FIRE AND FOG (16 page)

Yes, I decided, that is what I must do for the present: I must
act as if nothing unusual has happened until I could figure out
what
did
happen. Why was Alice killed? Who killed her? Was
it the same person who left the dead animals on the porch? Would
this person who killed Alice now come back and kill me? Why, why,
why? And, as if all that weren't enough, what if I got the answers
to these questions-assuming I remained alive to do so-what was I to
do with them? Unless I found Alice's body I couldn't go to the
police. They wouldn't care, they wouldn't do anything.

"It would serve that Sergeant Franks right," I muttered, "if I
did get killed and he was the one to find my body. That would show
him!" Or perhaps he would only say it was the ultimate way of
calling attention to myself. Knowing him, that seemed highly
likely.

Such a train of thought wasn't getting me anywhere, nor had I
any desire to be a victim of any kind. In fact, the very idea made
me so livid that it galvanized me into action.

There was something I had not done, nor had I put it on my list:
I had not looked for Alice's body on these premises. The house had
closets and cupboards and chests, all big enough to hide the body
of a small person. I presumed it also had an attic and a basement,
though I had never seen either. Wasn't there also some sort of shed
in the backyard?

I looked in the closets and so on, which produced no results.
Then I went outside. The shed proved to be a gardening shed, with
tools lying about and old clay pots both broken and whole, and a
shelf with a collection of bottles containing such things as
fertilizer and rat poison. The only thing unusual about the shed
was that I had never seen a gardener here, just as I had never seen
a maid. I did find that strange, not to mention inconvenient; the
yard was becoming quite overgrown with patchy grass and weeds and
the occasional scraggly flower.

I went back into the house again, somewhat invigorated from my
brief sojourn in the fresh air. The attic was reached by one of
those trap doors that one pulls down to reveal a set of folding
stairs. From the difficulty I had in opening it, and the loud,
protesting creaks it made, I thought it unlikely that anyone had
been up to the attic recently. Still, I went up. The fusty odor was
overpowering, and dust was thick to the point of fuzziness on the
floor. I had a sneezing fit. There was no need to go farther; if
anyone had walked across the attic floor last night, they would
have left footprints in that dust, but there were none.

The basement took some time to find. Its entrance was back
outside, a small door hidden in the foundation plantings near the
far comer of the house. Inside it was damp and dark; I felt for a
light cord overhead, getting a handful of creepy cobwebs before I
remembered the electricity was still off. So I left the door open
wide to let in the daylight, but even then I could not see very
well. It was not so much a true basement as a glorified crawl
space, with a ceiling so low I had to stoop. There were pipes from
the plumbing overhead but that was all, no vast furnace such as we
had in the basement of my father's house in Boston. No coal bin;
Alice's cookstove and fireplaces were all wood-burning. The floor
was soft dirt.

I held my skirts up around my knees, as there were likely to be
all manner of horrid critters down here: bugs, spiders, and slimy
things, all of which are perversely attracted to long skirts. I did
not like this place. There was a nasty feel to it, and a smell
reminiscent of dead rat.

Oh dear. The odor was foul but faint, almost certainly from some
sort of animal-but I supposed a dead anything had to be
investigated at this point. I went back into the house for a candle
and returned to the basement for a closer look. If her murderers
had buried Alice down here, it would have to be in a hastily dug
grave.

Hunched over, I examined every foot of the dirt floor. No
question, it had not been dug up. Nor did I find a dead rat, or any
dead animal-that was a little odd, but I did not dwell on it. These
cramped, unpleasant quarters were getting to me; with a mixture of
relief and disappointment I hunched my way out of there.

No sooner had I gone back into the house than I heard a sharp
rap on the front door. I opened it to a man in a fireman's uniform,
with his hat tucked under his arm. "Fire inspection," he said. I
could have kissed him.

"The owner, Mrs. Lasley, is not at home," said I, a considerable
understatement, "but I am her friend and temporary tenant."

"All I gotta do is make sure the place is safe for when they
turn the electricity back on in this block. The lady of the house
doesn't have to be here, long as you let me in."

