by Alice Duncan
"I'm sorry," said Sam, and I could tell he meant it. "Do you think your brothers might have had anything to do with your father's death?"
Marianne started a bit. "Gaylord and Vincent? I... I don't know. I doubt it. They didn't like to do anything for themselves. That's why they live at the club. They like being waited on." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's not fair to them. Many of their contemporaries live at the club. I guess they like it better than living at home or in an apartment by themselves. They get waited on, and their friends are always nearby." She made a face. "I don't care for many of my brothers' friends, but that's not their fault."
I almost asked her why she didn't like her brothers' friends, but a glance from Sam told me not to.
"Do either of your brothers hold a job? I mean, are they lawyers or doctors like their father or anything like that?"
"Those two?" George guffawed. "No. They only liked spending the old man's money. As Marianne told you, they didn't like to do things for themselves. They preferred being waited on hand and foot."
"From what I've heard, your father's practice has been declining for a couple of years, Mrs. Grenville. Do you know anything about that?"
"No," said Marianne. "But it wouldn't surprise me. After... Well, after I ran away and Daisy and George rescued me"—She gave her husband another glowing smile—"I think people began to see him for what he was."
"And that was?" asked Sam.
"A hateful and cruel man. Mother said his business had been off, and he was having big arguments with other doctors in town." She frowned. "And, of course, he treated her even worse than he used to. Which was my fault for running away." She had to wipe away a tear.
"It wasn't your fault," said the loyal George. "Your father was completely to blame for everything that happened to his business. He was a vicious brute of a man. Marianne's right, though. In recent weeks, I've been hearing rumors of him getting into spats with other medical men in the city."
"Any names you can think of, Mrs. Grenville?"
"Um... Not offhand, although I'll think about it. You might talk to Gaylord and Vincent. They were closer to the man than either Marianne or me, even though they didn't like him either. Still, they might know something." He shook his head. "He spent so much time spying on Marianne and harassing me, I'm surprised he had any business at all. I don't know when he did his doctoring. As I said, he always seemed to be skulking around us. And beating his wife." He grimaced. "Terrible man. It's wrong of me to say so, but I'm glad he's gone."
"So am I," said Marianne.
"So am I," said I. Then I shut my mouth again. But really, can you blame any of us?
With a sigh, Sam said, "So am I." Then he said, "Thank you for your time. Please give me a call at the station if you can think of the names of any people who might have wished Doctor Wagner ill." Sam dug a business card out of his coat pocket and handed it to George.
"Pretty much everyone who ever met him wished him ill. Murder him...? I don't know who would do that. But I'll definitely think about it." George glanced at me. "You're friends with Harold Kincaid, aren't you? Well, I know you are, because you and he both helped Marianne when she ran away."
"Yes, we're good friends," I said.
"He might have more scuttlebutt than I have because he has a physician friend, Doctor Greenlaw. I've seen the two of them dining together at the Castleton. In fact, I do believe Doctor Greenlaw is staying at the club, too."
The Hotel Castleton was an elaborate and gorgeous hotel on South Lake Avenue in Pasadena. Harold had taken me to dine there, too, and it didn't surprise me that he and Fred Greenlaw dined there together from time to time. "Thank you, George. I'll definitely ask Harold if he can think of anyone who might have hated Doctor Wagner enough to do him in."
"Besides the members of his family," muttered Marianne, who seemed to have gained confidence now that she knew her old man was out of the picture forever.
With a smile, George said, "Yes. Besides his family."
Sam and I rose, and George and Marianne followed suit.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Grenville. Please give me a call if you think of any one person who might have disliked the doctor more than anyone else. Actually, any and all names will help. We're not swimming in clues at the moment."
"Will do," said George.
"I'll think, too." Marianne looked at her husband and broke into a broad smile. "Oh, George, let's go to see Mother. I've been so frightened of my father that I haven't paid Mother the attention she deserves."
"Sounds like a good idea to me. We should have her stop with us for a while."
Marianne gave her husband a smacking kiss on the cheek, and George blushed. He didn't ordinarily display his affections in front of others.
I thought they were cute as bugs. Not that bugs are cute, but... Oh, never mind.
