by Alice Duncan
Sam scrubbed his face with his hands. When he emerged, he said, "But that's only a guess on your part."
"Yes... Kind of. Although... Doctor Benjamin looked extremely troubled as we were talking. He couldn't tell me the names of any of Dr Wagner's victims because of whatever they call it. Doctor-patient privacy or something like that. Because of that oath they have to take."
"So you don't know for sure that Mrs. Grenville got pregnant by her old man and was then butchered by him."
"No, I don't know for sure. I just... sort of gathered as much from Doctor Benjamin's demeanor and the things he said. If you know what I mean."
"Good Lord," said Sam, again scrubbing his face with his hands. "I guess I can talk to the Doc Benjamin. Maybe he'll let on to a copper if that's what happened in the Wagner family, but he probably won't. That's part of his job, maintaining his patients' confidentiality."
"Yes. That's what he told me."
"And I don't know how well the Grenvilles would react to direct questions from a policeman about such a... ticklish suspicion." Sam tilted his head and peered at me, speculation writ large on his features.
"Shoot. You want me to talk to Marianne, don't you?"
With a sweet—for him—smile, Sam said, "You love to butt into my cases, remember?"
"Hmm. I'm not particularly eager to butt into this one in that way."
"You're the one who brought up the problem. If it is a problem."
"I know. Nerts, Sam. How in the world can I approach Marianne about such a horrible... I don't even know what you'd call it. Assumption? Supposition? Hypothesis? On my part? She'd probably kick me out of her house and never speak to me again."
"You're the one who's always telling me people are more apt to talk to you than to a copper. And you're right. Especially when it comes to stuff like this."
"Well, yes, but... Some things are difficult to talk about, no matter who you're talking to."
"Yes, indeed," said Sam, grinning like the fiend he was. He knew I'd capitulate and question Marianne, drat him.
Vi called for me to set the table for dinner, so I had to disturb Spike, who grumbled a bit. But Sam carried him from the inglenook to the sofa, and he calmed down again. Spike, I mean, not Sam. I wasn't sure what Sam's state of mind was at that moment. My own was considerably rattled. Confused. Worried. Peeved. A trifle queasy. All of those things. Combined, they made my innards uncomfortable.
My mood lifted some when I walked from the living room into the dining room and smelled whatever Vi had fixed for our dinner that night. "Oh, boy, Vi. That smells heavenly!"
"It is, if I do say so myself," said my aunt in a smuggish voice. She had every right to be smug. After all, it wasn't everyone who could be the best cook in the world.
So I set the table, Ma called Pa and Sam in to dinner, we all sat down, and Pa said grace. Vi had promised us something special for dinner that night, and she sure delivered. A large rib roast of beef with roasted potatoes, gravy, Yorkshire pudding, green beans with almonds, her feather-light dinner rolls, and a green salad graced the table. Vi cut the roast and handed out plates decorated with large slices of tender roast beef, and we passed everything else.
"This is one of the most delicious meals I've ever eaten, Vi," said Sam, altering his usual during-dinner praise for my aunt.
"It is wonderful," said Ma.
"I agree," said Pa.
I couldn't talk because my mouth was full, but I nodded with vigor. Poor Spike sat at my feet and gazed mournfully up at me.
After I swallowed, I asked, "Is something special going on with the Pinkertons, or did you just decide to honor everyone with a gigantic rib roast and Yorkshire pudding?"
"I thought Mrs. P deserved a special meal because of everything that hateful daughter has put her through recently. Hoping to keep her spirits up, you know." She grimaced. "Sorry, Daisy. Didn't mean to bring up spirits at the dinner table."
"That's all right," said I. "I'm over it."
"Over what?" asked Ma, peering at me curiously.
I really didn't want to get in to another discussion about my runaway planchette, so I only smiled and said, "Nothing, Ma. Just had an interesting session with Mrs. Pinkerton and the Ouija board today."
"Oh. That sounds better than usual," said Ma. "Generally you find sessions with that woman tiring."
"True enough," I said.
