by Alice Duncan
"It's worse in Europe."
"So I understand."
"And, if you came from a family like mine, you might be a trifle more skittish about men than you are, what with your wonderful family. Most of the men in my family, except my father and his brother, are brutes. As you well know."
"Yes. I do know that, and I'm sorry. But there are a few good men still standing. Just look at Robert Browning."
She didn't need any encouragement from me. When I glanced up from stacking the books I'd dropped when that woman screamed, I saw her gazing soulfully at Robert and Sam.
Naturally, my mind began churning over the possibility of getting Miss Petrie and Robert Browning together. Both my father and Sam would probably have said that wasn't a good thing. Come to think of it, Billy probably would have said so, too.
Phooey on all of them.
Chapter 3
As we waited to be released from the locked library, Miss Petrie and I chatted about not much of anything for several minutes. I finally, after all these years, asked her what her first name was.
"I think of you as a friend," said I, meaning it sincerely.
"Thank you. I think of you as a friend, too."
"Well, since we're friends, why don't we call each other by our first names? You know mine is Daisy because sometimes you call me Daisy."
She sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so informal with members of the public."
"Good grief, why not? Is it a rule or something?"
"It's not precisely a rule, but I do feel it to be taking a liberty with a library patron to call him or her by his or her first name."
"Nuts to that. It's not a liberty. We've known each other for years and years. You've helped my family and me through terrible times, and I always come to you when I need a lift in my spirits."
She colored again slightly, and this time she wasn't even looking at Robert. "Thank you. That makes me feel quite nice." Her lips pinched. "However, you have decent first name. Mine is ludicrous."
"Ludicrous? Good grief, don't tell me it's Lucrezia Boadicea or anything, is it?"
"It's nearly as bad. Especially since I don't fit it one little bit."
"What is it? You know that when I got into the spiritualism business, I re-christened myself Desdemona. If that's not ludicrous, I don't know what is."
"Well..."
"I won't call you by your first name if you don't want me to, but I'd like to know what it is."
"No, no. Please call me by my first name. You're right. We've known each other for years, and it's silly of me to be embarrassed by my name."
"You don't know what embarrassment is until you've lived most of your life with the last name Gumm."
We both uttered soft chuckles.
Then she said, "Very well. My first name is Regina." She sighed. "My full name is Regina Minerva Petrie. My mother had romantic leanings. She said she nearly named me Rowena, so I guess I got off lucky."
"I think Regina is a lovely name." She was right. It didn't fit her. Prudence, maybe. Or Bertha. Not that there's anything wrong with those names, but Prudence sounds stuffy. On the other hand, Bertha sounds as if its bearer should be fat, and Miss Petrie was definitely not fat.
"Do you really?" she asked, clearly not sure she believed me. "Hmm. I don't think it's lovely. I think it's too dramatic. I'm a librarian, for heaven's sake, not an actress in the flickers."
"I don't think Regina is dramatic at all. Certainly nowhere near as dramatic as Desdemona. Or Ophelia. Aren't you glad your mother didn't name you Ophelia?"
"When you put it that way, I guess I am," she said, grinning at my inanity.
"In that case, may I call you Regina?"
Her lip curled and it was my turn to grin. I guess she meant it about not liking her name. "If you must," said she, but she smiled as she said it.
"Good. Thank you, Regina."
"You're welcome, Daisy."
"Who's Regina?" asked a masculine voice behind me. Both Miss Petrie and I glanced up to see a shaky-looking Robert Browning. Evidently Sam had set him loose.
I smiled up at him. "Miss Petrie's first name is Regina. I think it's very pretty, but she doesn't."
"I think it's very pretty, too," said Robert with what looked like a genuine smile for Miss Regina Minerva Petrie.
"There. See?" I told Regina.
Very well, I'll admit it was difficult for me to think of the staid librarian with a name like Regina Minerva, but the name wasn't her fault. No more was mine my fault. Who'd want a last name like Gumm? And I'd had to live with it until I married my Billy. On the other hand, the Gumm side of my family consisted entirely of saints, and such couldn't be said of the Petrie clan. But those are last names and not first names, so they don't even correlate; therefore, please forget I even brought up the subject.
