High Spirits [Spirits 03]

by Alice Duncan

  “And this here is my office,” Maggiori said, and he opened a door.

  I’d just peeked inside, when I heard a delighted shriek that nearly gave me a heart attack. Slamming a hand over my cheek, I prayed my heart wasn’t weak like Pa’s.

  “Daisy!”

  And darned if Flossie Mosser wasn’t dashing up to me. She stopped short right in front of me, apparently realized her behavior might not be approved of by all present, and cast a frightened glance at Maggiori. “I’m sorry, Mr. Maggiori. I’m just so ... happy to see Mrs. Majesty again.”

  Thank the good Lord, Maggiori was feeling benevolent that evening. Rather than telling the goon to haul Flossie out to the orange grove and shoot her, he only chuckled. The sound he made reminded me of rough pebbles rolling around in a velvet-lined box. A black, velvet-lined box.

  In order to spare Flossie any possible repercussions of her happy outburst, I pasted a huge smile on my face and reached out to her. “Flossie! How nice to see you again!” I’d already lost count of the lies I’d told that night. And really, in the overall scheme of things, that wasn’t a big lie. I was happier to see Flossie than anyone else present.

  She threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug. I hugged her back, resigned to my fate. When I glanced over her shoulder, I saw Jinx Jenkins scowling at the both of us, so I put more enthusiasm into my own hug.

  “How are you, Flossie?”

  “I’m swell, thanks.”

  She didn’t look swell, although her bruises were more yellow and green than black and blue now, and the puffiness around her black eyes had gone down. With another glance over her shoulder, I saw Jinx still scowling malevolently, and whispered, “You probably need to get back to him now.” I jerked my head so she’d know to whom I was referring.

  Poor Flossie. She wasn’t the brightest candle in the box, as I may have mentioned. It took her a few seconds to figure out what I was trying to tell her, and it wasn’t until the despicable Jinx hollered, “Floss! Get your butt over here,” that she jumped like a frightened hare and scurried back to her man. Huh. Some man.

  To my horror, I looked at Maggiori and discovered him scowling, too. When he said, “Watch your manners, Jinx. There’s ladies present,” I almost fainted with relief.

  A telephone jangled somewhere in the distance, but I didn’t pay much attention until another of Maggiori’s underlings sidled up to him and said, “It’s him, boss.”

  Giving a minuscule nod, Maggiori said, “I’ll take it in the ’phone room.” He turned to me. “You just look around, Mrs. Majesty. I was thinking this room would be best for the séance ‘cause it’s got soundproof walls, but you know better than me.”

  Maybe. We’d see.

  So Maggiori sloped off with his minion and I, deciding I was doomed anyway, decided to snoop around a little bit on my own. Heck, the big boss had given me permission, hadn’t he? And since there was no other way to know who “him” was who’d called, it might be a good idea, if not a wise one, to see if I could overhear something of Maggiori’s conversation.

  Therefore, I pretended to be fascinated by the lush decorations in the various rooms while trailing several feet behind Maggiori. The telephone room proved to be a nook reserved for the magical invention located just underneath the staircase leading to the upper rooms. Nobody’d said anything about what went on upstairs, but I figured no one would mind if I examined the staircase a little. I didn’t hear much of the conversation.

  “Maggiori here.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah. Monday.”

  Silence.

  “Right. You know what to do when you hear about another raid.”

  Silence.

  “You’ll get paid, dammit. Quit whining.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t give a good God damn if you lose your job on the force. I’m paying better than the damned law-enforcement people do, and don’t you forget it.” He said the words law enforcement as if he thought they represented a lousy joke.

  A law-enforcement person? Was the guy on the other end of the wire a policeman? Mercy sakes. I guess that would explain why the police always found Maggiori more or less ready any time a raid was planned, wouldn’t it?

  But who could the culprit be?

  I wandered away from the ’phone room, figuring I’d better not press my luck, my mind spinning in circles like a whirlwind.