Apparently Sam swallowed wrong, because he began coughing. I whacked him on the back.
Really hard.
Chapter 13
The following day, Wednesday, I decided to pay a call on Marianne Grenville before my courage gave out.
Well... Truth to tell, my nerves hadn't yet risen above ground level regarding this particular duty I'd assumed. I didn't look forward to it, nor did I think Marianne would ever speak to me again if I dared broach the topic of my suspicion. Or maybe it was less a suspicion than a preposterous conclusion based on rickety evidence. Banana peels. I didn't know what it was. Come to think of it, I didn't know where Marianne was, either. She might be at her mother's place. Or her mother might be at her place. I decided to try the Grenville home first.
Unfortunately, Marianne was there, smiling up a storm, with her mother standing right behind her, likewise smiling. Diane Wagner's bruises were still evident, but they were mostly yellowish-green by that time.
"Daisy! How good to see you. Please come in," said Marianne, standing aside and waving me into the entryway.
"It truly is good to see you, Daisy," said Diane. "I don't think I've ever been happier than I've been these past couple of days. I suppose that sounds awful of me, doesn't it?"
"No. Not at all," said I. "The truth sometimes hurts, but other times it's a huge relief to tell it out loud." Shoot, I'd already begun preparing the groundwork for my monstrous questions.
"I just made a pot of tea," said Marianne. "Mother and I were going to have tea in the living room along with some shortbread cookies Mother made last night. Please join us."
"Thank you. That sounds delightful," I said, wishing it were true. Mind you, I love shortbread and I'm fond of tea, but I still wasn't sure how to approach the subject I'd come to Marianne's house to discuss.
"I'm selling the house," said Diane Wagner. "It's going to take weeks to sort through everything and decide what I want to keep and what I don't, but I'll be pleased to see the last of it."
"The house on El Molino?" asked I.
"Yes. I can't wait to be rid of it."
"You know, when Detective Rotondo and I visited you on Monday, we both thought the house was lovely and cheerful. In fact, I was surprised, since I... Well, I knew what kind of man Doctor Wagner was."
"I told Mother the same thing," said Marianne, carrying a tray into the living room. The tray was silver, and the teapot and cups were beautiful.
"What a lovely china pattern!" said I, glad to be diverted from my purpose.
"Thank you," said Marianne, setting the tray carefully on a coffee table in the living room. Mrs. Wagner and I sat on two chairs near the table. "It's Coalport, and the pattern is called 'Indian Tree'. It belonged to my Grandmother Chapman."
"On my side of the family," added Diane. "Doctor Wagner's side of the family brought nothing of value to our marriage."
With a soft laugh, Marianne said, "That's not true, Mother. You know father was the only bad seed in that family. Grandmother Wagner was a lovely woman."
Diane Wagner huffed, but then gave up her bad mood with a little chuckle of her own. "You're right, of course. My late husband's parents didn't know what a monster they'd bred because no one ever told them." Frowning once more, she said, "Although I doubt they'd have believed me if I'd told them."
"Probably not," agreed Marianne. "No one wants to believe their children are bad."
"True," said Diane. "I don't want to believe it, but I fear Gaylord and Vincent might take after their father in too many ways."
My ears perked up. Marianne poured tea and gave Diane and me a cup each
. Diane reached for a piece of shortbread. I didn't, but only because I wanted to say, "Do you really think your sons are... not-very-good people, Mrs. Wagner?"
Diane chewed her cookie, took a sip of tea and gazed thoughtfully at me. "I... don't really know. I don't believe either one of them is as awful as their late father. However, I also don't believe either of them is... well, kind-hearted and generous, if you know what I mean."
I didn't, but I decided not to question her further about her sons. One ghastly question per day was my limit. I took a piece of shortbread, too, and nibbled an end. It was good, but nowhere near as good as Aunt Vi's Scotch shortbread, which she didn't make often enough to suit me. Mind you, if I didn't know I'd burn the house down, I'd have attempted to make it myself. Vi had told me often enough that Scotch shortbread is one of the easiest recipes a person can bake. That's unless you're talking about me as the cook. I could pretty much be guaranteed to mess up anything I attempted to create in the kitchen.
