by Alice Duncan
She took my hand. "Thank you very much, Daisy. I didn't know what to expect from this séance, and I honestly didn't think it would do any good, but if Mary is truly at peace now..." She peered closely at me. "She is at peace, isn't she?"
"Yes," I lied nobly. "Rolly knows about the Other Side and those who reside there." You notice I didn't say dead people "lived" on the Other Side, but I figured reside was a good word.
"I'm so glad. I feel more at peace myself now. Especially since he said Mary's killer will be found soon and punished."
Rolly had said that, and I hoped like heck he hadn't fibbed. I held out great hope for the upcoming Saturday's Halloween party.
"Indeed," I said. "I know the detective who's leading the case, and he's extremely thorough and good."
"Is that Detective Rotondo?" asked Mrs. Carleton.
"Yes, it is."
"He was so kind to me when we spoke."
He was? Wow. I was impressed. Sometimes Sam seemed so stolid and blockish, it was difficult for me to imagine him being kind to a grieving mother. And here I thought I knew him. "I'm awfully glad to hear it. He's no stranger to tragedy himself. His wife passed away several years ago. Tuberculosis."
Mrs. Carleton shook her head. "Life is so hard sometimes." She squeezed my hand. "But Griselda told me you suffered your own bereavement not too long ago."
I sighed. "Yes. My Billy died. He'd been shot and gassed in the war, and he never recovered. I suppose I should call it a blessing that he no longer suffers, but I—"
Good Lord! My eyes filled with tears. Get a hold on your nerves, Daisy Gumm Majesty, I told myself.
But Mrs. Carleton didn't seem to mind. In fact, she gave me a little hug. "That war," she said. She didn't need to say more.
"Yes," I agreed, digging in my pocket for a hankie.
I didn't stick around for long after that, but made my farewells and again braved the wind. My exit from the house didn't pass as peacefully as my entry had. A big, spiky leaf from the blasted monkey-puzzle tree whacked me on the side of my head just as I reached the Chevrolet. Dang, it hurt. At least my stockings didn't get snagged. Sometimes you have to hold on to the little things, because the big ones hurt too much. I'm not talking about monkey-puzzle leaves here.
When I drove down Marengo Avenue, I was surprised to see both Harold's Stutz Bearcat and Sam's big old Hudson parked in front of our house. Whatever was going on? Only one way to find out. So I parked the machine and walked to the side door. When I opened it, Spike raced to greet me. Sam, Harold, Pa and Frank were seated at the dining-room table.
As soon as the men spotted me, Sam leapt to his feet and rushed over to me. He barely even limped, but put his arms around me and held me close.
"What happened to you? You look like somebody attacked you!"
I returned his hug. "A monkey-puzzle leaf attacked me."
Sam pulled away, his hands on my shoulders, and squinted down at me. "A what?"
"Haven't you ever been to Mrs. Bissel's house?"
"Well, yeah. I was there when those crumbs murdered those people."
Succinct, if not precisely informative. "You didn't notice the huge monkey-puzzle tree in the back yard?"
"No. Do you need help? Iodine? A bandage?"
"Thanks, Sam. I'll take care of it. I was attacked by a sharp, pointy, spiky leaf. I'll just go to the bathroom, clean myself up, and then you can tell me why you're all here. What the heck time is it, anyway?"
"Eleven," said my father.
"Good heavens, that's late for you, isn't it, Pa?"
"Yes. But Sam needed me." He grinned, though, so I suspected him of a slight degree of exaggeration.
I remembered the rest of our guests—if guests they were—and said, "Hey, Harold. Frank."
"Hey yourself," said Harold.
"Good evening, Mrs. Majesty," said Frank.
Golly. The lout seemed to be improving.
"Be right back," I said, and scooted to the bathroom.
When I looked in the mirror, I realized Sam was correct. I had a nasty cut on my forehead, and it had bled freely. That wasn't a surprise. I've heard more than once that head wounds bleed a lot. So I wetted a washcloth and very tenderly wiped away the blood. Squinting into the mirror, I saw the cut was small, and that none of the blood had landed on my gown. I wiped away the few drops on my coat. I applied some iodine—which hurt like the dickens—and put a little gauze pad over the wound and secured it with tape. I hoped the wound would heal by Saturday. I didn't think Gladys would approve of a bandaged Gypsy fortune-teller at her Halloween party.