"By all means, please do come in." He did, and after some
prowling around he pronounced the premises in acceptable condition.
I could have kissed him twice, especially when he told me that I
could use the wood stove in the kitchen right away and that
electrical service would be connected before the end of the
day.

Light, blessed light! When twilight fell I turned the lights on
all over the house, except in Alice's room, where it didn't seem
right somehow. Then I turned them off again in all but my own
quarters and the downstairs hall.

I am not particularly good with wood-burning cook-stoves, having
had a gas ring at Mrs. O'Leary's and a cook who dealt with the
stove in Boston, but I was determined to make my own coffee in the
morning, so I tackled the thing. I had quite a merry time of it,
especially when one piece of wood proved to have bugs that flew out
irately around the kitchen. I opened the back door and shooed at
them until they all got the idea and flew away. While I was doing
that, the fire in the stove settled down to burn steadily without
my help. I was glad I'd taken the time earlier to go to the market.
I cooked my own meal for the first time in ages, and it was as good
as any feast. For a little while, I even forgot about Alice.

When I finished my meal I checked on the stove, remembering
something about banking the fire. I did not really know how to do
that, but I could figure it out. However, the fire was still
burning too merrily; I should have to come back to it later. I
admit the sight of the flames, even in their small, enclosed space,
made me uneasy. I wondered if for all the rest of my life I'd be
afraid of fire.

I continued to sit in the kitchen, where it was warm and cozy.
There was a great deal to be done, but I found it hard to move. I'd
had a full day following the fireman's departure, with no time to
work at the things on my list. The cabby who'd taken me to the
police station showed up to be paid. Customers kept me busy typing
until midafternoon, and then I'd gone out to do the shopping. On
foot, it had been much more of a chore than if I'd had the Maxwell.
It was really very irritating how I kept missing that
automobile.

Down the hall, the clock struck eight. The house sounded hollow.
I got heavily to my feet and walked through the rooms, checking to
be sure all the doors and windows were locked, though I doubted it
mattered. They'd been locked yesterday too, yet the murderers had
got in. Perhaps it was not unreasonable to think they would not
come here two nights in a row. Perhaps, even, they had done all
they intended to do here and would never return. Dared I hope?
Probably not. I sighed.

I was so tired, near exhaustion. I knew my brain would not work
well enough for me to do the kind of thorough search needed in
order to find out how they'd got into the house. I also knew it
would be foolish to take no precautions at all. Dragging myself
from room to room, I scattered crockery and pots and pans on the
floor in front of all the downstairs windows. If marauders climbed
through, they'd make a racket that would either frighten them away
or at least alert me so that I could protect myself. I tried to
push and pull the Monstrosity in front of the front door to block
it, but I couldn't budge the thing and had to settle for the
heaviest parlor chair instead. I shoved the kitchen table up
against the back door, and while I was in the kitchen, I checked
the stove again. The fire inside was glowing nicely. I raked some
ashes up over it and hoped I'd banked it properly.

Then I trudged up the stairs to the bathroom. Alice's door stood
open, like a reproach. I felt a tidal wave of guilt engulf me as I
closed that door upon her empty room. All my life I have thought
guilt a waste of time and energy, but I could not escape it now. I
was
guilty. I had contributed to Alice's death, if only by
ignoring her when I should have paid attention. I could have
pressed her harder to tell me the truth about the husband, the
maid, the nightmares. About her exaggerated reaction to the dead
animals left on the steps.

There was always the possibility, which Alice herself had
raised, that the threats had been aimed at me, not at her; that
last night's intruders had been after something of mine, not hers,
and poor Alice had only got in the way. For the life of me, though,
I could not think of anything I'd done; since the conclusion of
certain rather harrowing events last year, I'd led a blameless
life. Then too, there was the fact that my rooms had not been
touched, only the study. And poor, pathetic Alice.

"I'm so sorry, Alice," I whispered, leaning my head against her
door, "so sorry." Too many times I'd said those words when she was
living. Now that she was dead they made a poor apology indeed.

