Unsettled Spirits

by Alice Duncan

  "Nonsense," said Gerald Kingston. "The woman's gone mad."

  Sam picked me up and set me aside, then he collared Mr. Gerald Kingston. Literally. He grabbed him by the collar of his Sunday suit, twirled him around, and picked him right up off the floor. There wasn't a whole lot Mr. Kingston could do about it, since he no longer faced Sam. He tried kicking, but he only hit the wall of the church corridor.

  Shaking like the proverbial aspen leaf, I told Sam, "There's a syringe in there. He was going to stick me with it. I stomped on it because he was going to kill me. It probably has... whatever he said was the kind of poison in it. He said my death would be chalked up to natural causes because I've been so ill."

  Sam twirled Gerald Kingston around again and punched him in the jaw.

  Bless his heart! Sam's, not Mr. Kingston's.

  Miss Betsy Powell began screaming, and it was only then I realized a sizeable crowd had gathered in that corridor. Someone else was going to have to shut her up this time. I wasn't well enough to do it.

  Dr. Benjamin finally had the bright idea of injecting Miss Powell with a sedative to make her stop screaming. Then the church was overrun with uniformed police officers. Sam carefully led what he called the "forensics team" into the Sunday-school room where Mr. Kingston had held me captive and tried to kill me. I'm sure the team scooped up what was left of the syringe and whatever had been in it.

  * * *

  While we were still at the church, one of the uniforms asked, "How'd Kingston get that big bruise on his jaw? It's swelling like a balloon."

  "He resisted arrest," said Sam.

  The officer looked from the puny Mr. Kingston to the massive Sam Rotondo and said, "Oh." Then Mr. Kingston, without protest, was led away, I suppose to a cell somewhere at the police station. I wanted to hug Sam, but I restrained myself.

  Then we all had to trek down to the police station, which sat on the corner of Fair Oaks Avenue and Walnut Street at the rear end of Pasadena City Hall, and gave statements. I was the only one with anything interesting to report, but the whole family went with me, and so did Dr. Benjamin, who thought his medical expertise might be needed. His wife, Mrs. Benjamin, declined the pleasure of visiting the station with us. Couldn't fault her for that.

  My voice died completely before my interview was over, although I spilled everything I knew or had been told by Miss Betsy Powell, including her having tried to kill Mr. Underhill and thinking she'd killed Mrs. Franbold instead. I also told them what she'd told me about her sordid affair with Mr. Underhill. I felt kind of like a hoarse rat, but darn it, that woman's gentleman friend had tried to kill me. He'd already killed at least two other people.

  The day didn't really get any better from then, but after a fairly harrowing afternoon we, including Dr. Benjamin, who'd stayed with us—on my account, he said. Guess he feared I'd faint from exhaustion or drop dead or something—were allowed to go home. As other people spilled their guts to the police and on the way home, my voice gained a tiny bit of volume, but I didn't use it. I was totally done in by all the goings-on that day.

  Once we got home, we gathered around the dining room table for a very late dinner, although I was drooping like a wilted lily. Sam wouldn't even let me set the table. But that was all right. All we were having were sandwiches and soup, and neither Ma nor Pa minded filling in for me as far as table-setting duties went.

  "Do you want your meal on a tray in your room?"

  After looking from Pa to Dr. Benjamin, I realized Sam had asked the question.

  I pointed at my chest and croaked, "Me?"

  Wrong thing to say. Sam glowered at me. "Yes, you. You're sick. You were nearly murdered, and it's been a grueling afternoon. You probably should rest. I'll fix you a tray if you're worried about overworking your mother or your aunt."

  Vi said, "Pish."

  Ma said, "Fiddlesticks."

  Pa said, "Sam, you're a caution. Daisy will be fine. She just needs to rest up a little more after we all eat."

  Still frowning, Sam transferred his attention to the doctor. "Is that the truth, Doc? I don't want her to have a relapse. She looks like hell."

  Well, I liked that!