Chapter 6
Sam and I rode down the hill to my family's bungalow on South Marengo. He said, "I'm going to have to interview the two sons by myself, because I don't think they allow women into the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club."
"I know they don't," I said, feeling bitter. The one time Sam actually wanted me to help him with a case, and I was prevented from doing so by a stupid rule. Men's clubs. I think there should be women's clubs that exclude men. Hmm. Maybe there are. Not that it mattered to me. I had a job to keep me occupied.
"I'll give you a report tonight," said Sam, grinning. He knew how galling I considered the Golf and Tennis Club's anti-female bias.
"Thanks, Sam. I'm not sure what Vi will be fixing for us, but I know it'll be spectacular."
"I know it, too."
My beloved aunt, Viola Gumm, was probably the best cook in the entire universe, and my family got to eat her meals every day. She was also Mrs. Pinkerton's cook, but she always made enough to bring to the family when she left work. Bless the woman. Neither my mother nor I could cook a lick. In fact, it's safer for everyone if neither of us even enters a kitchen. Lowering reflection, but true.
When Sam pulled up to the curb in front of our house, Pa was outside with Spike on a leash. That is to say, Spike was on the leash, and Pa was holding it. I said, "You don't need to open my door, Sam. I'll just help Pa walk Spike." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Don't forget to tell us everything tonight."
"I won't." Sam waved to my father, who waved back, and he began slowly rolling his Hudson down Marengo Avenue, aiming, I was sure, for the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club. Darned men.
Spike greeted me warmly as usual, and Pa smiled down upon the both of us. That's because I was on my knees loving my dog. "Want to go with us on our walk?" asked Pa.
"You bet. I'm all dressed for it." That's because I hadn't changed since Sam and I went to the cemetery that morning. Which made me think of something. "By golly, I'm hungry! Sam and I didn't have any lunch yet."
Pulling out his pocket watch, Pa said, "Shoot, Daisy it's one o'clock. Want to eat before we walk?"
"No. I don't want to disappoint Spike. But I'll definitely be ready for a sandwich when we get home."
"Some of Vi's great meat loaf is waiting for you in the Frigidaire," said Pa, grinning. "I know how much you like that."
"So do you. Gee, I wish I'd asked Sam to come in for lunch." I felt guilty. Poor Sam had to work too many hours.
"I'm sure he'll find food somewhere."
"I'm sure, but it won't be as good as Vi's."
So we took a short walk around the block. My wet shoes kind of squished and were uncomfortable, but what the heck. When we got home again, I changed shoes and then made myself a sandwich with the remains of last night's meat loaf on some of Vi's magnificent bread. I really wanted to telephone Harold Kincaid, but I needed to eat first because my tummy was growling like an angry bear. Spike, as usual, sat at my feet, pretending he was starving to death. If you only looked at his eyes, you'd believe him. If you looked at the rest of him, you'd know better. I suppose the same could be said for a whole lot of us humans, too.
>
Anyhow, as I was chewing my last bite of delicious sandwich, the telephone rang. Nothing unusual there. Our 'phone was always ringing, and the person on the other end of the wire generally wanted to talk to me. I was forever getting calls from rich women wanting me to conduct séances or visit them with my bag of tricks (Ouija board, tarot cards and crystal ball). Because I was in the process of masticating, Pa answered the 'phone for me. I gave him a little wave of thanks.
"Yes, Mrs. Majesty is at home. I'll get her," said my darling father. He allowed me to swallow my last bite of lunch and take a sip of water before he whispered, holding his hand over the receiver, "Don't know who it is."
Interesting.
Taking the receiver from Pa, I said, "Good afternoon. This is Mrs. Majesty."
"Good afternoon, Daisy. This is Laura Frasier."
Mrs. Frasier! I hadn't heard from her for quite a while, but she was a good client. "How nice to hear from you, Mrs. Frasier. How are your darling dogs?"
