Spirits Revived (Daisy Gumm Majesty)

by Alice Duncan

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Vi eyed me as I cut a piece of lamb chop. “I don’t know why he asked the whole family. The one he wants to dine with is you.”

  Her words surprised me so much, I almost dropped my bite of lamb. Hastily shoving it into my mouth, I chewed as I thought about how to respond to Vi. I still hadn’t come up with anything when I swallowed, so I sipped some water. When I finally spoke, my voice was soft and my response idiotic. “Nonsense.”

  “Daisy, if you don’t know by this time that Sam Rotondo thinks you’re the cat’s meow, you’re the only one. The poor man is head over heels in love with you, and you treat him abominably.”

  “No, I don’t!” I cried, stung. “We’re friends, Sam and me.”

  “Pish. You’re always picking fights with him, and him such a nice man.”

  “He hasn’t always been nice to me,” I said, sounding like a whining child to my own ears.

  “Stuff. He was your husband’s best friend, and he’s been trying to take care of you ever since Billy passed. Why, he hared off to Egypt after you and Harold went to that heathen country, don’t forget.”

  My appetite had fled. “How could I forget? I was so sick and sad.”

  Vi plunked herself down on a seat at the kitchen table. “I know, Daisy. I’ve lost a husband and my only son. But life goes on.”

  “Whether you want it to or not,” I said feebly.

  “Yes. But you have to pick yourself up by your bootstraps and carry on. You’ve learned that much, but you haven’t learned that it’s possible to love again.”

  I thought about Vi’s words, my hands folded in my lap, for some time before I said, “I’m not sure I want to love again. The first time hurt too much.”

  Vi heaved a sigh. “Yes. I know you had a hard time. But your marriage was so badly marred almost from the beginning, that you shouldn’t think all marriages have to be like that. Why, my Ernie and I were happy together for twenty-seven years, until he got that deadly flu. I think he only got it because he was so broken up when we got the news about our Paul.” Paul, Aunt Vi’s son, had perished in Flanders during the war.

  “I think Ma and Pa still love each other,” I ventured tentatively. At least I never heard them quarrel.

  “Precisely. And don’t forget Mrs. Pinkerton. She might be a little . . . daft sometimes”—I regret to say I snorted—“but she and Mr. Pinkerton are very happy together. Why, they’re like lovebirds, the two of them.”

  Trying to envision Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton acting like lovebirds strained even my vivid imagination. Not that I much wanted to. “That’s nice.”

  “And that young woman from church. Lucy? Isn’t she seeing a nice widower?”

  “Yes, but that’s only because all the younger men are dead.” I winced as soon as the words left my lips.

  “Daisy Gumm Majesty! That’s not the only reason she’s stepping out with him, and you know it!”

  I didn’t, actually, but I’d never tell Vi that. She’d smack my hand. “I guess so. But . . . Oh, I don’t know, Vi. Sam and I . . . I just can’t quite see us together.”

  “I can. And so can your mother and father.”

  “They can?” I gulped and stared at my aunt.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “They can. You could, too, if you’d only open your eyes. Or maybe it’s your heart you need to open.” She laid a hand over both of mine, which were still clasped in my lap. “I know you and Billy had a terrible time of it, Daisy, and I know you were crushed when he died, but I really think it’s time you stopped dwelling on the past and give Sam a chance.”

  Oh, boy. My whole family was against me. I wondered if Ma and Vi had talked to my sister Daphne and my brother Walter about my “problem.”

  On the other hand, I’d come to appreciate Sam. Too, when I’d believed he might be sweet on Lucy Spinks, I hadn’t liked it. And, although he’d annoyed me by considering me unable to take care of myself, I was glad when he’d chased Harold and me to Egypt. Huh. Where we’d had to rescue him.

  “I don’t know, Vi. I can’t just turn off my feelings for Billy and transfer them, like you’d transfer a dinner plate from one place to another.”

  “Posh! Who’s asking you to do that? You’ll always love your Billy. Just like I’ll always love my Ernie. But there’s no telling what might happen. I doubt another man will come along and sweep me off my feet.” She laughed. “If he did, he’d have to be a mighty big man.”