When I rejoined the men, Pa had taken himself off to bed. Because my parents' bedroom was right off the hall leading from the dining room, I quietly shut the door so we could chat in private. In fact, I herded everyone to the living room to be extra sure we didn't wake up anyone.
"So what brings the three of you here on this blustery evening?" I asked, sitting myself on the piano bench. Sam and Frank took the sofa, and Harold pulled up a chair.
"Kincaid has the party all planned," said Sam. "And Frank here is going to help serve the canapés and drinks. Just wanted to make sure everything's all right on your end."
"So you really think you'll nab the murderer on Saturday?"
"I hope to," said Sam.
"So do I," said Harold, surprising me. "I don't care for murder or murderers."
"I don't think any of us do," I said. Then I thought of Frank.
Evidently we all thought of Frank at the same time, because we all turned and fixed our gazes on him. He glanced at each of us and threw out his hands. "What? What did I do? I didn't murder nobody."
"Anybody," said his uncle in a cold, cold voice.
"Anybody," said Frank, his own voice small.
"Not yet anyway," said Sam, giving his nephew a ferocious frown.
"Hey," said Frank.
I was tired, and Frank annoyed me. "Oh, be quiet, Frank. You're a thief at the very least, so I don't think you have anything to whine about."
Frank said, "Hey," in a hurt-sounding voice, but he shut up.
I turned to Harold. "Is there anything else you need me to do, Harold?"
"Yes. Sew this into a globe shape, then I'll take it back, starch it to death, and put rounded stays in it. Your friend is a little nervous about her costume for the party." Harold wrinkled his nose. "She's not precisely a fountain of gaiety, is she?"
"No. She never has been. A brain, that's our Gladys." I took the fabric he held out to me and shook it out. "Oh, my! You did a wonderful job with the continents, Harold!"
"I'm good at my job."
"I should say so. Do you want these to go any particular way? I mean do you want the Americas on her tummy and Africa on her back or something?"
"That would be polite," said Harold, smothering a laugh.
Sam smiled, too. "Sounds good to me."
"Have you tried on your toga, Detective?" asked Harold.
"Yes." Sam sobered instantly. "She's making me wear a red sash with it. And a cursed laurel wreath." His nose wrinkled.
Frank said in a tiny voice, "Do I get to wear a costume?"
Before Harold or I could respond, Sam said, "Yes. You're going to be disguised as a brilliant student from Cal Tech in a waiter's uniform."
"Oh, did you find out the students will be serving at the party?"
"Kincaid just told us." Sam said gesturing at Harold.
"Indeed," said Harold. "I spent a good deal of the day dealing with your dear friend Gladys." He made a horrible grimace. "And the rest of the day dealing with my own dear mother. The studio's going to fire me if this keeps up."
"Oh, no! Is your job really in danger?"
Harold grinned. "No. I just wanted you to feel guilty."
"Thanks. I always feel guilty."
"Too bad some folks who should feel guilty don't," said Sam, aiming a pointed glare at his nephew. I hoped the kid would be going back to New York City soon. I didn't think Sam could stand much more of Frank Pagano clutte
ring up his life.
Frank said, "Hey."
Harold heaved himself to his feet. "Well, I just came over to give you the globe material. The detective said you were conducting a séance for the poor Carleton woman at Mrs. Bissel's house today. My mother said she'd be there."
"She was," I said.
"Sorry," said Harold, who knew his mother well. He came to the piano bench, gave me a brotherly kiss on the cheek, and headed for the front door. Spike and I followed him.
"Not your fault," I told him.
"I know it, but I'm sorry anyway."
He left, and I turned upon a deep sigh to glance at the remaining two men strewn about the living room.
Sam got to his feet. "We're leaving, too. Just wanted you to know everything's in place for Saturday. I'll have a couple of men there in plain clothes. They should blend in fairly well as long as nobody talks science to them."
"Does Gladys know they'll be there?"
"Yes. I spoke with her today."
"Good. Then I guess everything's on its way to being solved."
"Who knows? This party idea is a good one, but we don't know what the results are going to be."