  Maybe the rat wasn’t a policeman. It could be a deputy sheriff, I suppose. Or perhaps it was someone who merely worked for the police or sheriff’s department. A clerk or a secretary or a switchboard operator—someone like that.

  Would a clerk or a secretary or a switchboard operator have inside information like when the cops planned a raid? What the heck did I know about that sort of thing?

  Bother.

  Well, at least I had something to tell Sam Rotondo, providing I got home in one piece. It looked as though I would because right after I made it back to the room where Flossie and Jinx still sat, Maggiori joined us, rubbing his hands in a satisfied manner, and smiling a smile that might have looked friendly on somebody else.

  “Well, that’s taken care of.” I presumed he was talking about the telephone call. “You wanna see anything else, Mrs. Majesty?”

  “Um ... I don’t think so. Thanks.”

  “Sure you won’t have a drink?”

  Good Lord, no! “No, thank you. I need to get home.”

  “Good. Then I’ll take ya.”

  I prayed he meant it.

  Before Maggiori could escort me back to my family’s precious little bungalow on South Marengo Avenue, Flossie, eluding Jinx once more, cornered me.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Daisy.”

  “You, too, Flossie. Say, are you going to the Salvation Army church on Sunday?” I hoped so. And I hoped she’d see the error of her ways, join the Army, and leave Jinx, too. Hey, without hope, the world would be a pretty dismal place.

  Shooting a quick glance over her shoulder, she said, “I guess so. I’d really like to.” She focused on me again. “Are you going?”

  “My whole family’s going,” I declared, although nothing had been decided yet. My family still thought I was nuts for asking, actually.

  “Say, Daisy.” Flossie looked down and began toeing the thick rug at our feet. “Um, you wouldn’t want to get together again for lunch or something, would you?” As if she anticipated a negative response, she hurried to say, “I know you probably don’t want to, but I just thought—”

  “I’d love to,” I lied nobly, breaking into her apology since I just couldn’t bear it. The poor woman really needed an infusion of self-respect.

  And then, by golly, Mr. Maggiori, his goon, and his chauffeur drove me home. Maggiori and I discussed the séance, and I told him that his office would be fine for the setting of same. He seemed pleased, thank God. The goon escorted me to my front door, where Spike, who has the sharpest ears in the universe, madly barked on the other side.

  Turning to the goon, I said, “Thanks.”

  “It’s nothin’,” he said. I think he meant it.

  He waited until I’d opened the door, eluded Spike, and stepped inside before he turned and retreated to Maggiori’s motor.

  I bent down to pet Spike and tell him what a good doggy he was to announce all visitors in so forthright and audible a manner. When I stood up again, it looked as if the entire masculine contingent of my family was ranged against me. Plus Sam. I think I staggered back a step. I know I gasped.

  Billy and Pa were frowning at me. Sam was looking neutral, but he was so big and so ... oh, I don’t know ... there, that he might have been a monster out of a fairy tale come to strike me dead.

  “What?” I asked nervously. “Why are you all staring at me like that?”

  Billy spoke first. “Who the devil was that?”

  “Um ... you mean that guy at the door?”

  Stupid question. I shot a frantic glance at Sam, who appeared at that moment to have turned into som
e kind of immovable object. A block of granite, for instance.

  “Daisy,” Pa said softly, in his most reasonable voice—instantly, my eyes teared up. “Do you think it’s wise to get into automobiles with other men at night? It doesn’t look good, you know. It looks as if you’re not respecting your marriage vows.”

  Billy stared at me, as grim-faced as ever I’d seen him.

  Tears spilled over and ran down my face. Turning again to Sam, I cried, “Curse you, Sam Rotondo! This is all your fault!”

  “Daisy!” Pa was shocked.

  Billy’s eyebrows lowered into a fierce V, and he looked first at me and then at Sam. “What’s Sam got to do with it?”

