problem in my left ear, a perforated eardrum from an accident I had as a kid. It’s kept me out of the service.”

“I’m Nora Kinney,” she said, a bit louder.

He glanced at the blue star flag in the front window. “Is that for your husband, Mrs. Kinney?”

She nodded. “Yes, he’s in the Army Medical Corps, stationed overseas.” Nora stole a glance at his left hand. She didn’t see a wedding ring, but she knew that not all married men wore them. “You said you’re married?” she asked.

He nodded. “Going on a year and a half now. My wife and I are from just outside Albany, Oregon. We got a nice offer on our little house and decided we’d had enough of the country. We’ve been staying with friends in Ballard for the last few weeks, and it’s getting kind of old. Would it be possible for me to look at the apartment now? Do you have time?”

Nora hesitated but then finally nodded. “Let me get the keys,” she said. “Excuse me.” She gently closed the door and called out again: “Boys, you need to get a move on!”

As she dug the spare key out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, Nora told herself that if she was this nervous about strangers coming to the door, she’d have a hell of a hard time of it tomorrow—after the ad ran. And this Joe Strauss seemed perfectly nice.

Still, when she took him up to the garage apartment, she left the apartment door open—and immediately went to the living room window and opened it wide. That way, if she screamed, maybe a neighbor would hear her.

But Joe seemed more interested in the apartment than in her. He kept saying that his wife would love it. He seemed to appreciate the furnishings, the view of the ravine and the quiet neighborhood. He thought the forty-five dollars a month was more than reasonable. He explained that he was a commercial artist, and he’d probably be home working most days: “So . . . if you happen to be out during the day, I’d probably be around to sign for packages, keep an eye on the house or whatever.”

Nora told him about her job at Boeing. He asked if she had any other kids besides her teenage son. And he asked about Pete—what kind of medicine he practiced and how long he’d been away. He showed just enough interest that he came across as polite instead of prying.

“I think I should tell you,” Nora said. “The previous tenants here were a very nice Japanese-American couple. They’ve been relocated. But once in a while, the place gets vandalized—someone breaks a window or paints something nasty on the door. About three weeks ago, my brother chased away some teenagers who were up to no good. We haven’t had any problems since then. But I feel it only fair to warn you.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty, thank you,” Joe said. “And I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that. But it doesn’t change my mind about the apartment. I still love it.”

“Good,” Nora said. She figured, since he was a little over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he’d easily scare away any potential vandals.

“So does your brother live here, too, Mrs. Kinney?”

She’d just mentioned him, and yet the question still took her by surprise. Like so many of her crying jags lately, the reality of Ray being dead snuck up on her again. Nora felt a tiny ache in her throat. “No, he—ah . . . he was killed. He was in the navy . . .”

Joe shook his head. “Oh, God, Mrs. Kinney, I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, a quiver in her voice.

“And he was just here visiting you three weeks ago?”

Nora told herself she wasn’t going to cry. “There was an accident at his base in San Diego. It happened last week . . .” She couldn’t help it, she started crying—in front of this stranger. “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” she managed to say, covering her face. Her nose started running.

He pulled a handkerchief from his suit-jacket pocket and handed it to her.

“This is so embarrassing.” Nora wiped her tears with his handkerchief and then tried to hand it back to him.

He gave her a sympathetic smile and shook his head. “You can keep it. Go ahead and blow your nose. I know exactly how you feel. I lost my kid brother not too long ago. He was in the navy, too. He got it in Guadalcanal.”

Nora blew her nose. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.

“Thanks,” Joe said. “It was tough. He was my only sibling and our parents are dead, so . . .” He shrugged.

Nodding, Nora wiped her tears again. “That’s exactly how it was with Ray and me.”

He gave her a sad smile. “I guess we’re members of the same club.”

Nora looked at the handkerchief in her hand. She tried to laugh. “Well, one of my first duties as your new landlady will be to launder this and give it back to you.”