There was hot water, another miracle. I had a bath, which I
enjoyed, though it did not wash away my guilt. I went all rosy back
to my room, intent on going early to bed. I was so tired that I
knew I would sleep, and I intended to get a fresh start on all my
problems in the morning.

I turned out the light in my office and paused to look out the
bay window. The street, bathed by its now working streetlights, was
still and quiet. Peaceful-I hoped it would stay that way.

I left my doors open in case I had to move quickly during the
night. I would keep my trusty weapon on the bed next to me as I
slept; with luck I would not need it. I reached around the side of
the bureau, where I kept the walking stick, but it was not there.
What? My heart skipped a beat; then I recalled that I had left it
in the study when I ran out to get the police.

The walking stick was not in the study, either. I searched for
it frantically but did not find it anywhere. The conclusion was
unavoidable: the murderers must have recognized my walking stick
for what it was, a weapon, and had taken it with them, just as they
took Alice.

So I was left without means to defend myself.

10.

Time and Tide Wait for No Man-or Woman

Necessity being the mother of invention, I slept with the
largest of the kitchen knives; and I was so tired that I slept
rather well. The next morning, as I was finishing breakfast, the
doorbell rang and startled me out of my wits. I had never heard it
before and had presumed it broken, but apparently it worked on a
now restored electrical connection.

None of my customers would arrive so early. I was tempted not to
answer it, even though I had already unblocked both the doors, but
curiosity overcame me. I opened the front door and there stood
Meiling.

"Meiling, what a delightful surprise!"

She bowed her dark, silken head. "Fremont. I am sorry to intrude
upon you at this hour, but once again I seek your help."

"Don't be silly, you are never an intrusion. Do come in." I took
her hand and drew her inside. "Will you join me in the kitchen? I
have coffee made, or if you like I can put on hot water for tea.
The fire inspector was here yesterday, so we can cook again, and we
also have electricity. It's quite wonderful." Too late I realized
there was no more "we."

"I would like to try your coffee," Meiling said with a small
smile. "I am most interested to adopt all American customs. In a
way, that is why I'm here."

"Coffee it shall be then." I filled my mug and got a cup for
Meiling, and we sat sipping companionably at the kitchen table.

Meiling made a face. "This coffee is an acquired taste."

I laughed. "If you would prefer to acquire it another day, I
really don't mind making you a cup of tea."

"No, thank you." She glanced out into the hallway. "The person
with whom you share this house, perhaps
she
will think I
intrude?"

I laughed again, though this time it was forced. "No, she will
not think that. Nor will she interrupt us, you may rely on it,
Meiling. Pray tell me whatever is on your mind."

"My honorable grandmother went to be with the ancestors last
night."

I placed my hand over hers. "I hope she died peacefully."
Unlike Alice.

Meiling smiled with a tear shimmering in the corner of each eye.
She wiped them away with the tips of her fingers. "If we all could
die so well, we would be fortunate. Day after day Grandmother slept
for longer and longer periods of time. Finally she just did not
wake up, she stopped breathing, and that was all."

"You know you have my deepest condolences."

Meiling inclined her head. "I do, and I thank you. Now I must
get on with my plan, though prematurely. The funeral rites for
Grandmother will take place the day after tomorrow. My not so
honorable cousin insists that our betrothal ceremony must be
performed tomorrow. I told him it is too soon, that he will
displease the spirits of the ancestors by doing this, but he only
laughed and said that my grandmother wished the betrothal and would
approve."

"What will you do?"

"I will disappear. I am not going back to the camp of the Lis,
Fremont. Though I loved my grandmother with all my heart, I cannot
be present at her funeral. I feel both sad and angry that this
cousin's wishes should take precedence over mine simply because he
is a man, but what can I do? If I go forth with the betrothal I
will never get away!"

Meiling's eyes met mine. Hers were blazing dark fire, like black
opals, and I expect mine were doing a paler version of the
same.