  Furious, ashamed, bitter, and miserable, I said the first thing that popped into my addled brain. “Oh, Lord, Billy, you’re not going to accuse me of having an affair with Sam now, are you?” I could have shot myself as soon as the words hit the air. Unfortunately, all of the guns and ammunition Billy had brought back from the so-called Great War were locked up.

  “Daisy!” Pa was even more shocked.

  “Darn it!” I wailed. “This isn’t fair!”

  At last, after far too many minutes during which he stood still and did nothing, Sam stepped forward. “Calm down, Billy and Joe. I think I can explain this. But you have to promise not to say a word to anyone. This is top-secret business.”

  I turned on Sam like a cyclone. “You’re going to tell them? Why couldn’t I have told them days ago and saved myself all this agony, Sam Rotondo? You miserable ...” I couldn’t think of a word bad enough to describe him.

  “It wasn’t a good idea. It’s still not,” said the stoic Sam. “But we’re going to have to let the cat out of the bag now, or your husband and your father will never trust you again.”

  With a wretched, “Ohhhhhh!” I flung myself down on the couch. Damn Sam Rotondo, whose words were worth less than the breath it took to say them. He was going to tell them everything, and then both Billy and Pa would forever afterwards look at me as if I were evil personified. And I’d only tried to do a good deed for Mrs. Kincaid! Life was so unfair, although this was, I suppose, merely a drop of goo compared to the avalanche of mud life’s unfairness had mired me in so far.

  Thank God Spike jumped up on the sofa. I grabbed him, hauled him onto my lap, and sobbed into his shiny black coat. At least dogs were fair and reasonable people.

  “You see, it’s like this. We’ve got a new, but serious, problem with bootleggers in the city.”

  Pa and Billy grunted. They read the newspapers; they knew that already. I braced myself, thinking here it comes.

  “And Daisy has an in with a lot of folks that we on the force can’t get to.”

  “Like who?” asked Billy. His voice was hard, as if he wasn’t buying anything yet.

  “Like Stacy Kincaid and her mother,” said Sam, sounding quite matter-of-fact. “The Kincaid girl has got herself mixed up with a bunch of thugs, one of whom, Vicenzo Maggiori, runs a mobile speakeasy. What’s more, there’s a rat in the works who warns Maggiori whenever we plan a raid.”

  “What’s all that got to do with my daughter?” asked Pa reasonably.

  “Daisy knows the Kincaid brat. And she’s good friends with Stacy’s brother. I asked her if she could help the police shut down Maggiori’s outfit. She agreed.”

  I lifted my head from where it had been buried in Spike’s fur and gaped at Sam. I couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t ratted me out. Yet. Wiping my eyes, I listened.

  “Yeah?” Billy said. He pursed his mouth as if he were considering this bit of information but still withholding judgment. “But why Daisy? Couldn’t you get somebody else to help you?”

  Sam shook his head. “Not nearly as well as Daisy can. Maggiori’s got a bee in his head about wanting to communicate with his dead godfather, a gangster who was gunned down in New York City a year or so ago. Daisy’s the only person I know of who does séances.”

  Comprehension dawned on Pa and Billy’s faces.

  Pa said, “Ah.”

  Billy said, “I see,” as if it almost made sense to him now.

  “So,” Sam said, “I approached her about doing a séance for Maggiori. She didn’t want to do it.”

  I finally spoke, although my voice was thick with tears. “That’s the truth!”

  “But she finally agreed to help us. I had to warn her not to tell anybody, though, because the more people there are who know about it, the more apt word is to get back to Maggiori. That wouldn’t be safe for Daisy.”

  I nodded vigorously, thinking it was about time Sam agreed this was a dangerous assignment he’d given me. Not that I’d had any choice about accepting the deal at the time it was thrust upon me.

  Billy was frowning again. “I don’t know, Sam. It sounds as if Daisy might be in a world of trouble if any of those hoodlums figure out she’s working with you.”

  I knew there was a reason I loved my husband!

  “They can’t find out. How can they?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds dangerous to me.”

  “Me, too,” I said, sniffling.

