Spirits Unearthed

by Alice Duncan

  Squinting at me as he struggled out of his car—his left thigh still hurt him a good deal—he said, "We did no such thing."

  I'd been bent over him, ready to spew more venom, but his words brought me upright in a trice. Whatever a trice is.

  "You didn't?"

  "No, we didn't. I didn't. A couple of uniforms visited the bookstore and asked to speak with him some more down at the station so we could get a comprehensive statement from him."

  "You haven't already done that?"

  "We have his original statement. We wanted to ask him some more questions."

  "Why?"

  "Because we're conducting a murder investigation, for God's sake!"

  "Don't get snippy with me, Sam Rotondo! Why'd you have to haul him out of the bookstore in front of his customers?"

  "First of all, I didn't do anything at all to him. I wasn't there. Second, Grenville said he'd be happy to come with Doan and Underwood to the station."

  "If that's so, why was Marianne so upset? Honestly, Sam, she was a wreck."

  "I don't know. She's an emotional woman. How'd she even find out?"

  Good question. "I don't know."

  "Well then, stop yelling at my men and me for doing our jobs."

  "Nerts to that. She's been upset ever since her father's death was reported. What's so all-fired important that you had to haul George to the station during the day? Couldn't you have waited until the store closed? It's only open until six p.m., for crud's sake."

  "Dammit, I don't want to stand out here in the cold arguing with you about the Wagner case."

  "That's too darned bad, because I'm going to talk to you about it whether you want to talk to me or not. We have to do it here, because we can't talk in front of my parents and Vi, confound it! Did something new come to light that points the finger at George? And don't you dare try to cut me out of the investigation now. We're in this one together and have been from the first, don't forget."

  "How could I forget?" said Sam, sounding grouchy.

  Too bad. I was grouchy, too, and I'd also had to deal with Marianne. "Tell me what's going on, Sam, or I won't let you eat Vi's dinner tonight."

  "Criminy. At least let me sit on the porch, will you? My leg's killing me."

  "All right, but if you don't tell me everything, I'll kill you and save your leg the trouble."

  He didn't even crack a grin. Grunting, he sat on the top porch step and stabbed his cane into the hydrangea bed beside him. "We found a bloody baseball bat in the Grenvilles' potting shed."

  "You found a what? In where?"

  "You heard me."

  "But... don't you have to have a warrant or something in order to search other people's property?"

  "Yes."

  "How'd you get a warrant? Neither George nor Marianne looked guilty enough for a judge to sign a warrant. At least, not to me, they didn't. What happened?"

  "We got a call at the station telling us to look more closely at Mr. Grenville."

  "From whom?"

  With a shrug, Sam said, "It was what we call an anonymous tip."

  I huffed. "And it came from the murderer, I'd bet."

  "Possibly. I don't know." Another shrug from Sam.

  "An anonymous tip was reason enough for a warrant? I don't believe it."

  "Sorry to burst your bubble, but we got a warrant. And that's principally because of the anonymous tip."

  "That's crazy!"

  "Not entirely. Don't forget that my men have families, and members of their family work for rich folks all over Pasadena and Altadena. My men know more about the Grenvilles than you'd think."

  "Hmm. What else led to the judge signing a warrant?"

  Before answering me—he probably knew I'd hate whatever he aimed to say—Sam took in a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. "Judge Carpenter is a member of the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club. One of the guys who works at the club told him about the bloody bat."

  "How did he know about it?"

  "His brother works as gardener for the Grenvilles. He found the bat in the potting shed."

  "Someone must have planted it there. The real killer, I mean."

  "I hope you're right. All I know as of this minute is that my men found a bloody bat in the Grenvilles' potting shed, and they went to Grenville's Books to talk with Grenville about it."

  "That sounds like a mighty fishy story to me, Sam. I can't picture George Grenville playing baseball. When he was at school, he never played sports. He's always been more likely to visit a museum or go to the library for fun than play a ball game."

  "That may well be true. Anyway, it wasn't any fault of mine that the damned bloody bat was found on Grenville's property. Am I allowed into the house for dinner now?"

  "Well... I guess so."

  "Thanks heaps."