"Do you mind if I join you ladies? I guess the detective isn't going to allow anyone to leave the library for quite some time."
"Feel free," I said, gesturing to an empty chair he'd pulled up earlier. "I hope Sam wasn't too hard on you."
"No. He wasn't. I was a fool for picking up that knife. Don't know what possessed me."
"We all do silly things sometimes. I probably would have done the same thing if I hadn't known Sam for so long. He sometimes forgets we aren't all policemen."
"I suppose so." Robert sighed.
"You have nothing to feel bad about, Mr. Browning. We all do things when we're shocked that we wouldn't do otherwise," Regina said, smiling at him.
"I think he suspects me of killing Miss Carleton," muttered Robert.
"He couldn't possibly!" I cried. "He knows you. Well, he's met you before, anyway, and the two of you seemed to get along well."
"Yes. He was quite helpful then." Robert put a slight emphasis on the word "then". He cleared his throat. "I did know Miss Carleton. I think Detective Rotondo is reading more into our acquaintanceship than actually existed."
"I didn't know you knew her," I said, startled by his admission.
"Yes. Er... As I mentioned, she was a dear friend to Elizabeth, and we'd been working together recently."
"Really? I thought she worked at Cal Tech."
"Yes, but I'm working on a project with a couple of other fellows at the university, and Miss Carleton had been helping us." He glanced at Miss Petrie. I mean Regina. "Elizabeth and I were engaged to be married, Miss Petrie. I do believe Miss Carleton—her name is—was—oh, dear." Robert shut his eyes for a moment. "She was Miss Mary Carleton."
"I knew her name was Mary," said Regina. "Did you know her well? We worked together, but we never became well acquainted."
"I... I don't know. We knew each other." Robert shrugged.
Hmm. Why did Robert Browning seem ill at ease whilst discussing the late Miss Mary Carleton, former librarian for the City of Pasadena? I didn't know, but I was still pretty sure he hadn't murdered her. Robert? Heavens, no!
"Daisy told me about your fiancée, Mr. Browning. I'm so sorry," said Regina, her eyes getting teary. I guess she was as emotional as I was. No wonder we liked the same books.
"Thank you. It was... It was a hard loss." Robert gulped. "Still is."
"I'm sure," said Regina, trying to pretend she wasn't wiping her eye when she lifted a finger to same.
"Losing a loved one is... horrible," I said, knowing it to be true, but hoping not to prolong anyone's misery.
"Yes. It is," said Robert.
Out of curiosity, I asked Robert, "So it sounds as if you and Miss Carleton kept in touch after your fiancée passed away"
He hesitated. "Well... sort of. Lately we'd seen more of each other because... because of the project." For some reason he stared at his lap and didn't make eye contact with me.
"I'm certainly sorry about what happened to her," I said, mainly because I couldn't think of anything else to say. I wanted to grill Robert about his knowledge of Miss Carleton, and I really wanted to know why he seemed reluctant to talk about it. Had they quarreled? Had th
ey had an affair? I gazed at Robert and didn't think so. I got the feeling he was true-blue to his lost love.
Then again, I'd been wrong before. Quite often.
But no. I couldn't feature Robert Browning as a coldblooded killer. Especially of a woman. Well, of anyone.
"All right," came a deep voice behind me, making me jump slightly in my chair. I looked up to see Sam looming there, frowning.
"All right what?" I asked.
"All right, it's time to go." He turned his frown upon Robert. "I'll need to speak to you again, Mr. Browning. Perhaps you can come to the station tomorrow. About ten o'clock?"
After heaving a sigh, Robert said, "Right. Will do."
"You're leaving?" I asked, surprised. "I mean, we're leaving?"
"Yes." Sam sounded grumpier than usual.
I glanced at Regina. "May I take these books home? I'm not sure how to check them out, what with all the library staff being huddled in that far corner."
"I'll stamp them for you," said she, rising from her chair. "Oh! I forgot to ask you if you've read the Tish books by Mrs. Rinehart."
"Tish? No, I don't think so."