"I suppose that's true." I yawned and slapped a hand over my mouth. "Sorry."
"Rough evening?" Sam actually sounded sympathetic.
I peered at him closely, but he didn't seem sarcastic or anything. "Yes. It's difficult, trying to comfort someone who's just lost a daughter so horribly."
"But I'm sure you did your best."
Again I searched his face for sarcasm. Didn't see any.
"Yes. I did my best. By the way, she said you were very kind to her when you spoke to her."
"I try to be kind to grieving parents. That's a rough thing to go through."
"Indeed. I can't even imagine it."
"Nor can I." He glanced at his nephew, who had risen, too, and now stood directly behind Sam. "Although it might be worth a try."
"Sam!" I said, although not awfully vehemently. Frank was a sore burden for him to bear.
Frank said, "Hey."
"Shut up, you," said Sam.
Frank looked huffy as the two men left the house. As soon as they were gone, Spike and I went to my room, where I quickly divested myself of my evening frock and so forth, donned my comfy old nightgown, and climbed into bed. Spike joined me, and we both slept like the dead for a long, long time.
But not quite long enough. It was about seven o'clock when I heard stirrings in the kitchen. With a groan, I opened what felt like grit-filled eyes, flung on my robe, stuffed my feet into my slippers, and left my room. Spike went with me. I let him out the side door so he could do his duty as a dog in the yard. Spike was such a good dog.
"Morning, sweetie," said Pa, who stood beside the stove, dishing up something that smelled good. "Your aunt fixed some scrambled eggs and bacon for us. I'll toast some bread for you."
"Thanks, Pa. I'm really sleepy this morning. Not used to late nights, I guess."
"None of us are." He smiled sweetly at me. "Have an orange."
"That sounds like a good idea." I found a little plate, sat at the kitchen table, and began peeling a lovely navel orange that had come straight from our own orange tree. I loved oranges.
"Here you go," said Pa, setting a plate before me. "Very good eggs."
"Of course, they're good eggs," said Vi, walking into the kitchen buttoning up her coat.
"Thanks, Vi. Do you need me to drive you to work this morning?"
"No, thanks, dear. I'll take the bus. The wind isn't blowing as hard this morning as it has been."
"Glad to hear it. I think we were all getting tired of the wind."
"True." Vi peered closely at me. "What happened to your head?"
I'd forgot all about my wound. I touched my bandage and said, "I was attacked by a monkey-puzzle leaf."
"You were what?" said Ma, walking into the kitchen behind Vi. "Somebody attacked you? Good Lord."
Good old Ma. "No, Ma. Mrs. Bissel has a monkey-puzzle tree in her back yard, and the wind blew one of its spiky leaves at my head as I walked to the machine last night. It got me pretty good."
"I'm sorry, dear." Ma came over and gave me a kiss on my bandage. "I don't know precisely what a monkey-puzzle tree is, but if it has leaves sharp enough to wound people, I don't think people should plant them."
Ever practical, my mother. "It's kind of a pretty tree, in its way."
"Why in the world is it called a monkey-puzzle tree?" asked Ma, tying a scarf over her hair.
"Its bark looks like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle," I told her.
"Oh. How odd." And Ma walked with Vi to the front door. "Have a good day, dear."
"Thank, Ma. You too. And you, too, Vi."
"Thank you, Daisy. I expect you'll be visiting Mrs. Pinkerton again today?"
I heaved a sigh. "I guess so. She hasn't telephoned yet, but—" The telephone rang. Dang.
Mrs. Pinkerton wailed on the other end of the wire when I answered the telephone, and I told her I'd be at her house at nine-thirty. That was earlier than usual, but I had a lot of gallivanting to do with Regina Petrie that day, so if Mrs. P didn't like it, she could lump it.
She didn't like it, but she agreed to the early hour. Therefore, I telephoned Regina and told her I could meet her at the library at noon.
"I have to visit a client first, but that should give me plenty of time," said I.
"That's perfectly fine," Regina said in her soft voice. Which, by the way, had an unusually happy lift to it this morning.
"How did your luncheon with Mr. Browning go yesterday?" I asked, not particularly slyly.
I could almost feel her joy winging its way through the telephone wire. "Oh, Daisy, it was delightful! And he asked me to go to the Halloween party with him this coming Saturday evening."
