Spirits Unearthed

by Alice Duncan

  "I don't know," said I, peering at Sam and hoping he wouldn't turn into a monster after we were married.

  Naw. Sam was always Sam. I'd only recently begun to appreciate him for that.

  "He hated George Grenville for marrying Marianne. He and the boys never got along well, either, but he didn't dare beat up on them once they were big enough to fight back. He was at odds with so many people, it's difficult for me to recall them all." She sighed.

  "Take your time," said Sam, still being gentle with the woman. "Do you think your sons might know the names of any of Doctor Wagner's particular enemies?"

  "I'm not sure. They might. They've both been living at the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club for some time now."

  "I didn't know men could actually live there," said I, earning a frown from Sam.

  "Oh, yes, many young men—wealthy young men"—Diane grimaced—"stay there. All their needs are taken care of, and all they need is money, which Vincent and Gaylord have."

  I decided that answered my question, so I clamped my lips together.

  "How long has Doctor Wagner been away from home?" asked Sam.

  After heaving a soulful sigh, Diane said, "Four days. I was scared to death every minute of every day that he'd come back and light in to me again."

  "Couldn't Marianne help you?" I asked, being unable to suppress the question, even in the face of Sam's frown.

  "She could, but Doctor Wagner hated George Grenville, and he... behaved horribly to Marianne."

  "Even after she and Mr. Grenville were married?" said Sam before I could get the same words out of my mouth. His glower told me to keep it that way.

  "Yes. He went out of his way to annoy George and harass Marianne."

  "How did he do that?" Sam beat me to the question again that time.

  "Oh, he'd go to Grenville's Books and create a scene for no reason, calling George a cheat and a liar in front of customers. Things like that. I'm not sure how he harassed Marianne, but I do know she was afraid of even stepping outside her house for fear her father would get her."

  "Get her? What do you mean by 'get her'?" asked Sam.

  Shaking her head, Diane said, "Kidnap her, I guess. Poor Marianne didn't like to talk about it, and neither did George. They were both trying to spare my feelings." She chuffed out a small breath of hopelessness. "As if they could. I had to live with the demon."

  "Out of curiosity," said Sam as if he weren't sure he should be asking, "did you ever consider leaving your husband? He doesn't sound like a person I'd want to be around for very long at any one time."

  "Oh, yes," said Diane promptly. "I considered it all the time, but I was fairly certain he'd find me and bring me back again and beat me some more. He did this sort of thing a lot," said she, spreading open her blanket and revealing discolored arms that went all too well with the bruises on her face. With a small shrug she added, "Or he might have just killed me."

  "Didn't your sons stick up for you?" I asked, perhaps too strongly. But, honestly! What kinds of sons could stand around and allow their father to brutalize their mother?

  "They tried," said Diane.

  "How is that?" Sam asked before I could.

  "They'd tell him to stop hitting me. And he would. Stop hitting me, I mean. Until Gaylord and Vincent left the house, and then he'd tear into me even more brutally than before."

  "I'm surprised none of your children reported your husband's abuse to the police department," said Sam.

  Both Diane and I shot him meaningful glances. I guess he caught the meanings therefrom, because he sighed and said, "Yes. I know. The police are pretty helpless in cases of family violence."

  "Oh, I'm sure they'd have cared if Everhard had succeeded in murdering me, although he'd probably have tried to cover it up some way or other. Pretend someone had entered the house and murdered me while he was away or something."

  Precisely the scenario I'd considered her enacting on her husband. I'd grown up in a loving family and had married a wonderful man; it was depressing to know so many other families weren't as lucky as I. Providing luck had anything to do with it; I didn't know. Still don't, for that matter.

  "So you can't think of the names of anyone who particularly disliked Doctor Wagner, Diane?"

  "I'll think about it," she said. "I'll give Marianne a call." She didn't look as though she wanted to.

  "Would you rather we inform your daughter, Diane? We'll be happy to do it. You probably need to rest and take in the news," Sam asked, his voice still gentle.

  "Oh, would you?" she said, relief palpable in her voice. "I'll call them later, but I would so appreciate you breaking the news."