  "You're welcome. But Sam, I know George didn't kill that man, and I think you're putting an awful lot of weight on a so-called anonymous tip. I also think Judge Carpenter should have had more real evidence before he signed the stupid search warrant. Well, I guess there's the gardener, too."

  "Precisely," said Sam as he grabbed his cane from the hydrangea bed and whacked it against a porch step to get the mud off.

  Shoot. The gardener thing sounded bad, although I still didn't believe George Grenville would own or use a baseball bat on purpose. Heck, even in school, he was a member of the chess club and never participated in sports. "Still, I think you're jumping the gun."

  "I'm not jumping anything, and there's no gun involved in this one. It's a baseball bat."

  "Funny, Sam Rotondo. The police are over-reacting to something George Grenville never touched in his life."

  "Maybe we are. I had nothing to do with it, though."

  "Why not? I thought you were in charge of the case."

  "I am, but I wasn't at the station when the call came through. I had to keep an appointment with Doctor Benjamin this afternoon. Doan thought the tip and the baseball bat together were strong enough evidence for us to snoop some more in the Grenvilles' business, and Judge Carpenter agreed."

  "Hmph. I always sort of liked Doan, but today he sounds like an idiot."

  "We have to do our jobs, Daisy."

  "And why didn't you tell me you had an appointment with Doc Benjamin? I'm interested in your health, you know, Sam Rotondo."

  "I forgot," said Sam. I didn't believe him.

  "Hogwash. You're just worried your leg will never get better, and you wanted to spare me."

  "How is not telling you about a doctor's appointment sparing you?"

  Good question, darn it. "Well... I just think that when a man and woman are engaged to be married, they should share everything."

  "Right. That's why you always share information with me."

  "I do share!" Recalling the recent Bannister investigation and a couple of other little episodes in my past, I added, "For the most part. Sometimes I can't share because it's other people's business."

  "Of course." He struggled to his feet. I noticed his face appeared more ragged and rugged than usual. He'd clearly had a rough day.

  My sympathy stirred, I said, "Did Doc Benjamin give you bad news?"

  "Not really. Just the same old thing. It'll take time. And the wound will heal completely, but it may pain me forever, depending on the weather or the type of activity I'm doing."

  "I'm sorry, Sam."

  "Yeah. So am I."

  We entered the house together, and Spike finally got to display his affection for Sam.

  I felt crummy. Mainly because of Marianne and George, but also because of Sam. That ghastly woman who'd shot him in the thigh could have easily shot him through the heart. In fact, if I hadn't stuck a kitchen towel over the wound and held it there, he'd have bled to death. I shuddered.

  "Here," said Sam, putting his coat over my shoulder in the mistaken belief that I was cold.

  "Thanks." I didn't clue him in.

  Chapter 22

  That night's dinner which, for me, was a repeat
of that day's lunch, was delicious. The only difference was that Vi served a roasted chicken after we ate the creamy spinach soup.

  My mood was a little grim as I washed the dinner dishes and put them away. I was terribly worried about George and Marianne Grenville. But I didn't have a single, solitary idea how to go about proving George's innocence.

  The discovery of that bloody bat was disturbing. For all that George Grenville was apt to read all day and all night and never play a game of ball, he might have kept a baseball bat someone had given him as a gift or something.

  Piffle.

  Nevertheless, when the time came, I bundled up in my hat, coat and gloves, and walked out to say farewell to my family and Sam. Sometimes Sam went to choir practice with me and just sat in one of the front pews in the sanctuary and listened. I wished he'd join the choir because he had a magnificent bass voice, but I'd have to pester him about that later. After all, he grew up in the Roman Catholic Church, so we Methodists were quite a step for him, although he didn't seem to mind joining us at our church services. His nephew had been horrified that Sam would actually step foot into a church that wasn't Catholic. I think Frank's attitude endeared us Methodists to Sam, actually. Frank wasn't a nice guy, and he'd been a sore burden for Sam to bear.

  Anyhow, Sam said he had paperwork to do that evening, so I drove alone to the church, which was just up the street on the corner of Marengo and Colorado. My mood wasn't chipper.

