Tales Told: An Anthology By James Francis Gray

By James Francis Gray

Mysteries, romance, futuristic tales, comedy, teen angst and part memoir where the names have been changed to protect the . . . well, you be the judge.

Reminisce the wild teens and travel back in time to the era of black-and-white Saturday cinema, and tales of the awkwardness of growing up. Filled with sweet reminiscences and the funny awkward moments between friends, Tales Told brings you back to when relationships were simpler, and the hilarity of innocence was everywhere.

James Francis Gray, author of Kali Is Your Code Name and Gumshoe, is back with his witty humor and wry observation. Filled with the hijinx of adolescence, the awkwardness of first loves, and the sweetness of fond childhood memories. Come back to 1950s Massachusetts.

You've already come to know the romp of Kali, and the sleuthing John Peterman, Esquire, of Gumshoe. Here, in his first anthology, we see a bit more of the personal side of James Francis Gray in stories that are sure to bring back fond memories of the local neighborhood. Enjoy reliving classic movies, the warmth of family and friendship, and trying to get to know the girl next door, as James shares a bit of his more personal side.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483560663

Book preview

Stevens

PREFACE

I’ve always loved film noir. They were full of the stern ladies. In her day, Constance Ford was the epitome of the uptight broad. She was an ideal actress for the part, especially in the film noir of the times.

Lynn, Massachusetts, an East Coast beach city, was close to the size of Ventura, on the California Central Coast. A great getaway was taking the drive to New Hampshire, and driving to White Lake, just 100 miles from Lynn. Also in the Highlands area of Lynn was High Rock Tower, from the top of which you could see the Boston skyline 15 miles off on the horizon.

Growing up lower middle class, life and entertainment were much simpler. It would be the 1950s before a phone and TV would finally arrive at our house. We often would go out to see movies. Going to Boston was a real treat, especially spending time in Scollay Square. I can remember never having gone to a restaurant until my teen years.

I do remember becoming acquainted with John Steinbeck’s son who used to live near us. I met him on occasion in 1964 when I lived in an apartment complex in Los Angeles. Overall, there was little that happened in Lynn that was really bad, illegal, or unpleasant.

This anthology started as an experiment in writing class. I had first started writing stories longhand in the 60s. Sometimes I’d write a story idea, or perhaps get tired of working with one and then put the story aside. At the time, there was no preconcieved notion of how the stories would go. I’d write stories, and share five or six pages at a time with my writing group in Camarillo. Over the course of doing this for a year, the first major novel character, Kali, began to take shape.

As with the simpler way of life of Lynn in the 60s, the characters you’ll meet here are drawn from the friends, families, and acquaintances from there. There’s Tallulah, loosely based in part on my older sister who, while perhaps a bit naïve at times, had a photographic memory that served her in working with the Los Angeles Unified School District most of her career as a teacher. And also Tank, based on my grandson, built like a tower, but with a kind and gentle heart.

ALICIA JENKINS IS MISSING

Mary Ellen Kelly and Freddie LeBeau sat together on a bench in the waiting area of the Rampart Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. You’d think they would take this more seriously, Freddie, Mary Ellen said.

They seem pretty busy.

Hi, I’m Detective Avery, Jane said, walking up to them and offering her hand, Please follow me.

The young couple followed Avery into an interrogation room, where they were joined a few seconds later by another detective. They all took seats.

Now, what can we do for you? Avery asked.

We’re not sure, Mary Ellen said. Our friend Alicia Jenkins is missing and we can’t find her.

Detective Carl Brooks, Avery’s partner, stood and paced the floor, How long has she been missing?

The last time I saw her was after work last night around 6:30 and she didn’t show up today, Mary Ellen said.

You work together … where? Avery interjected.

Yes, at WorldKo Savings on Alvarado.

What was her mood? Brooks asked.

She was in a rush to get her car, said the garage closes at seven. I guess she was okay, she seemed very quiet all day Friday, Mary Ellen said.

Usually in these circumstances a person surfaces within twenty-four hours. What makes you so sure she’s missing? Brooks asked.

Alicia is prompt and never misses work. Besides, we were supposed to leave for Vegas this afternoon.

You called her? Avery asked.

Yes, Mary Ellen said, I called her cell and her boyfriend’s cell too. His name is Richard Cross, lives at 400 South Westlake Avenue, third floor, not sure what the apartment number is.