  This was true. Vi sampled the food she cooked, and it showed. She wasn’t enormously fat, but she was definitely chunky. I smiled at her, unable to laugh, but appreciating her sense of humor.

  “But if one did, I’d be open to another marriage, Daisy,” she said, turning sober again. “Don’t think I wouldn’t be. Ernie and I were happy together for many long years, and that’s more than you and Billy ever were.”

  “Vi!”

  “Oh, I know you loved each other, but life was too hard for you. You never had any good years.”

  “We had a few good weeks,” I said, and felt my throat tighten and my eyes begin to sting. “Before he joined up and went off to fight in that . . . blasted war.” I’d been going to blaspheme, but I knew Vi would object.

  “Yes,” she said. “That damned war ruined too many lives, yours and Billy’s among them.”

  I stared at my beloved aunt. I’d never heard her swear before.

  “It was a damned war, Daisy.” She smiled again. “But don’t you say so or I’ll have to give you a swat.” Heaving a sigh, she rose from the chair next to me. “But I have to start making dinner. Chicken curry tonight.”

  “Chicken curry? I don’t believe you’ve ever made that for us. What is it?”

  “Some East Indian concoction Mr. Pinkerton used to have in India when he was there on business. It’s rather spicy, and it’s probably an acquired taste. Very pungent.”

  “Hmm. Do you think Ma and Pa and I would like it? And Sam?”

  “I don’t rightly know, Daisy. Why don’t I try it on the family tomorrow? Then you can all pass judgment. If you don’t like it, I’ll never make it again. You can make it with lamb, too, and you always eat rice along with it. That’s what Mr. Pinkerton said.”

  “Interesting how many people in the world eat rice, isn’t it? We mainly eat potatoes here.”

  “Potatoes are more interesting than rice.” Vi smiled as she took a plate of plucked chicken parts out of the Frigidaire. “Anyhow, lots of places haven’t discovered them yet, I reckon.”

  “Maybe so. I like buttered rice, but the only time I ever ate it with something else was when I was in England, where Harold made me eat something called kedgeree. It was rice mixed with smoked fish and some other stuff. They eat it for breakfast over there. It was . . . interesting.”

  Vi’s nose wrinkled. “It doesn’t sound awfully tasty to me.”

  “It was different, for sure. My goodness. You know, Vi, there are a whole lot of different cuisines in the world that I don’t know a single thing about.”

  “You helped broaden your family’s horizons when you brought me that cooking book from Turkey.”

  “I guess I did at that.”

  “Finish your lunch, Daisy.”

  So, at my aunt’s insistence and even though I wasn’t hardly hungry any longer, I did.

  When I got home again, I was pooped. It had been a long and emotional morning. So Spike and I took a nap. In many ways, I was a lucky girl. I got to work from home, I made quite a bit of money, and my hours were my own. True, there were many late nights involved, thanks to séances and parties and so forth, but I didn’t mind. It was fun to mingle with the wealthy and meet new people.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I considered what Vi had told me as I’d eaten Mrs. Pinkerton’s lunch. It occurred to me that I could probably fall in love with a rich man as easily as I could Sam. I’d have been appalled at the notion if I thought there was any possibility of me falling for anyone besides my Billy ever again.

  Vi was wrong
. I knew she was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  The next day was Wednesday, and I decided to call upon some of the people whose names I’d retrieved from Mrs. Hastings the day before. First of all, after Pa and I took Spike for his morning walk, I visited the offices of Hastings, Millette, and Hastings, figuring I couldn’t do better than talk to Belinda Young. At least I knew her, which was more than I did the Reverend Learned, whom I aimed to tackle after I was through at the law firm.

  Hastings, Millette, and Hastings was a posh place in a posh building on Colorado Boulevard near Fair Oaks Avenue. Tall and filigreed, the place looked as if no one of less than exalted status would be allowed beyond its portals. I went in anyway.