  As soon as I set foot in the choir room, Lucy Zollinger cornered me.

  "Oh, Daisy! Did you hear about that awful Doctor Wagner? Somebody murdered him!"

  "Yes, I know."

  "Oh." Lucy sounded disappointed.

  "That's only because Detective Rotondo and I found the body," I said to make her feel better. I mean, if you have a choice bit of gossip, it's a let-down when the person you're gossiping to already knows about the piece of gossip. Did that make any sense? Oh, never mind.

  "Good Lord, you did? I swear, Daisy," said Lucy, squinting at me oddly, "you trip over dead bodies every time you turn around, don't you?"

  "No!" Blast and heck! Was I really getting a reputation for finding corpses? "Sam and I just happened to be in the cemetery that morning and Spike—you know, my dog—brought us a shoe with a foot stuck in it."

  Lucy stepped back and gazed at me with horror. Guess I should have softened the truth slightly. Fiddlesticks. I seemed to be having no luck at all communicating with people that day.

  "Well, I didn't mean it precisely that way. I mean, yes, Sam and I went to the cemetery, but that was because I wanted to... to..." Phooey. What I'd wanted to do sounded idiotic now. "Because we wanted to visit the graves of our respective spouses—I told you Sam's a widower, didn't I?"

  "Yes, I vaguely remember that. The poor man."

  The poor man? How about poor me? I'd lost my beloved spouse, too. But I didn't feel like stirring up trouble.

  Therefore, when I resumed speaking, I only said, "We took Spike along, and he found the body. I didn't."

  "Still..." Lucy didn't appear mollified.

  "Anyhow, it's not my fault. Shoot, Lucy, you and I were in church together when that horrible Mr. Underhill was murdered. So you might as well say that you keep finding dead bodies."

  "Not as often as you do," she declared stoutly.

  Piffle. "Let's talk about something else, all right?"

  "Yes, all right. Murder is too grim a topic for church. Oh, but Daisy, I'm so excited about Christmas! It will be Albert's and my first Christmas together!" Lucy had wed Mr. Albert Zollinger several months prior and they seemed to adore each other, which I thought was sweet.

  "That's nice, Lucy. I'm so glad you and Mr. Zollinger found each other."

  That was true, if only partially. After the Great War, there were no longer enough young men alive to wed all the young women wanting husbands. When Lucy and her Albert began seeing each other, I'd felt sort of bad that Lucy had to settle for a man so much older than she. Nevertheless, I'd never seen Lucy happier than during the past year, so I was probably only being hateful for thinking she'd settled for someone less than she deserved. On the other hand, Lucy herself was no beauty queen. Tall, lean and kind of rabbity, she might not have been able to attract a young man even if the late war hadn't killed off most of them.

  Good Lord, what an obnoxious, judgmental person I can be without half trying, huh? I apologize—especially to Lucy and her Albert. Sometimes I wonder why God allowed me to sully His sanctuary. Melancholy thought. I mentally slapped myself hard and shoved all evil-minded judgments aside, where they occupied only a tiny amount of brain space. I hoped they'd stay there.

  "How are you going to handle the families? Spend Christmas Eve with one and Christmas day with the other?"

  Lucy's smile turned upside down. "Poor Albert has no family left, so we'll be celebrating both days at my parents' house. If I can learn how to cook well enough, I hope we can host a Christmas Eve party next year. That would be such fun! But I don't think you've seen our new house, have you?"

  "You have a new house? That's wonderful, Lucy!"

  "We just bought it. Albert is so good with finances, you know. We'll be moved in by Easter."

  "Where is it? I'll have to write down the address, and you can show me through it one of these days."

  "Absolutely! You're one of the very first people I want to see it. After my parents, of course."

  "Of course. What's the address?"

  "Fifteen-eleven North Holliston Avenue. Oh, Daisy, I just love the house. It's one of those sort-of Spanish-style homes, and it has four bedrooms."

  "Wow. Do you aim to fill all those bedrooms with children?"

  Lucy blushed scarlet. "I hope we will have children one day, but not quite yet."

  "I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't mean to pry into your business."

  "That's all right. Both Albert and I would rather settle in and get comfy in the house together before we try for children."