And? Avery asked.

Both phones were out of order or something. Mary Ellen said. Freddie and me went over there after I got off work today when we couldn’t get hold of them.

So? Brooks asked.

No one answered the door, Mary Ellen said, her voice quivering. Her car was not in her parking space behind the building, but Richard’s Mustang was there, so we figured, at least, that he was home.

Avery, Brooks said, We’d better check this out?

Wait, Avery said, Do you think something bad has happened?

Mary Ellen began to cry and Freddie, trembling, tried to comfort her and said, They have been friends since elementary school, they talk every day.

It’s not right, he did something to her. I just know it, Mary Ellen managed to say between sobs.

Why do you think that? Avery asked.

More often than not, Freddie said, his voice shaking, he treats her with disrespect—

And? Brooks interjected.

He bosses her around, makes all of her decisions. He’s a bully, Mary Ellen said.

Yeah, we wanted to spend the weekend on the beach in Oxnard, but he insisted on Vegas, Freddie said, and it’s hotter than forty Hells in Vegas in the summer.

Did you notify her parents? Brooks asked.

I called her mother in Fresno about ten this morning, Mary Ellen said.

The mother hadn’t heard from her? Avery asked.

No, so I called her back after we went over to their apartment. Mrs. Jenkins, Alicia’s mother, told us to report her missing. She’s on her way down—should arrive soon. Mary Ellen said, wiping away her tears.

OK, we’ll check out Richard Cross. So in the meantime, you guys go home and if you hear anything, call me, Avery said, handing Freddie her card.

Oh, I have this, Mary Ellen said, handing Detective Avery a snapshot of the four young adults.

Thank you, Avery said.

That’s Alicia on the right, next to Richard, Mary Ellen said.

Detective Jane Avery sat across from Richard Cross, who was weeping, and said, Just start from the beginning, tell us where Alicia is, okay?

I told you. His words were slurred and he used his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. I don’t know where she is.

How much have you had to drink today? Avery asked.

Not much.

It’ll be easier on you, if you tell the truth. She placed her hand on his arm.

Brooks entered the apartment through the open door. Next door neighbors don’t have anything to add, he said with a sigh.

Look at me, Richard, Avery said, we’ll be taking you down to the station now.

I’m not going, he said. I know my rights!

It’s a formality, Richard, Brooks said.

Am I under arrest?

We’re bringing you in for questioning, Avery said, since you won’t answer any here.

Wait! Richard said. I think she left me. She didn’t come home last night. We’d been fighting lately.

So you got rid of her? Brooks asked.

No, I would never do anything to hurt her, he sobbed. I love her, she’s everything to me. We were supposed to go away today.

We’ll go the station now, Avery said.

But … I told you— he began.

You didn’t tell us everything, Brooks interjected.

When was the last time you saw her? Avery asked.

Friday morning, she was leaving early for work. Said she was dropping her car off at the garage on the corner for an oil change, Richard gulped.

And? Brooks said.

I said that I’d see her after work, but she just stormed out, pissed because we had been arguing.

What were you arguing about? Avery asked.

Everything. Her junky car, the trip to Vegas, the messy apartment that she thinks I should help clean. I mean, I pay the fuckin’ rent, least she could do is vacuum some! he shouted, pounding the coffee table with his fist.

Hey, young fella, lighten up, we’re not your enemies, Brooks said.

Jane, Carl said, while Cross cools his heals, let’s check the facts.

Right on, Sergeant Joe Friday! Jane laughed.

Very funny—look, we have the last person to see her, the mechanic, at approximately 6:45 on Friday evening.

So, we’ll check out their alibis—LeBeau, Cross and the girl, what’s her name? Jane asked.

Mary Ellen. How could you forget?

What about her car? she asked, ignoring his question.

Got the info from the mechanic, so I’ll get the word out on it. Now all we have to do is locate Miss Jenkins, Carl said.

OK, I want to ask Cross a couple of questions as soon as he sobers up, Jane said.

Richard, Avery spoke in a soft voice, we have a few more questions.

When can I get out of here? Richard asked.

Answer our questions and it’ll be soon, Brooks added.

Where do you usually park your Mustang? Avery asked.

I rent a garage next door.