Mrs. Frasier bred and showed miniature pinschers, as Mrs. Bissel bred and showed dachshunds. Mrs. Bissel's life's aim was to have one of her dachshunds entered into the American Kennel Club's Westminster Dog Show, the be-all and end-all of doggie glory. Mrs. Frasier was working her own personal fanny off trying to get the AKC to recognize miniature pinschers as a breed so that she, too, could show off her dogs at Westminster. I'm not altogether sure how the AKC could fail to recognize a miniature pinscher. Heck, since I'd known Mrs. Frasier, I'd been able to recognize the breed whenever I saw it; however, I do believe the AKC meant something different by the term "recognize" than did I. I really didn't much care, but I'd never tell Mrs. Frasier or Mrs. Bissel that.
"Oh, Daisy, I'm glad you're home! Have you heard the ghastly news? Well, I guess it isn't terribly ghastly for poor Diane Wagner, but still... Her husband was murdered!"
Yes, indeed. I'd heard that news, all right. I'd found the body. With a little help from my dog.
"Goodness," said I in my comforting spiritualist's voice. "What a dreadful thing to happen."
"You didn't know the man if you think that," said Mrs. Frasier, being quite blunt. "He treated Diane and his daughter terribly. And those boys of his... Well, all I can say is I'm glad they aren't in my family."
"Yes, I had heard he wasn't a nice man. I've also met the Wagner boys and can't say I liked them much," I said soothingly. "Still, murder is a hard pill to swallow."
"It certainly is. And what I'm hoping to do is bring the matter to a quick close by having you conduct a séance and determine who did the deed! Then I don't know whether we should tell the police or just send the murderer a thank-you card."
Merciful heavens. "My goodness, Mrs. Frasier, you really didn't care for the man, did you?"
"He was a brute, and he treated his wife and daughter like dirt, only worse."
"Yes, I've heard that."
"You can believe it. Because I know it's true! Diane Chapman Wagner and I have been friends since our school days, and she's been at the mercy of that fiend for far too long."
"For her sake, I'm glad he's no longer able to torment her," I said, trying to be tactful.
"It's not that easy. Now the police are dogging her. I fear they think she killed him!"
Her words surprised me. "But how could they? His body was found buried at Mountain View Cemetery!" Whoops! And how, Mrs. Frasier might ask, could I know that? Oh, well. Not the first time I'd regretted my tendency to blurt things out. Trying to cover my error, I added, "At least, that's what I've heard."
My goodness, but news traveled fast! I think the telephone has a good deal to do with that.
"Well, you'd know all about it, since you visited poor Diane to deliver the news."
Oh, yes. I'd forgotten that part. "Well, yes. Detective Rotondo asked me to accompany him when he spoke to Mrs. Wagner. And also to her daughter, Mrs. Grenville."
"Lord, yes. Oh, Daisy, I do hope George didn't kill the man. Not that he didn't deserve it, but still..."
"Why would he kill his father-in-law?" I asked, although I already knew.
"That awful man persisted in bullying the both of them! He made trouble in the bookstore, and, according to Diane, he terrified poor Marianne so much that she was scared to leave her own home for fear her father would kidnap her and... Well, I don't know what he might have done, but given that he was exposed as a... a... well, an evil man after Marianne ran away, it wouldn't have surprised me if he'd murdered her. I wouldn't blame George or Marianne if either of them killed the man, although I suppose that sounds awful."
"No, it doesn't," I said, still attempting tact. "I agree with you, actually."
"Well, then, can you conduct a séance here as soon as possible? I'm sure Rolly will be able to guide us in the right direction."
That was more than I was sure of. Nevertheless, I played my part. "Indeed, I can, Mrs. Frasier. Let me just check my calendar."
For the record, I didn't really have a calendar on which to keep track of my business. It was a good business and I earned considerably more money than most females who had to hold paid employment at the time; therefore, I could pick my own work hours. For the most part. Sometimes, especially in the case of Mrs. Pinkerton, I'd be called and asked for Rolly to give emergency advice. Because Rolly was me, the advice mainly consisted of common-sense suggestions. Since Mrs. Pinkerton had no common sense of her own, she seldom took Rolly's advice. Which, of course, created more business for me.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so cynical.
"It looks as if this coming Wednesday is free, Mrs. Frasier. Is that too soon, or will it be all right with you?"