  "We'll be happy to do that, Mrs. Wag—er, Diane," said Sam.

  "Thank you. Will you be going to their house? I mean, will you visit them or telephone them?"

  "It's better to break this sort of news in person," said Sam. I was pretty sure the "in person" scenario was preferred because the cops could assess the person's reaction to the news, but I didn't tell Diane that.

  "Thank you. They live up on Catalina Avenue." She gave Sam the address, which he wrote in his little notebook. "It's an adorable, sweet place. Not huge and impressive like this monstrosity."

  Monstrosity? I thought her home was gorgeous and charming.

  "Very well. We'll visit the Grenvilles next," Sam told her.

  She heaved a huge sigh. "Thank you. I really didn't want to deliver the message via the telephone wire, and I can't get around very well yet, thanks to my late husband."

  I don't believe I'd ever heard a woman sound so bitter. I understood completely. Mrs. Wagner wasn't the first brutalized woman I'd met in my shortish life.

  "We'll be glad to do that for you, ma'am," said Sam. "Would you like us to give your daughter a message to come see you or anything? We can tell Mr. Grenville to come here, too, if you'd like."

  "Thank you. That would be kind of you. George's bookstore is closed on Mondays, so I expect they'll both be at home. They have such a nice little place." She sighed again. "I gave you the address, right? On Catalina? Near Washington?"

  "Yes, thank you, we have it."

  "And the boys are at the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club. I think I already told you that." She passed a hand over her brow, as if wiping away cobwebs. "I'm sorry. My head has been swimming ever since Everhard did this to me."

  "Have you seen a doctor?" I asked.

  "No. Everhard was a doctor."

  "Yes, but... Well, I think you should see another doctor. Someone who actually cares about his patients. I'll be happy to call Doctor Benjamin for you, if you'd like him to call on you, Diane. He's a wonderful, caring man."

  More tears leaked from the poor woman's eyes. "Thank you, dear. Yes. That would be nice. I've always liked Doctor Benjamin. So unlike Everhard."

  "That's for sure," I agreed.

  "Very well, ma'am," said Sam, rising from his chair. "Well go break the news to your daughter and son-in-law now."

  She gazed up at him. "Thank you. You just delivered the best news I've heard in two years. That sounds terrible, doesn't it?"

  "No," said Sam, not one to mince words.

  "Diane, if there's anything at all I can do to help you or Marianne, other than call Doctor Benjamin for you, please let me know. I'll be happy to do whatever I can, although I can't imagine what that might be," I said. Then I felt silly.

  "You did both of us the greatest favor you could ever bestow when you rescued Marianne, Mrs. Majesty."

  "Please just call me Daisy. Everyone does."

  She gave me a faint, painful smile. "Daisy. Perhaps you can come over and visit with Marianne and me, if she stays here. I hope she'll invite me to stop at her place for a few days. I miss her so very much."

  "You haven't seen her very often of late?" I asked.

  "Not nearly enough. She was frightened of Everhard and didn't dare come near this house."

  "That's so sad," I said, taking her limp hand. "I'm sorry. I hope things will improve from now
on."

  "You're very kind, dear. They can't help but improve now that Everhard is dead. He was an evil man." She shook her head.

  We left her after another round of farewells. Sam and I walked out to his machine in silence.

  Chapter 5

  We'd driven almost all the way up El Molino Avenue to Washington before either of us spoke, and then it was Sam. "Not a happy family."

  "Not a happy family," I agreed. "I feel so sorry for women like that. I wish there was some way the authorities could help them."

  "I do too, to tell the truth. But we aren't allowed to barge into people's homes without being asked, unless some crime has been committed."

  "Beating up a fragile woman isn't a crime?"

  "Of course it is." Snappy. Sam often got snappish when he was frustrated. "But we can't do anything about it unless someone complains. And then half the time the abuse only gets worse, just as Mrs. Wagner said. I wish we could just shoot men like Doctor Wagner and do the world a favor, but we can't."

  "People shoot mad dogs."

  "Yeah. But people aren't dogs."

  "Maybe not, but they're certainly animals."

  "True. Most people aren't as nice as most dogs."