Yay! And I hadn't even had to pressure him to do it. Well done, Robert Browning. "I knew he would," I fibbed. Not sure why. I'd hoped he would, was more the truth. But what the heck.
"So perhaps you can help me with some kind of costume?" She spoke timidly, as if she didn't want to ask too much of me. Me. A phony spiritualist, but a crackerjack seamstress.
"Absolutely! We'll fix you right up." Wasn't sure how, but I knew I'd think of something. When it came to clothes, I had faith in myself.
"Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. I'll pick you up at noon. We can take lunch together somewhere."
"There's quite a nice little Chinese place on Fair Oaks not far from the library," she said.
"Indeed. The Crown Chop Suey Parlor. I've eaten there quite a few times." With Sam. I didn't add that part.
"Are you tired of it?" asked Regina, sounding as if she were sorry she'd mentioned it.
"Not at all. I love Chinese food!"
"Wonderful. See you then."
"Looking forward to it," said I, pretty much meaning it.
Then and there, I decided to go to the library a little early and see if I could find a picture of a monkey-puzzle tree to show my mother.
Chapter 31
My visit with Mrs. Pinkerton held no surprises. It also held no enjoyment. But Rolly and I did our best. Mrs. P cried all over me again, but I was used to it. After I was through with her, I walked to the kitchen to see if Vi could tell me if I needed to change my clothes before I met Regina at the library.
Vi looked at me critically. "I don't think so. Your shoulder's a little damp, but I'm sure it will dry. That's a lovely suit, dear."
I gazed down at my three-quarter-length brown silk tunic dress with bishop sleeves gathered into long blue-silk cuffs. The collar of the dress matched the cuffs, as did a panel down the front of the dress and its belt that buckled below my waist. It was a comfortable costume, except for the stupid bust-flattener I had to wear under it. I wore my trusty black woolen coat, black hat and shoes. I'd put it on mainly because it was comfy, and I knew I'd be wearing it for a long time that day.
"Thanks, Vi. I've worn it before."
Guilt flooded me. "I know. I'm sorry." I scuffed the toe of my shoe on the floor.
"Why should you be sorry? You have a gift. Might as well use it."
"Hmm. When looked at in that light, I guess you're right."
"Besides, you sew clothes for the whole family."
"True. And you use your gift to feed us all. I think your gift is more valuable than mine."
"Get along with you, Daisy. It's a good thing we're not all experts at the same thing, or we'd be in real trouble."
"I suppose you're right."
"Now, go on. I have to get luncheon for the missus together."
"Thanks, Vi. I'm meeting Regina Petrie at the library, and we're going to get her all dolled up."
Vi shook her head. "You amaze me sometimes, Daisy."
"Why?" I didn't understand.
"Never mind." But she smiled, so I guess my being amazing wasn't a bad thing.
I got to the library at about eleven-thirty, which gave me lots of time to ask Regina about a book in which I might find photographs or drawings of a monkey-puzzle tree. As usual, she came through like a champ, and I checked out a book about horticulture along with several novels she'd saved for my family.
Then we went to the Crown Chop Suey Parlor, where whom did we see when we walked in but Sam Rotondo and his idiot nephew, Frank Pagano. As soon as he saw us, Sam stood and beckoned us to join him. He yanked Frank out of his chair to stand, too. Regina pulled back a little.
I looked at her quizzically.
She said, "I don't want to be in the way."
"Don't be silly. The only one who'll be in the way is that stupid nephew of Sam's." So I tugged on her arm a little, and she followed, as docile as a lamb.
"Good day to you both," I said when we got to their table. I noticed Sam had hung his cane on the back of his chair. I guess the leg hurt. Because I blamed Frank—don't ask me why, because I don't know—I glared at him.
He swallowed hard and said, "Good day, Mrs. Majesty. Miss... Um..."
Sam's hand whacked the side of Frank's head, eliciting a "Hey" from his victim. "That's Miss Petrie, you dolt. You just met her a couple of days ago."
"Miss Petrie," said Frank dutifully. Then he gave his uncle a frown, but Sam scowled hideously back at him, and his face cleared as if wiped by a magic cloth. Sam had him intimidated into some kind of behavior, anyway.