"That will be perfect! Thank you so much, dear. How's your little dachshund doing?"
"Spike is fine, thank you. We all love him so much." I gazed down dotingly upon my pooch. "Right now he's telling me he's starving to death, but I don't believe him."
She laughed. "That's a dachshund for you. Their eyes fib for them. You really ought to get a min-pin, dear."
"I think one dog is about all we can handle at the moment, Mrs. Frasier, but thank you."
"I don't think a person can ever have too many dogs," said the immensely wealthy Mrs. Frasier. If you had enough money, I don't suppose you could have too many dogs, because you could hire people to take care of them for you. For example, Mrs. Bissel, the dachshund lady, had a man in her employ who did nothing but take care of her kennels.
Leaving the dog issue alone for the nonce, I said, "What time would like to hold your séance?"
After a moment's contemplation, Mrs. Frasier said, "I think eight o'clock would be a good time. I'm not going to give a party beforehand, so it will be easy to plan for Wednesday. Just a few people will be there, including Diane and Marianne, if she's willing to come. I doubt either one of them will be busy that night, since Doctor Wagner's body was only found today. Has Marianne ever attended one of your séances?"
"No. Mrs. Wagner went to at least one séance I conducted, right about the time Marianne disappeared, but I've never seen Marianne at one."
"I hope she'll come to this one. And I'll have to ask Madeline, too, because she's so overwrought about that hellish daughter of hers. And Griselda. She's another one who's tried to help Diane over the years, but none of us could assist her very much."
Griselda was Mrs. Bissel. Madeline was Mrs. Pinkerton, and she'd been overwrought about Stacy for years and years, although Stacy's recent trouble was worse than ever. Definitely a problem child, Stacy Kincaid.
"And Harold Kincaid! I'd love to have Harold come to the séance. He's so amusing and kind."
"He is indeed," said I of one of my very best friends.
"Wonderful. Thank you so much, Daisy, and I look forward to seeing you on Wednesday."
"I'm looking forward to it, too, Mrs. Frasier."
You might have noticed that, while my clients all called me by my first name, I was always formally polite and called them Mrs. Whatever. Just one more aspect of my odd job.
Mrs. Frasier and I each hung up our receivers, and I was about to clean off the kitchen table when the stupid telephone rang again. Sighing, I turned and lifted the receiver. "Gumm-Majesty residence. Mrs. Majesty speaking."
"Oh, Daisy!" cried a voice I recognized all too well. I suppressed a sigh.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Pinkerton."
"Actually, it is a good afternoon!"
"It is?" I blinked at the receiver, only then recalling I hadn't shooed off any of our party-line neighbors. Ah, well.
"Yes. I mean, I'm still in a state about Stacy, but did you hear about that terrible man, Doctor Wagner? Somebody killed him! I'm so happy for Diane! Well, as long as she didn't do it."
A trifle surprised, I said, "Yes, I did hear that. In fact, Mrs. Frasier just telephoned to set up a séance for the day after tomorrow. She's hoping Rolly can discover the identity of the murderer."
"Marvelous! Well, as I said, as long as it wasn't Diane or Marianne. Or George, of course," said Mrs. Pinkerton, who sounded almost happy for the first time since her daughter's arrest for abetting a murderer and committing other vile crimes. "I don't suppose it was. I don't believe any of them has it in them to kill anyone, even anyone as detestable as Doctor Wagner."
"I don't think so, either," said I, wondering if Mrs. P would get to the point of her call any time soon.
"Well, dear, I was going to ask you to do a séance at my house for Diane, but if Laura has already set one up, I'll just attend hers."
Without being invited? I didn't ask. "That sounds like a good idea, Mrs. Pinkerton." Although I was afraid to ask, I thought it only proper to do so; therefore, I said, "How are you doing these days? I haven't seen you for... Well, since Saturday." And today was Monday. But I honestly did hear from her most days, so this was almost a drought.
"Thanks to Harold and you and Rolly, I'm feeling better, Daisy. Thank you. I'm still terribly upset about Stacy, but Harold has finally convinced me there's nothing more I can do for her at the moment."