  Besides, I looked good in my light green suit with its tailored three-quarter-length jacket and calf-length skirt. Nobody would ever suspect I wasn’t rich by my appearance. Even though the day would surely be a hot one, I wore smart gloves and shoes and a pretty wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun away from my face.

  As luck would have it, the first person I spotted when I entered the building was Belinda Young, the very person I’d gone there to talk to. She was leaning over the reception desk, pointing out something to another, younger, girl whom I assumed to be the receptionist.

  When I’m out in public I never do anything so crass as to stride, but I wafted more quickly than was my wont up to the receptionist’s desk before Belinda could get away from me. I gave both ladies a lovely spiritualist’s smile and held out my hand in a languid gesture that would have done Theda Bara proud. “Belinda!” I exclaimed softly, feigning surprise as well as I feigned talking to spirits. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since we graduated from school.”

  She lifted her head and peered at me. The electrical lighting in the building’s lobby was bright, but she might not have recognized me. We hadn’t been close chums or anything. Then she said tentatively, “Daisy? Is that you? Daisy Gumm?”

  “I’m Daisy Gumm Majesty now, Belinda.”

  Taking my hand, she said, “How nice to see you again.” She dropped my hand. “Um . . . may I help you? Do you have an appointment or something? Miss Clyde can help you if that’s why you’re here.”

  I don’t think she wanted to get rid of me exactly; she just wasn’t sure what to say next. Accustomed to dealing with strange situations—you can’t be a spiritualist medium if you get rattled easily—I said, “Actually, I came here to see you, Belinda.”

  “Me?” She appeared quite startled. She looked good, too. I guess the firm paid their employees well, because she wore a dignified suit of gray flannel with a pretty white shirtwaist with a ruffled front.

  “Yes. I’m here at the request of Mrs. Stephen Hastings.” It wasn’t a lie. Mrs. Hastings fully expected me to keep my promise to investigate her son’s death.

  Belinda lifted a hand to her mouth, and I saw her gulp. “M-Mrs. Hastings?”

  “Yes. Do you have a minute or two? I know you’re working, but I won’t take much of your time.”

  After looking around the lobby for a couple of seconds, as if for inspiration, Belinda seemed to deflate slightly. “Yes. Why don’t you come upstairs with me? I can’t take long, but Mr. Grover is in court this morning, so I guess it will be all right.”

  “Thank you very much.” I followed her down the corridor behind the receptionist’s desk, giving poor Miss Clyde a gentle smile as I passed her. She only looked confused.

  A few feet after the corridor started, Belinda took a flight of stairs leading to her left. I padded right after her. By the way, the place was beautifully appointed. Thick gray carpeting covered the floor, and the staircase banister had been crafted out of some kind of dark wood that looked as if it was waxed and polished every day. Dark portraits, I presume of past partners of the firm, lined the walls. All the people were men, of course, and they to a man looked prosperous and somber. Actually, a couple of them seemed downright fat and smug.

  Fancy tables with fresh flowers dotted the hallway once we got to the top of the stairs. I wondered if there was an elevator in the place but didn’t ask. Electrical fans hummed from the ceiling, so the place was cool. I’m sure the building had thick walls, too, which helped keep the heat of the day out.

  Belinda veered into an office on her left. It was as beautifully furnished as the rest of the building. This time the pictures on the walls were of horses and dogs and stuff like that. I guessed Mr. Grover or the late Mr. Hastings had been sporting men. Or maybe Eddie Hastings’ father was. I imagine junior partners don’t have much say in the decorating of the offices in which they plied their trade, and evidently Grover wasn’t even a partner yet.

  “Take a seat there,” Belinda said, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk as she shut the door behind the two of us. The desk itself was large, polished wood, with a candlestick telephone and lots of papers scattered here and there. Shelves in her room were stacked full of deed boxes. What a lot of stuff to keep track of! Made me glad I’d forged my own profession.

  “Thank you.” I sat demurely. Belinda took her own chair behind her desk and seemed more comfortable there than she’d been downstairs.

  “You say Mrs. Hastings asked you to come?”

  “Yes. You see, she doesn’t believe her son killed himself. She thinks he had some help, and she’s hoping I can find out who might have disliked him.”