"I don't know," said Marianne musingly. "I don't believe Gaylord and Vincent are bad men. At least not bad like Father. They just... don't like to do anything for themselves. They prefer to be waited on. They told me often enough that they feared Father would lose all his money before they could inherit it." She shook her head as if in mystification.
Since no one in my family had ever inherited anything from any other member of my family—except for red hair and blue eyes, I mean—I could understand the Wagner sons' worry in theory, but it seemed pretty selfish to me. Heck, I'd been working since I was ten years old. I don't think either of the Wagner sons had ever worked a day in their lives.
Yet both Diane and Marianne knew their male kin better than I did. I hadn't been impressed by either of the Wagner sons the few times I'd met them, but neither of them had impressed me as actively evil, as had their father.
"I suppose that's because they grew up being waited on," said Diane with a sigh. She sipped more tea. "I wanted to be firmer with them, but their father ruled the roost." She shuddered slightly.
Reverting to the subject of the Wagners' El Molino house, I said, "But your home on El Molino really does look cheerful and inviting, Mrs. Wagner."
"Diane, please. Please don't call me Mrs. Wagner. It didn't take more than two or three weeks for me to understand I'd made a dreadful mistake in marrying that man, and I don't want his name. In fact, I'm going to get my name changed back to my maiden name, Chapman, as soon as possible. As for the house, yes. Doctor Wagner did allow me free rein when it came to the decorating and furnishing of that house, although, of course, he had to approve of the ideas before anything was done. He wanted to project a welcoming image, even though the image lied. That house carries with it horrible memories, and I can't wait to be shut of it forever."
With a sigh, Marianne said, "Yes. I have no good memories of life in that house either. It's a shame, because you're right, Daisy. It really does look cheerful and inviting. Talk about putting up a false front." She took a vicious bite of shortbread. "Still. It seems a shame to sell it after you've put so much work into it."
Mrs. Wagner only uttered a soft "huh" sound.
"I'm sorry," I told both women. "I know bad things happen in families. My own family life has been happy, and both of my parents are wonderful people."
"Yes, they are," said Diane. "And so are you." She gave me a warm smile.
Very well, I could feel heat sneak into my cheeks. One of the perils of having red hair is that it often comes with the problem of frequent blushes. "Oh, I don't know about that," I said, trying to pretend I wasn't turning hot.
"That's not true," said Marianne. "You saved my life. And I'm not exaggerating."
"Yes," said Diane Wagner. "You honestly did save Marianne's life." She clamped her mouth shut, and it looked to me as if it cost her some effort to open it in order to sip more tea.
Oh, dear. This appeared to be about the right time to probe. Still unsure how to go about it, I said, "Um... about that..." Hmm. What about that? Fah.
"What about that?" asked Marianne, speaking aloud my unspoken words. "It's the truth."
I plunged into the water. It might turn icy, or it might boil over, but I had to find out the answer to my evil-minded question. "Very well, I spoke with Doctor Benjamin yesterday, and Detective Rotondo spoke with Doctor William Ferdinand. Both doctors said Doctor Wagner had begun performing illegal abortions to make up for the loss of his legitimate business as patients turned to other doctors."
The two women's heads straightened, and they looked at each other for a tense moment. Then Diane let out a long sigh. "Yes. He had."
"And it wasn't a new procedure for him, either," said Marianne, her voice brittle. "I... I... I... Well, I don't want to talk about it." She bowed her head and lifted a napkin to her eyes, which I guess had begun to drip.
"I don't blame you for not wanting to talk about it, Marianne. But I do know one of the reasons you ran away from home was because your father... did... unspeakable things to you."
"He did that, all right," muttered Diane. "I..." Her voice trailed off.
"What Mother is trying to tell you is that when she attempted to intervene, he beat her almost to death. And then he still did unspeakable things to me."