  "That's true, too. How sad."

  Sam hung a right on Washington Street and drove to Catalina Avenue. He said, "What's their address again?"

  "Turn right when you get to Catalina, and it should be right there. On the..." I contemplated the address in my head. Not a mathematical genius, I. "It should be on the right side of the street. Thirteen-oh-five."

  "Got it."

  The Grenville home was one house down from the corner of Catalina and Washington. A lovely location. Catalina was a shady street, and the Grenville house was not unlike my family's nice bungalow on South Marengo, only larger and fancier. Also, Catalina was lined with oaks and not pepper trees as was Marengo. "Hmm. This is it?"

  "Yes," said Sam, turning off the ignition. "Pretty place."

  "It sure is, although I guess Mrs. Wagner was right in that it's not as huge as their home on South El Molino."

  "Nice, though."

  "Yes, it is. Gee, when Harold told me George Grenville lived on Catalina, I thought he meant one of those sweet little bungalows a little south of here."

  "Maybe to him, this is a sweet little bungalow."

  After a split-second of contemplation, I said, "You're probably right." Harold's own home in San Marino was gigantic.

  Sam exited his side of the Hudson and came around to open my door. I got out and gazed at George and Marianne's house. A gray Cadillac was parked in the drive, and the place wasn't fenced and gated. Still, it was relatively large and lovely, a typical Pasadena bungalow. I vaguely recalled George Grenville driving a dark Cadillac, so perhaps he and Marianne were home.

  "Well," said Sam. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." He took my arm and drew me to a stop. I'd begun marching up the drive to the front porch. "Only this time, let me do the talking, all right?"

  "Of course, I will."

  Sam rolled his eyes. Darn him!

  "I will!" I insisted.

  "Of course, you will" Sam repeated. Then he allowed me to walk again.

  The Grenville's front porch was large and roofed, and it, too, had a table and a couple of chairs parked on it. I didn't know why folks left their outdoor furniture outside in the wintertime, but what the heck. They were rich and I wasn't, so they played by different rules from those my family followed.

  I allowed Sam to ring the electrical doorbell and heard chimes inside the house. They sounded quite pretty. "Chimes," said I, smiling.

  "Chimes," said Sam. "Lovely." He was being sarcastic, so I pinched his arm.

  Before he could say "Ow," the door opened and George Grenville stood there, looking nervously at us from behind a screen door. Then he recognized me.

  "Daisy!" he cried, clearly mystified by my presence on his front porch, but relieved. Perhaps he'd expected Marianne's bad-doctor father to show up. He turned. "Marianne, it's Daisy Majesty!" He looked back and took in the presence of Sam. Turning once more, he said, "And... And that policeman fellow. You know the one."

  She should. Sam had driven her mean old father out of Grenville's books one day two years past when he'd been creating havoc therein.

  "Detective Rotondo," Sam supplied.

  "Detective Rotondo," George repeated, unlocking the screen door and allowing us entry to his home. "Come in, both of you. I hope this isn't bad news."

  He really did look worried.

  Marianne came at a trot from somewhere else and stopped beside her husband. She said, "Daisy! How good to see you. Unless..." She clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, please don't tell me he's killed Mother! Oh, Daisy!"

  "No, no," I said, breaking Sam's rule before I'd been inside the house for six seconds. I swear...

  "Please, Mr. and Mrs. Grenville," said Sam. "May we come in and sit down? I have some bad news to impart, although it isn't about your mother."

  "Thank God," Marianne whispered, seeming to deflate.

  "Come into the living room," said George, leading the way.

  The place was furnished with nice stuff. Bookcases—unsurprisingly—lined a wall in the living room. George gestured to a sofa and a couple of chairs. "Take your pick," said he.

  Sam and I shared the sofa. George and Marianne, still both seeming quite wary, sat on a couple of chairs opposite us. Suddenly Marianne jumped to her feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I should have offered you tea or coffee or—"

  "There's no need for that, Mrs. Grenville. Please sit down again. I have some unfortunate news to tell you."

  Marianne reached for George's hand, and he took hers in what looked like an almost-painful grip.