"I am in total sympathy," I said. I wanted to add, "How could
any woman not be?" for it was something I did not understand at
all. The source of my bond with Meiling was that, from the first
time I met her, something in her manner, something in her eyes had
told me we might be of different races but we were alike under the
skin. Most other women I knew would have believed that Meiling
should subject herself to the cousin, which I found abhorrent.

Meiling broke eye contact, took a quick breath, and continued.
"My preparations are incomplete, but I must move on nevertheless.
Only two days ago I found an intermediary whom I can trust to sell
the pearls. I had to be careful in my choice, which took precious
time."

"What will you do for money in the meanwhile? How will you live,
and where, Meiling?"

"I have a little money. I have brought it with me, just the
money, nothing else. I will go by train down the Peninsula to Palo
Alto and take rooms there until I hear from Stanford University,
which as you know is also in Palo Alto. If I am not accepted,
well"-she shrugged, an elegant gesture the way Meiling did it-"I
will deal with that when it happens. Today I need to buy clothes,
dresses and skirts and blouses such as you wear, Fremont. I hoped
you might advise me in the shopping?"

"I would enjoy that."

"We must transform me into a fashionable woman who only happens
to have a Chinese face. Such a transformation will be as good as
any disguise-or so I hope. I have even thought of changing my name,
but since my application to Stanford is in the name of Meiling Li,
I cannot."

"This is so exciting! You would have no way of knowing, but in a
way I changed my name too when I left Boston. Fremont is my middle
name. Until I came to San Francisco I was always called by my first
name, which is Caroline."

"Caroline?" Meiling raised her eyebrows. "I think you do not
seem much like a Caroline. Fremont is better."

"For me, at any rate," I said, and then for no good reason we
both burst out laughing.

When our laughter subsided I said, "If I may make a suggestion:
perhaps it would be best for you to wear one of my outfits on the
shopping trip. We will attract less notice together in the street.
Your trousers fit me, so my skirts should fit you. Although it does
seem a shame; as you are about to discover for yourself, your type
of clothing is far more comfortable than mine."

"That is most kind of you. I accept." Meiling inclined her head;
when she raised it, she had a troubled expression on her face. "But
I am undeserving. I have a confession to make, Fremont. If
Grandmother's death had not been- what is the word-imminent, I
would have confessed to you several days ago. You recall telling me
about the dead things that were left on your doorstep, and I said
it was a form of curse?"

I nodded.

"The next night after the one on which we found the pearls, I
came late and hid in the bushes outside this house, keeping watch.
I thought, to return the favor you did me in helping to find the
pearls, I might catch the person who was-how do you say-hara,
har-"

"Harassing?"

"Yes, harassing you. Unfortunately, either I had not hidden
myself well enough, or the evildoer has exceptionally sharp senses.
He approached, bent down with a burden on his back. But he stopped
in the street too far away for me to see his face. Fremont, it was
as if he sniffed the air and knew there was danger to him, for he
turned and ran. I ran in pursuit, but I was no match for this
person, even with his burden. In the next block he vanished as if
into thin air! I wanted to watch more nights, but that was when my
grandmother began to sleep around the clock. We all knew she could
die at any time, and I had to be there. So I failed you. Now we may
never know who tried to put a curse on this house. I am sorry."

"That explains," I ruminated, "why there were no more after the
dog."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There was a dead dog on the steps the morning after we found
the pearls. That night was the one you just told me of. You need
not be sorry, Meiling. You did do me a service after all, because
after that he did not come again, which was a great relief. I
suppose he must have thought we'd hired a guard, which made it too
great a risk for him to continue his nefarious activities. Unless .
. ."
Unless he did come back, with one of his cronies, and
killed Alice.

"Unless what?"

"Oh, nothing important. Come, now we must find you something to
wear. And then we're going shopping!"

In the evening I returned to Haight Street in a pensive mood. I
had spent the whole day with Meiling. It was a day I would never
forget, full of unexpected contrasts that troubled me.