  "Makes perfect sense to me." Which, for one of the few times that day, was the truth.

  Lucy went on, "We've been living in Albert's apartment at the Castle Green, you know."

  "I know. I love the Castle Green. It's a lovely place. I performed a séance there once."

  Shaking her head, Lucy giggled and said, "You and your séances."

  I heaved a little sigh and said, "It's a living."

  "I know." She placed a hand on my shoulder and gazed at me sorrowfully. "You've been through so much, Daisy. I honestly don't know how you've managed to do all the things you do."

  I was beginning to wonder the same thing, only I don't think Lucy and I shared opinions. Lucy probably meant how I'd lost my husband and had to work for a living. I wondered how I'd managed to turn into a miserable, lying old hag. Well, not old. The hag part certainly seemed to fit that evening, though.

  "The Castle Green is beautiful, but I'm glad we'll have our own house now!"

  "That's a nice address, Lucy, on Holliston. It's a pretty street."

  " Yes, it is. But, well..." Lucy laughed. "I hate to say this, but Albert and I generally dine at the Castle Green, so I don't have to cook. But I'll be happy to have a home all to ourselves. I'm praying it won't take me long to learn to cook a lot better than I can now."

  "Oh, yes. I know the feeling well," said I, recalling my many dismal failures in the kitchen of our bungalow.

  "I've picked up several cookbooks at Grenville's Books," Lucy said happily.

  "How nice. I love Grenville's Books, too." I only hoped it would remain open and a viable business after the Wagner case had been solved.

  "It's my favorite bookstore," said Lucy.

  Before I could add my praise to Lucy's regarding George Grenville's bookstore, a loud voice from the sanctuary said, "Ladies and gentlemen."

  The voice belonged to Mr. Floy Hostetter, our choir director. He'd been itchy lately, what with getting the choir all tuned up for Advent and Christmas and so forth. This coming Sunday, the first Sunday be
fore Christmas, we were doing a mix of Advent and Christmas hymns. I love Christmas carols. So many composers have contributed wonderful music to the season.

  On the coming Sunday, Mr. Hostetter had chosen as our anthem "Savior of the Nations, Come," which is, according to him, a hymn sung primarily in Lutheran Churches. That's probably because Martin Luther translated it from the Latin. Then a fellow named Reynolds translated it into English. At any rate, the song had a very... I don't know what you'd call it... Medieval tone to it? Not that I know beans about Medieval music, but this particular Advent hymn sounded really old to me.

  I'm probably wrong.

  Anyhow, the choir had been struggling a bit with it, so I'd known before I'd arrived that Mr. Hostetter would want us to go over it several times. Having been summoned, Lucy and I, and all the other stragglers in the choir room hied ourselves out to the chancel.

  "Everyone, please take your seats," said Mr. Hostetter, frowning.

  Without whispering or even making moving noises, we took our seats. All of us choir members appreciated Mr. Hostetter, but he could get a teensy bit crabby at times. He particularly didn't approve of chatter during choir practice. The fact that his frown was most often directed to Lucy and me, who sat in the front row together, led me to believe he didn't aim on taking any guff from us that evening. And for good reason. Occasionally—very occasionally, mind you—Lucy and I would whisper to each other during choir practice.

  "Take out 'Savior of the Nations, Come,'" directed Mr. Hostetter.

  We dutiful choir members did as bidden. Mr. Hostetter nodded to Mrs. Fleming, our organist, she began the introduction to the hymn, and we all joined in where we were supposed to join in. Boy, this was the first time that had happened! The last few times we'd rehearsed the hymn, it had been definitely ragged, which I thought served Mr. Hostetter right for selecting a Lutheran hymn. Not that I have anything against Lutherans, you understand; it's just that the hymn felt weird on our Methodist tonsils.

  Fortunately, on Christmas Eve we'd sing "Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus," which fit on my tongue much better than "Savior." That's probably because the words to "Long Expected" were written by Charles Wesley, one of Methodism's founders. Of course, on Christmas Eve, we'd sing "Silent Night," too. This is probably blasphemous, but I don't care for "Silent Night." I think it's boring.