  "She'll be fine, Sam. Daisy's one tough cookie. Although," he added, peering at what I knew was a faded shell of my usually robust self, "she could use more rest. But she needs her nourishment, too, and I'm sure we all want to discuss what happened at church today."

  My entire family, including me, nodded.

  So I stayed at the table. Vi went to the kitchen to put the soup on the stove, but then she came back and sat, too. Everyone was both horrified and fascinated by the events of the day and the discovery of the villain, Mr. Gerald Kingston, of all unlikely people, so conversation rolled easily along without me having to add much to it.

  "Why did you come looking for me?" I asked Sam at one point during a lull.

  "You were taking forever. I was worried that you'd passed out or something."

  "And the rest of us went with him to make sure you were all right," added Pa.

  "And Miss Powell joined us because she said she couldn't find her young man," said Ma.

  "Ha!" Boy, I wished my voice were stronger. I'd wanted that "Ha" to have some force behind it. Oh, well. "Her young man, my Aunt Fanny. Her young man is a vicious criminal, a bootlegger and a poisoner. He murdered his own brother! Vile person. And he seemed so mild-mannered, too."

  "Those are the ones you have to watch out for," said Aunt Vi as if she knew.

  I didn't debate the issue with her, but I was pleased to note that most of my very best friends weren't mild-mannered, but quite vivacious. "When I read the article about the bootleg still in the Star News, I don't recall anyone named Kingston being a member of the gang."

  "Mr. Gerald Kingston changed his last name from Kingman to Kingston, I presume so no one would connect him with his idiot brother." Sam shook his head. "I don't really think he needed to kill the man. I doubt his brother would have squealed on him." This time he shrugged. "But what do I know?"

  "I'm glad our family isn't like that. Can you imagine? A murderer and a bootlegger in one family?"

  "Terrible," said Ma.

  "Awful," said Vi.

  "We're lucky," said Pa.

  I cocked my head and stared at him. "What do you mean, we're lucky? I thought we were normal."

  "Where I come from," said Sam, "normal might mean an entire family of crooks. Poverty leads to lots of bad things. Thievery, robbery, burglary, even murder. At the very least it leads breaking all the laws you can think of."

  "Flossie Buckingham grew up poor in New York City, and she turned out all right."

  My mother, father, Aunt Vi, Dr. Benjamin, and Sam all stared at me.

  "Very well," I admitted. "Flossie went through some tough times, and I guess she wasn't precisely a model citizen before she met Johnny."

  "She met you," said Sam in a flat voice. "Nobody who meets you is ever the same."

  I heard a snicker. I think it came from my father.

  Vi rose from the table and walked to the kitchen. "Soup's hot," she called, I think in order to forestall a fight.

  The chicken soup was, naturally, wonderful. The sandwiches, which had sat under their towel in the refrigerator all day long, were a tiny bit firmer than they would have been had we eaten them when we were supposed to, but nobody complained.

  Dr. Benjamin left us soon after the meal was finished. He looked as if he'd like to hang around a little longer. I guess my family was more interesting than his or something.

  Ma and Pa cleaned up the few dinner dishes.

  After nearly being nagged to death by Sam to go to bed, I had a totally embarrassing tantrum. I burst into tears, stamped my foot, and would have hollered if my voice had cooperated. "Darn you, Sam Rotondo, I don't want to go to bed. That horrid man tried to kill me today, and I don't want to leave my family. I'll just sit on the sofa." I sniffled pathetically, and Sam withdrew a clean hankie from one of his pockets and handed
it to me. "Thank you," whispered I. Actually, it was more of a whimper.

  So Sam, still worrying about me I guess, took my arm and led me to the living room. There he sat me on the sofa and solicitously plumped pillows at my back and on both sides—guess he feared I might topple over, as I'd been doing a good deal of in recent days. Then he sat beside me, sort of squashing the pillows into me. That was okay. It was comfy. Spike dozed contentedly on Sam's lap. In years past, I might have resented Spike cozying up to the enemy, but Sam no longer counted as an enemy, bless him.