  “Good Lord!” Belinda stood up abruptly, then sat again with something of a whump. “I can’t believe it. The police never said anything about . . . about . . . Do you mean she thinks he was murdered?”

  “I’m sure the police never said anything at all and decided upon suicide because that was the easiest answer to his death. However, Mrs. Hastings knew her son better than the police did.”

  “Did she? I mean, I’m sure she did. But I’m not . . . Oh, heavenly days, Daisy. I can’t imagine anyone having a reason to hurt Ed—Mr. Hastings.”

  Aha. She’d been going to call him Eddie. Interesting. “Did you enjoy working for the younger Mr. Hastings? Was he a kind employer?”

  “Kind? Well . . . Listen, Daisy. You’re not going to tell Mrs. Hastings anything I say here, are you? I don’t want to jeopardize my job or anything. It’s a good one, and I need it.”

  I held up a hand in a gesture I’d seen Pudge Wilson, the next-door neighbor’s kid, make when vowing something. “I promise you I won’t in any way compromise you or your job, Belinda. I’m trying to help a grieving woman, and in order to do that, I need to gather as much information as I can about her late son. I won’t tell a soul where I get any information you tell me.” Very well, I’d just told a little fib. I might have to tell Sam Rotondo who gave me some information, if I ever got around to telling him anything at all.

  Belinda looked uncertain and chewed on her lower lip for a minute. A pretty young woman, with dark hair and eyes, she’d always been a little on the frivolous side in school. Not any longer, from what I could see. Well, I guess we’d all been through a lot since we left school. Finally, she said, “Mr. Hastings, the late Mr. Hastings, was a very nice gentleman. Much kinder and nicer than his father, who can be a domineering beast sometimes.” She cast a nervous glance around the office as if checking to see if anyone might be lurking there. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. But he’s really awful. I don’t know how Mrs. Hastings can stand living with him. I know Ed—the young Mr. Hastings hated him.”

  “Really? He actually hated him?”

  “Yes.” She said the word firmly. “He told me so.”

  “Ah. You and he were in confidence with each other?”

  “It’s not the way you’re making it sound. We weren’t seeing each other after work or anything, but we were friends. I . . . I don’t think Eddie actually had much use for women, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Yes. I’d already suspected as much.”

  “But he was a good man!” she said in stout defense of her late friend.

  “I’m sure he was. One of my ve
ry best friends is . . . of the late Mr. Hastings’ bent. Men like that make excellent friends.”

  She seemed to relax. “Yes. Yes, they do. And I miss him terribly.”

  “Do you suppose his father might have objected to . . . that aspect of his personality?”

  “I doubt he’d ever think of such a thing on his own. He’s too involved in being lord and master of his universe.” She sniffed meaningfully.

  “Ah. I see. What about the other man for whom you work?

  Mister”—I cast a glance at the notebook I carried—“Grover, is it?”

  “Yes. Mr. Michael Grover. He’s all right. Not awfully bright and a dead bore, but he’s all right. Not nearly as friendly and cheerful as Eddie was. He’ll probably be made a partner one of these days out of sheer persistence.” She cast me a beseeching glance. “I really do miss Eddie, Daisy. If someone did do him in—and I can’t imagine such a thing—I hope you find out who it was. And,” she added in a defiant tone of voice, “it wouldn’t surprise me to learn it was his father.”

  I’m sure my eyes widened, because Belinda hurried to said, “You didn’t hear him roar at his son the way I did. I swear, the old man is a monster.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. What did he, ah, roar about at his son?”

  Belinda lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Oh, everything. Nothing Eddie ever did was right. He didn’t work hard enough. He didn’t put in enough hours. He didn’t take certain cases his father wanted him to take. Things like that. Oh, they’d have terrible fights.” Glancing around her room, she added, “These walls are supposed to be soundproof, but nothing can stop a person from hearing that man when he’s hollering.”

  “Curious. What kinds of cases did Mr. Hastings want his son to take that he refused to take?”

  “Oh, things like certain property deals. Eddie—you don’t mind if I call him Eddie, do you? We truly were good friends.”