For example, in Western clothes Meiling looked very striking. I
could not help noticing that she is much better built than I,
though we both give an overall impression of being tall and thin.
Meiling, however, has a fine pair of breasts whereas I am
lamentably flat-chested. The fashions of the day played up her
attributes, with an effect that both amazed and delighted her.
While I shared her pleasure in the "transformation," underneath I
felt sad. Why could the world not value her Chineseness? Why, in
order to succeed in this culture, should Meiling have to make
herself look like everybody else?

We ate an elegant luncheon in one of the better restaurants that
had recently reopened. It was the first time Meiling had ever eaten
in a restaurant that was not Chinese, using knife and fork rather
than chopsticks. She giggled and so did I and we had a high old
time, but again underneath I felt sad. The Meiling I had known for
a year and some months was disappearing before my very eyes; this
woman was someone else, Meiling-Yet-Not-Meiling.

She told me that she wanted to become a scientist. At Stanford
she would study geology, which is the science of planet earth, and
someday she hoped to teach at a university herself. She said other
women at Stanford were doing similar things, as it was a
progressive sort of institution. I was glad for her and a little
envious, because my alma mater, Wellesley, still called itself a
"seminary" in the prevailing manner of most women's colleges, and
did not encourage its graduates to have careers. Envying my friend
made me feel ashamed.

Then Meiling asked if I knew how she could get in touch with
Michael Archer. When she said his name, memories flashed
lightning-quick through my mind: Michael's long association with
the Li family, his love of exotic places, the hint of mystery about
him ... I looked across the table at Meiling in her Western
clothes, and I saw her, as it were, through Michael's eyes. She was
beautiful, she was exotic, when the pearls were sold she would be
rich, she was the same age as I, and she was asking about Michael.
I did not want to know why. Unreasoning jealousy, sharp as a knife,
ripped through me and I felt doubly ashamed. I told her that
Michael was supposed to be at the Presidio in Monterey. She should
be able to write to him there, but I could not be sure of anything
where Michael was concerned because I'd heard nothing from him
since he left San Francisco.

In the afternoon, Meiling and I shopped again, buying
accessories to go with the clothes and a trunk to put everything
in. Laden down, we piled into an open taxi and told the cabby to
take us to the train station. In the taxi Meiling became a bundle
of nerves, swiveling her head around and around until I told her
she would twist her new hat off if she didn't stop. Thereafter,
perversely, I caught her nerves and thought we were being followed.
Nothing came of it. We reached the station and startled the porter
by asking him to take the trunk into the ladies' lounge. There,
amid much hilarity, Meiling and I packed her new belongings into
the trunk.

Then we waited together until the train came, embraced, and said
goodbye. Meiling declared that this had been the most wonderful day
she'd ever spent. It
was
wonderful, but as I watched the
train chug out of the station, I felt again the overwhelming sorrow
that had been so often with me in the days immediately after the
earthquake. I had tried to shake it off on the long way home,
changing from streetcar to streetcar, and had only partially
succeeded.

So you may be sure that I was not in the least pleased to see a
tall, blond fellow dressed in an Army uniform sitting on the steps
of the house at the corner of Haight and Belvedere.

"Private Albright," I said tonelessly.

He leapt to his feet. "Miss Fremont Jones! I had almost given up
hope."

"I am surprised to see you here. I do not recall giving you my
address."

With a faint flush of embarrassment, he hung his head. "I, uh, I
followed you one day. I just had to know where you live. I hope you
don't mind."

I most certainly did mind! I wondered if he'd followed me more
than once, but I did not say so. Suddenly I no longer thought him
such a harmless young man. I asked, "Do you have a message for me,
is that it?"

"I thought, uh, maybe we could take in a show, or something.
Dinner! It's almost dinnertime, I could buy you dinner and we could
go somewhere . . . ?"

"I fear you will be missed at the Presidio."

"No, I won't, I'm off duty tonight, I mean today. All day and
tonight too." He was as eager as a puppy, and I was having none of
it.

"Private," I said, "you have a regrettable talent for coming up
with these ideas at times when I cannot possibly accept. If you
will excuse me, I've had a long day and I must get inside. My
housemate will be waiting." I did not want him to know that I was
alone here.