  The family continued to chat as I sat there sleepily, adoring my entire family, including Sam. I don't know how long everyone droned on, but I guess somewhere along the way, I nodded off to sleep. When Sam gently laid me on my bed, I blinked a little bit, not really waking up.

  "There. You'll be safe and warm now. You even have Spike to cuddle with," he whispered. He didn't whisper awfully well, I suppose because he wasn't used to doing so.

  Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I know I fell back into sleep smiling.

  * * *

  Eventually I got the complete use of my voice back.

  Naturally, the first person I called upon after I felt well enough to work was Mrs. Pinkerton.

  And that, as they say, is a whole 'nother story.

  The End

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  BRUISED SPIRITS

  Daisy Gumm Majesty Mystery

  Book Ten

  Excerpt from

  Bruised Spirits

  A Daisy Gumm Majesty Mystery

  Book Ten

  by

  Alice Duncan

  Award-winning Author

  What's that feeling you get when you think you've been somewhere and done something before? It doesn't last long, but it's jarring. I think the alienists call it déjà vu or something like that.

  Whatever it's called, I suffered an instant and distinct case of it when I opened the door to my family's bungalow on South Marengo Avenue in the fair city of Pasadena, California, and beheld upon my porch Flossie Buckingham. Flossie, after a very difficult start in life as a poor girl in a dreadful slum in New York City, had moved to Pasadena with her then-lover, a gangster named Jinx Jenkins. She had once showed up at my door battered almost beyond recognition.

  That particular morning—the déjà vu one—Flossie was fine. Her companion, however, looked very much as Flossie had looked that other morning a few years prior. I think she was in even worse shape than Flossie had been, because Flossie seemed to have to hold her up by an arm to keep her from collapsing onto the hard concrete of the porch.

  "Flossie!" I cried, bewildered.

  "Daisy, please let us come in," said Flossie in a soft voice, as if she didn't want others to overhear her. "This is Lilian Bannister, and she desperately needs your help."

  My help? My help? The woman looked like she needed a doctor. But I trusted Flossie as I trusted few other people, so I stood back, making sure my late husband's dog, Spike, didn't jump on either Flossie or Mrs.—Miss?—Bannister.

  "Come in," I said, grateful the rest of my family was out. Ma and Aunt Vi were at their daily employment, and Pa had gone out to meet some friends and chat. My father is one of those folks for whom the expression "he never met a stranger" applies. Great guy, my father.

  "Can you help me, Daisy?" Flossie asked cocking her head for me to take Lilian Bannister's other arm. So I did.

  Flossie and I carefully maneuvered the poor woman into the living room and over to the sofa, where we tried but failed to gently lower her. She sort of fell on the sofa with no other sound than a muffled groan and then a sob or two. I looked a question at Flossie, who appeared quite flustered, not a customary state for the gentle and loving Flossie Buckingham I'd come to know since she'd met and married my old childhood chum, Johnny Buckingham, a captain in the Salvation Army.

  "May we speak in private, Daisy?"

  My gaze was riveted on poor Lilian Bannister, who sagged on the sofa. Then I transferred my gaze to Flossie. "Yes. I guess so. Come into the dining room."

  So she did and, with a worried backward glance at Flossie's battered companion, I joined her.

  "What the heck is going on, Flossie? Who is that woman, and why did you bring her here? Someone's obviously beaten her to within an inch of her life."

  "You've got that right," muttered Flossie, sounding bitter.

  "I thought Johnny was the one who helped folks in distress. That's his business, for Pete's sake. I'm just a phony spiritualist."

  I guess I should explain that last remark, but I'll save an explanation until lager.

  "That's just it, Daisy. Johnny can't help her. He wanted to, but he can't."

  Huh? Last I heard, the Salvation Army took in all the strays and orphans and drunkards and drug fiends and poor folk and immigrants and so forth that no one else would touch with a barge pole. "But Flossie, Lilian Bannister has clearly suffered a… a… Well, I don't know what happened to her, but she need medical help. I'm no doctor."

  "She's been beaten almost to death," said Flossie, confirming my suspicion. "But Daisy, just listen to me, please. Unless you know a doctor who is absolutely true to his oath of privacy, we may even have to forego medical help."