  “Nuts. All she has to do is try to find out the name of the leak. There’s no way in the world Maggiori or any of his men will ever know who passed the information along.”

  “Was that guy one of Maggiori’s goons?” Billy asked, hooking his thumb toward the front door.

  I answered him. “Yes! Yes, he was, and I was scared to death the whole time I was with them. They’re terrible men! They’re murderers! They beat their women! They’re ... they’re ...” I ran out of words, dumped Spike on the sofa, and rushed over to Billy, where I fell on my knees, threw my arms around him and cried on his lap.

  Poor guy. But Billy was good about it. He only stroked my head and said, “I’m sorry, Daisy. You should have told me.”

  “I c-c-couldn’t,” I said through my tears. “S-Sam wouldn’t let me.”

  “It’s true, Billy. We need to have a cloak of secrecy around this operation. Those guys aren’t dumb.” If anyone had told me that Sam Rotondo would come to my rescue like a knight in shining armor, I’d have laughed myself silly. But he did it that night. Even if it was his fault I was in this fix in the first place.

  Oh, very well, it wasn’t all Sam’s fault. I guess I could have stood my ground and not bowed to Mrs. Kincaid’s wishes that I perform the first stupid séance.

  “Anyhow,” said Sam, who was beginning to sound as if he wanted to go away, “Daisy is performing a good deed for the citizens of Pasadena, and she’s been of great help to the department. There might even be a commendation from the mayor in it for her.”

  If I survived. Anyhow, what did I care about stupid commendations?

  “That’s my girl,” said Pa, smiling at last.

  “Yeah,” said Billy. I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I still wanted to die.

  Chapter Eleven

  Before Sam left that night, I told him I had some information for him, but I wasn’t going to impart it to him then. I’d developed a massive headache, was totally exhausted, and only wanted to go to sleep.

  “Meet me at the library tomorrow morning,” I said, sounding much more authoritative than usual. I guess that’s what being dog-tired and scared to death, not to mention, worried almost beyond endurance does to a person.

  “What time?”

  No argument. No counter-offer. Nothing. I stared at Sam through puffy eyelids, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t. Good heavens, perhaps he actually did appreciate my help in this matter.

  “How about ten-thirty? I don’t think I’ll be up to much before then. Anyhow, I have to meet Flossie for lunch at noon.”

  “Flossie? Flossie Mosser? Good God, now you’re friends with Flossie?”

  “Don’t you say another single word, Sam Rotondo. Florence Mosser is a nice girl who fell for the wrong man.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “I said stop talking! I’m trying to help her. Anyhow, i
f it weren’t for you, I’d never have met her in the first place.”

  He rolled his eyes, but he took my advice and didn’t say another word, thank God.

  I very nearly yielded to my headache, melancholy, and fatigue that night and swiped some of Billy’s morphine syrup, but I got hold of myself before I could succumb to the urge. I only took a powder and crawled between the sheets. Once more I wished I’d die before I awoke, but the old prayer didn’t work that night any more than it had the night before or the night before that. Figures. I don’t have any luck at all, unless you count the bad variety.

  At any rate, I felt as if I’d been left to soak overnight in a bucket full of lye soap, rinsed roughly, and then thrown over a rusty clothesline to dry when I awoke the next morning. My eyelids were swollen, my eyes felt as if somebody had thrown sand in them, my headache still hovered, and if I’d felt any more sluggish, I could have gone out into the garden and joined the snails. In short, I felt like heck.

  Too bad, Daisy Majesty, I said to myself. You got yourself into this fix, and now you have to see it through. Every now and then, I wished my mother and father hadn’t instilled such strict Methodist principles into me when I was young.

  My lousy mood wasn’t improved any when I caught sight of Billy stuffing a bottle into his bedside stand. And here I hadn’t even thought to look there. Which was silly. I knew darned well that the poor guy took more morphine than I thought was good for him.

  Before my mind could start rushing around in unending circles of what was better for Billy, addiction or pain, I put a firm clamp on my thoughts.