“My new landlady? Really? Do you mean it?”

She nodded again.

He smiled. “That’s terrific. Thank you, Mrs. Kinney. How soon could I move in?”

“Don’t you think your wife should look at the apartment first?”

He seemed stumped for a moment. “Um, of course. Will you be around later this afternoon? I could come back with Veronica in an hour or so—if it’s convenient for you. I know she’s going to love the place.”

Nora told him that she’d be home, ironing. She promised not to rent the apartment to anyone else in the meantime.

When Joe returned with Veronica ninety minutes later, Nora was thrown for a loop. Looking at the two of them on her front porch, Nora wondered, What does he see in her? Joe came off as polished and smooth in his gray suit, so handsome and kind. He’d won her over in record time. But his wife wore a clingy garish blue dress that made her seem kind of cheap. She looked older, wore too much makeup, and her hair was an unnatural shade of red. She must have done something wrong with a henna rinse, because the color was sort of a murky maroon.

Veronica seemed painfully shy during the introductions, but as they headed toward the garage apartment, she started going on and on about Miko’s gardenwork. “I just adore flowers,” she said. “So many colors! You have a beautiful yard—and the house, too, real elegant.”

After that, as they went through the apartment, Veronica said the kitchen was elegant, and the view was elegant. Everything was elegant.

Actually, it was kind of endearing. But Nora couldn’t imagine becoming friends with this woman the way she’d been friends with Miko. Joe was the main reason she was willing to rent to them. As a couple, they seemed woefully mismatched.

Joe gave her two references, and Nora wasted no time calling them after he and Veronica drove off in their LaSalle. The Ballard couple, Dante and Pattie Bellini, were longtime friends of Joe and said he and Veronica were ideal houseguests. The wife, Pattie, described Veronica as “sweet,” but she said it in such a way that Nora got the impression she was groping for something nice to say. The other reference was Joe’s friend and representative with an artists’ agency in San Francisco. Along with two months’ rent in advance, Joe promised to reimburse her for the long-distance call to the man’s home. Nora had a bit of trouble pronouncing his last name correctly: Ken Hotopp. But Ken sang Joe’s praises. He said Joe was a successful commercial artist, going on nine years now. “You know that cute ad for Baby Ruth—with the kid and his kite and the dog?” Ken asked. “The kite’s in the tree, and the kid’s got the kite string in one hand and the candy bar in the other? And he’s smiling? Joe illustrated that. It was a national campaign.”

Nora remembered seeing the ad in a recent issue of Life or Look. In fact, she was pretty certain she still had the magazine.

When she phoned the Bellini residence again, Joe had just returned, and Pattie Bellini put him on the line. Nora told him that he and Veronica could move in whenever they wanted.

“Veronica’s at the grocery store right now,” Joe said. “But she’ll be thrilled when I tell her the news. We’ll see you tomorrow around noon—if that’s okay. Would that be convenient for you, Mrs. Kinney?”

“That would be fine,” she replied. “And I really wish you’d call me Nora.”

After she hung up the phone, Nora didn’t go back to her ironing in the basement.

Instead, she went into the family room and started paging through the old issues of Life and Look that were in the magazine rack. She was searching for Joe’s Baby Ruth ad. It took nearly a half hour to find it—in a month-old issue of Life with Stalin on the cover. The cute, homespun, colorful illustration was lifelike and exceptional in its detail—like something Norman Rockwell might create.

Nora sat there on the family room floor and studied it. She was in awe of how talented Joe was—on top of everything else. She noticed his initials in the corner of the picture and touched the letters with her fingertips.

“What are you doing?” she whispered to herself.

With Pete gone for nine months, Nora had almost gotten used to the loneliness. Now, she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. In a weak moment, she’d felt a connection with this stranger. Based on that—and his smooth good looks—she’d rented out the garage apartment to him and his wife. And she didn’t even like the wife.

Shaking her head, Nora closed the magazine.

“What are you doing?” she rebuked herself again.