"Wait here for a minute." Regina rushed off to the fiction section of the library. She returned in a minute with three more books tucked under her arm. "I think you'll enjoy these. They aren't precisely mysteries, but the main character, Miss Letitia Carberry, who's known to her friends as Tish, is truly an endearing person. She leads her friends on lots of fun escapades and, in the process, solves some crimes."
Fun sounded good to me just then. "Thank you! I love Mrs. Rinehart's books. Except for The Amazing Interlude. But you know that."
"Yes." Regina smiled sadly at me. "But I think you'll enjoy these stories."
Oh, boy. Now, not only did I have all the books she'd selected for me before, but I had The Amazing Adventures of Letitia Carberry, Tish, and More Tish. I was a happy woman. You can never have too many books lying around the house. Heck, I generally carried one in my handbag just in case I got stuck waiting somewhere.
Regina, Sam and I went to the check-out counter, and Regina stamped my books for me. That meant I had two weeks to read seven books. Shouldn't be a problem.
Sam grumbled under his breath as we walked toward the library door, where a uniformed policeman stood, guarding the place so no one could escape, I guess. He saluted Sam. I was impressed all over again.
"Keep me informed," snapped Sam.
"Yes, sir," said the uniform. I couldn't read his badge.
I noticed Sam limping more heavily as we left the library than he'd limped when we'd entered it. "I'm sorry your leg hurts, Sam," I said, trying to sound loving and sympathetic. Which was, as I should have expected it to be, a wasted effort.
"Damn my damned leg," he snarled. "I can't work the case. I have to sit at my damned desk while everyone else works the case, and I don't like it. I was right there when it happened, for Pete's sake."
"I know, but you haven't been released to run around looking for murderers yet." I still attempted to sound loving and sympathetic, although it was kind of a strain.
"Damn it," said Sam.
I gave up. We walked down the library steps and up to the Chevrolet. Sam grunted as he heaved himself into the passenger seat. I placed the books on the back seat.
"Cheer up, Sam," I told him, knowing I was going to rile the rattlesnake. I did it on purpose, what's more, because his attitude irked me. "I can snoop around for you. I know everyone at the library, after all."
I was right. "Damnation, you will not snoop around! I won't stand for it."
"Just joking," said I. I don't think I meant it. Darn it, I wanted to know who could have hated Miss Carleton enough to murder her. And in the library, of all unlikely places.
"Not a funny joke," said Sam, snarling like a wounded grizzly bear.
"Huh. I should buy you one of Mary Roberts Rinehart's books to read. It's called When a Man Marries."
"Why should I read a book by that woman?" He made "that woman" sound as if he considered Mrs. Rinehart something from the lowest stratum of society. A brothel-keeper or bootlegger or something.
"Because this one is funny. It's adapted from a play she and a man wrote—can't remember his name—called Seven Days. All these society swells are at a party when the butler collapses with what they think is smallpox, and they're all quarantined. It starts out, 'Needles and pins, needles and pins; when a man marries his trouble begins'."
"Huh. My marriage to Margaret wasn't troubled."
"Just you wait. When we get married, I'll make your life miserable."
"You do that now."
"It'll get worse. Trust me."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Stop being such an old grouser, Sam Rotondo! You can't investigate every murder that takes place in the world. Your main job right now is to heal."
"Huh."
"Oh, you're impossible."
We made it back to our house on Marengo with no further conversation, which was probably just as well. I knew Sam's leg was truly hurting when, as he got out of the machine, his leg must have given out, and he darned near crumpled up on the side porch.
"Sam!" I cried.
"Dammit," he said.
Par for the course.
"Let me take your arm."
"No! I don't need your help."
"Oh, for pity's sake, you're being stupid."
"Huh."
I swear. If it weren't for the fact that Spike and my family adored Sam as much as they'd adored Billy, I do think I'd have given up on our engagement then and there.
Opening the door for him to enter, still limping painfully, I told him, "You're impossible."
Naturally he said, "Huh."
After Sam had sat on a dining room chair, I went out to fetch the books I'd left in the car. As I returned, Pa came into the dining room from the hall, smiling. Then he took note of Sam's expression, I guess, because he stopped smiling and said, "What's up? Are you hurting, Sam?"