  "But why?"

  "Her husband beat her to a pulp and then kicked her down the basement steps—concrete basement steps, Daisy—and locked her in. She barely managed to escape with her life. Fortunately for her, Billy and I were walking, and I spotted her nearly crawling down Fair Oaks Avenue, trying to get to Johnny's church."

  "Her husband did what?"

  "You heard me," Flossie said in a much harder tone of voice than I'd ever heard issue from her gentle lips.

  Billy, by the way, was Johnny and Flossie's infant son. He'd been named after my late husband. That's probably something else I should explain later.

  "But… But isn't that a crime, what her husband did to her? Can't he be prosecuted for nearly killing her?"

  "He can be prosecuted for murdering her, which will probably happen if she's forced to back to him," said Flossie. "Until then, he's her husband in the eyes of the law and the church." Her mouth pinched up. "She's a Roman Catholic, and she once made the mistake of asking her priest if he could intercede and help her get away from her husband. The priest said it was her duty to abide by her solemn marital oath." Flossie jumped up from the dining room chair in which she'd been sitting and commenced pacing. "Oh, it just makes me furious! I've been in that woman's position, you know. Well, of course you know." She whirled around and faced me. "But I didn't have the obstacles Lily faces. I wasn't married to that horrible Jenkins man. I wasn't married to anybody! If I'd gone to the law after he'd beaten me up, they'd probably have arrested Jinx. But the law won't arrest Mr. Bannister. They'll send her back to him. So will her church! You have to help me help her, Daisy! You have to!"

  "Can't Johnny do anything?" I asked in a small voice, wishing I knew what to do.

  "Johnny has to abide by the law, Daisy. If he hides her somewhere, he's liable to be arrested himself! Oh, it's all just so unfair!"

  "Yes. Yes, I can see it is." However, that didn't negate the fact that I didn't have a clue what to do for poor Mrs. Bannister. "But… Oh, but Flossie, I can't keep her here. There's no room. And besides that, I don't think my parents would like it. They don't like breaking the law any more than Johnny does."

  Flossie glared at me and I held up a ha
nd. "Honestly, Flossie, I don't mind breaking the law for a just cause, and Mrs. Bannister is definitely a just cause, but—"

  The telephone rang. I do believe it was the first time in years I'd been glad to hear it, generally because anyone calling the house called to speak to me, and usually to engage my services as a spurious spiritualist-medium. Not that my clients didn't think I was for real. But never mind that. I'd just been saved by the bell! At least for a moment or two.

  I walked into the kitchen, followed by Spike, who loved the kitchen because it contained food. I lifted the receiver from the cradle of the wall-mounted 'phone, and spoke my typical greeting, "Gumm-Majesty residence, Mrs. Maj—"

  "Daisy!" cried a voice I recognized.

  Joy and hope bloomed in my heart. "Harold!"

  "Cripes, Daisy, don't yell at me."

  "I'm sorry, Harold, but I'm so glad you called."

  "I should hope so, because I'm going to take you out to lunch today and—"

  "Harold, come to my house right this minute. It's urgent. It might even be a matter of life and death."

  A pause on the other end of the wire preceded Harold's puzzled, "I beg your—"

  "Oh, please don't argue with me, Harold! I need you now."

  And Harold, bless his heart, said, "Be right there," and he hung up.

  Turning to Flossie, I actually managed a smile. "If anyone can help Mrs. Bannister and us, it's Harold Kincaid. I'll bet Harold even knows a discreet doctor he can call upon to tend to the poor woman."

  "I've met him, but I don't really know him," said Flossie doubtfully.

  "Harold is the most kindhearted, useful man in the universe, Flossie. He's actually one of my very best friends. I tell you, if he can't help Mrs. Bannister, nobody can." I thought about the wilted woman on the living room sofa and said, "We'd probably better go see how she's doing."

  "Yes. Yes. I'm sorry, Daisy. But when I heard what Lily told me, you were the only one I could think of who might be able to help her."