  Re-seating herself, she asked, "What is it?" in a strangled whisper.

  "I'm sorry to have to tell you that your father has been killed."

  George gasped. Marianne swallowed hard.

  "By killed, do you mean...?" Evidently George didn't want to say the word aloud.

  "Someone murdered him, yes," said Sam.

  "Thank God," whispered Marianne. "Thank God! Oh, but it wasn't Mother who did it, was it? Not that she shouldn't have, but—"

  "No, no," said Sam, holding out a hand as if to keep her from bolting up and running around in circles. "We just came from visiting with your mother. She's fine. Well..."

  "She's not fine, is she? He beat her up again, didn't he?" asked Marianne.

  "I fear he did."

  "I hate him so much!"

  "Marianne," said George, sounding a cautious note. "Perhaps we should let the detective tell us what happened."

  "Of course," she said. "Of course. I'm sorry."

  "No need to be sorry, ma'am," said Sam in his official voice, softening it for Marianne's sake. "But your father was found murdered this morning, and I will need to ask both of you a few questions."

  "Go ahead," said Marianne. "We have nothing to hide." She gave us a grim smile. "As you've probably already figured out, I loathed the man. He was a beast to Mother and me. I'm glad someone finally killed him. He had so many enemies, it might be difficult to whittle down the pile."

  "Interesting. Do you have any names for me to write down?" Sam took out his notebook and poised his pencil over same, waiting for something to write.

  "Besides us?" Marianne asked. Then she glanced at George and grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. We'd never have done anything to hurt Father, but he's been harassing George at the store and he keeps... Er, he kept coming over to our house and just sitting in his automobile across the street, staring at the house. I was afraid to leave home for fear he might do something to me."

  "He truly was a monster, wasn't he?" I asked before I could remember to keep my mouth shut. Happened a lot with me.

  "Yes. He was." She squeezed her husband's hand. "I'm surprised George put up with me because of him."

  "It sounds almost as if he were stalking prey," muttered Sam, writing.


  "Exactly," said George. "I went out there and shouted at him a few times and he'd go away, but he always came back. I think the man was mad."

  "So do I," said Marianne.

  "He'd been going to the bookstore and creating a ruckus?" asked Sam, still writing. "How often did he do that?"

  With a shrug, George glanced at Marianne. She glanced back and gave him shrug for shrug. Finally George said, "Ever since we were married. I wanted to ask Marianne's mother to stay with us, but she always said she feared what he might do to us—and to her—if she did come to live here. She seemed to think he might go completely crazy and burn the house down or shoot us or something along those lines."

  "He probably would have," whispered Marianne.

  "What about your brothers?" asked Sam. "Did they get along with their father?"

  "I have nothing to do with either Gaylord or Vincent. We... aren't on friendly terms."

  "Why is that?"

  After thinking for a few seconds, Marianne said, "Well, they aren't brutal, as was Father, but they're not nice. They treated me like dirt, and they treated George even worse than that."

  "How did they treat you, Mr. Grenville?"

  "Hmm. I don't know. It's difficult to explain, except that they've always been supercilious and uppity. Not at all like their sister or their mother." This time it was he who squeezed his wife's hand. She smiled tenderly at him. Nice couple, at least on the surface.

  "Did they ever... I don't know. Behave inappropriately? Like, hitting people or anything? They didn't beat up on your mother or you, Mrs. Grenville?"

  "No. Never. They just didn't seem to care one way or another if Father treated our mother badly." She shook her head. "I'm not sure how to describe it. I guess what I'm saying is they didn't care about anyone but themselves. Not even Mother, who is a wonderful, sweet woman and didn't deserve the punishment Father dealt her or the indifference Gaylord and Vincent exhibited toward her."

  "I see," said Sam. "Your mother told us your brothers have been living at the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club for a while. Do you know anything about that?"

  "Not a thing," said Marianne. "Although it doesn't surprise me, as many of their friends also live there. Anyhow, any time Father got particularly nasty, the two of them would vanish. They very seldom tried to help Mother. Once or twice they did, but Father held the purse strings, so to speak, so I guess they didn't dare rebel too openly."