Naturally, Sam didn't snarl at Pa. Completely ignoring Pa's question, he said, "It didn't work."
"What didn't work?" asked Pa.
"Going with her didn't work."
"What do you mean?"
"She can get into trouble even when she has a police escort."
"That's not true!" I cried, wounded.
"What happened?" asked a clearly bewildered Pa.
"Somebody got murdered in the library while we were there."
"Good Lord." Pa sank into another dining room chair.
"It's not my fault!" I cried, furious.
Both of the most important men in my life stared at me. Come to think of it, Spike stared at me too. I slammed the books on the table.
"Temper, temper," said Pa.
"Nuts! You'd think I attract murders, the way you talk about me. And look at me." I scowled at Sam. "I'm going to get you three aspirin tablets and then make you lie down on the sofa with your leg propped up. Maybe that'll make you quit treating me like Typhoid Mary."
"I think you are," said Sam. "Only when it comes to crimes committed in Pasadena."
"Well," said Pa. "I'm sure she doesn't mean to attract crimes."
Naturally, Sam said, "Huh."
I gave him the aspirin tablets anyway. What's more, I then made him lie on the living room sofa and helped him prop his leg on some pillows. Spike napped on his stomach.
I decided Spike wasn't at fault for his lack of taste in human cushions. He was only a dog, after all.
Chapter 4
Sam napped on the sofa for most of what was left of the afternoon. Since I'd just cleaned the house that morning, I sat in the living room to keep him company. Unfortunately for Sam's repose, I began reading The Amazing Adventures of Letitia Carberry, and actually laughed out loud at one point.
Sorry for my outburst, I glanced at Sam, hoping he hadn't heard me. Naturally, he had. He had one of his olive-black eyes fixed on me and, also naturally, he was scowling.
&nb
sp; "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"What's so funny?" he snarled.
"This book." I held it up for him to see.
"Huh."
"Go back to sleep," I told him. "Spike needs more rest."
"Huh."
At that moment the telephone, one of my biggest adversaries as well as the main means of securing my employment as a spiritualist-medium to the wealthy ladies of Pasadena, rang. I muttered, "Bother," and rose to answer the 'phone, which was attached to the wall in the kitchen.
"Gumm-Majesty residence. Mrs. Majesty speaking," said I after lifting the receiver to my ear and speaking softly and soothingly into the speaker. Because I made my living chatting with the dead relations of my clients, I always maintained my spiritualist persona, even over the telephone.
"Daisy, it's Griselda," came a voice I recognized. Griselda Bissel, my second-best client and breeder of dachshunds, one of whom was Spike, didn't sound rattled. I considered this a good sign.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bissel. I hope you're well today."
"Quite well, thank you. How is Spike doing?"
"He's very well, thank you. Right now he's napping." I didn't say where.
"I'm awfully glad he found a home with you, Daisy. You and he are wonderful together."
"Thank you. He's a perfect dog for the family and me. Billy loved him so much."
She sighed. "Dachshunds are the best."
"I agree with you." I also wondered if she'd called merely to chat about my dog but didn't ask. I figured she'd get to the point one of these minutes.
She did. "I'd like to set up a séance with you at your earliest convenience, dear. I want to host a dinner party and have a séance afterwards. Will you be able to do that?"
"Happy to," said I, almost meaning it. "Let me check my calendar. Would you like to host this dinner and séance on any particular day of the week?"
"Yes. I think a Tuesday evening would be good. Do you have a free Tuesday evening coming up? My second choice would be for a Thursday, but I think you have choir practice or something on Thursday evenings. Is that correct?"
"Yes, it is, and it's sweet of you to remember." Mrs. Bissel, unlike my very best client, Mrs. Pinkerton, actually took other people's convenience into consideration when she set up a séance. On the other hand, she didn't have a felonious daughter who was always getting into trouble. On the other other hand, her only son, Dennis, had been arrested for a murder he didn't commit a year earlier. Fortunately for all concerned, that mistake was cleared up speedily, thanks in large part to me.