"Um... Did any of those unspeakable things result in a..." Oh, good Lord. How to phrase the question so it didn't sound as repulsive and revolting as it was?
Marianne solved my problem for me. "Are you trying to ask if that monster impregnated me? Yes, he did. And then he aborted the unborn child. And... And I'll never be able to have children with George!"
After shakily setting her teacup on the tray, she broke down and sobbed as if her heart were broken. Diane left her chair to join her daughter on the sofa and threw her arms around her.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, feeling lower than the roots of the four-o'clock plants that bloomed beside the back deck in our yard at home. I don't know if you've ever grown four-o'clocks, but in the spring and summertime, they bloom every afternoon around four o'clock—hence, their name—but their roots are almost impossible to dig up. They look like huge sweet potatoes, and they cling to the soil as if to life itself. Which, come to think of it, I guess is precisely what they are doing. Difficult plants, if fragrant. But they spread like crazy if you don't watch 'em and thin them out occasionally. That's how come I knew about their troublesome roots.
Got off-subject again. I'm sorry, but the subject is so horrifying, can you blame me?
Anyway, back to that unhappy living room.
"I hated him!" declared Marianne through her tears.
"So did I," her mother declared right afterward.
"So did I," I said, still whispering. "I can't even imagine what your life was like. Either of your lives."
"I wish I had killed him!" said Marianne, her words wobbly. "If anyone deserved to die, he did."
"I wish I'd had the nerve to kill him, too," said Diane. "But I was a coward. A damned coward." I got the impression she hadn't cursed very often, if at all, in her life until that day. "To do that to his own daughter! He deserved to suffer. I hope whoever killed him made him suffer before they put him out of his misery."
"His misery?" said Marianne, trying for a bitter laugh and almost achieving it. "Our misery is more like it."
"So true," said Diane, sobbing along with her daughter now.
I felt like a rat, and I wasn't sure what to do. Get up and leave? No. That would be cowardly. Which I was, but... Oh, dear.
"I'm so sorry," I repeated. Weak, Daisy Gumm Majesty; extremely weak.
Then, because I'd started the problem, I took my life in my hands and joined the two women on the sofa. Putting a hand on one each of their heaving shoulders, I said, "I sincerely apologize for unearthing ugly memories. I understand from Detective Rotondo that the police now know Doctor Wagner was performing illegal abortions. And many women, according to Doctors Benjamin and Ferdinand, were as cruelly hurt as you were, Marianne. I'm glad Doctor Wagner is dead, to
o. I'm only sorry it took this long for someone to do him in."
To my astonishment, both women turned and threw their arms around me. It was a rather uncomfortable situation for yours truly, being nearly smothered by emotion-wracked females, but I deserved worse than that.
"No, no!" cried Marianne. "I'm glad you know! People need to know what a horrible person he was. Mother suffered with him far longer than I did."
"I should have left him," muttered Diane into my shoulder. "I was such a coward."
"Nonsense," I said. "You know he'd have found and killed you if you'd attempted to get away from him." Thinking of a situation in which I'd found myself—Sam would say I'd hurled myself into it, but he's wrong—a couple of months prior, I said, "There are too many men like him, and there aren't enough laws to control them. Anyway, half the time the police don't even care! It's a terrible problem."
Thinking of my darling fiancé, who actually did care about stuff like that, although he claimed he couldn't do anything about it, I amended my previous statement slightly. "At least, most policemen turn a blind eye upon what happens behind a family's doors. Not all of them, but the ones who do care have their hands tied when trying to take care of problems like Doctor Wagner."
"I know," sniffled Marianne.
"That's true," added Diane, sniffling in her own right.
"Detective Rotondo would like to line all the men who hurt women up against a wall and shoot them."
If Sam ever found out I'd said such a thing, he'd probably stand me up against a wall, although I doubt he'd shoot me. I could already hear his most deadly tone in my head though. Sam didn't have to raise his voice to inspire terror in a person's heart. Trust me about this. That tone had even quelled his rotten nephew's more grievous tendencies. Most of the time.