The address, Brooks said.

I don’t know, but it’s behind the old house to the south of my apartment, can see it from my upstairs bedroom window.

Is it locked? Avery asked.

Yes.

The key, Brooks said.

It’s on the ring with my car keys.

And the ring? Avery asked.

I don’t know, I couldn’t find my keys this morning, Richard said.

I have a bad feeling, Avery said on their way back to Westlake Avenue.

Women’s intuition? Brooks chuckled.

She smiled at him. Yes.

They found the run-down Victorian home next to the square cement block building that was 400 South Westlake Avenue, parked and approached the front door. The porch steps squeaked as they climbed the stairs. Brooks rapped on the door, waited; then an elderly gentleman opened the door.

Yes? he said.

Police, Avery said, showing her badge.

What can I do for you? the man asked.

We’re investigating a missing person—

Nobody missing here, the old man said.

May we see the garage that Richard Cross rents from you? Brooks asked.

Mr. Cross is missing? the man asked.

No, his girlfriend is, Brooks said.

The man turned and called back in to the house, Hattie.

A woman’s voice hollered back, What?

Police, want to look in the garages, the man called back.

Okay, she yelled in return.

Right this way, he said, closing the front door and leading them down the stairs. Faster this way, he added, walking up the driveway.

The garages, three in all, old wooden structures that had seen better days, were lined up at the rear of the property.

That’s Richard’s, the man said, pointing to the center garage.

Please wait here, Brooks said, as the detectives pulled on their rubber gloves. They approached the garage with caution. Brooks checked the latch, and found it open. Looking down, she saw a padlock on the ground near the door. It was open, and a set of keys lay beside it.

Brooks opened the double doors, revealing a tan Nissan. The car matched the description of Alicia’s. Is there a light in the garage? he asked the elderly man.

The switch is on the left, inside the door, the man said.

Brooks flipped the switch. A single low-wattage bulb lit the interior and, with the late afternoon sun, it was well illuminated. Avery took the right side of the vehicle and peeked into the front seat window. She gasped and stepped back.

Brooks came up on the driver’s side and peered through the window.

You’d better call it in, Brooks said. It looks like it’s going to be another long day.

Hello, Avery said, juggling her cell phone. Mary Ellen?

Yes.

It’s detective Jane Avery, can you meet us at the station?

Did you find her? Mary Ellen asked.

We’ll talk at police headquarters, Avery said, Did Mrs. Jenkins arrive?

She called me a few minutes ago. She’s been in an accident up on the Grapevine.

Is she okay?

Just a fender-bender, but she can’t drive ‘til it’s fixed, so she’s staying overnight, Mary Ellen said, her voice shaking.

We’ll see the two of you right away, we have more questions, Avery commanded.

All right, Mary Ellen said.

Carl, Mrs. Jenkins was—

Jane, I heard every word. You should turn your phone volume down.

Yeah, sure.

You know you shouldn’t use a cell phone when you’re driving, Carl joked.

Gonna arrest me?

I should.

You know, the worst part about this sordid affair will be telling the mother about her daughter’s death, Jane said.

I know, so it’ll be you to break the bad news, right? Carl said.

Thanks a lot, Jane said.

She’ll take it much easier from a woman than from a big black man like me, Carl said.

Playing the race card on me again, Carl?

It works for me, he chuckled.

The good news is, we can put off telling Mrs. Jenkins ‘til tomorrow and, if we’re lucky, we’ll have this solved by then, Jane said.

Right, he said.

Yeah, she said, I’d like to be soaking in a hot bath with a glass of wine, but no, I’m going to play good cop and try to—

Good cop, bad cop, you’ve been watching reruns of Cagney and, what’s her name, Lately? Carl laughed.

You know me well, Jane laughed with him.

I could be washing your back and pouring the wine, then after the soak, we could retire to the bedroom and ravage each other’s bodies, Carl said.

In your wildest dreams, partner, Jane said.

We’d be good together, he said.

Good, as in a sexual harassment suit, she joked.

He gave her a sideways leer. I should be suing you for being so sexy.

Jane brushed her long locks aside and gave him a slight smile. Sexual banter is not appropriate during a rape investigation, Brooks.

What was I thinking?

You weren’t, big man, Avery admonished.

They arrived at the station and parked.