by Alice Duncan
It occurred to me that we were all assuming a lot of things that weren't facts. Ah, well.
However, after my encounter with the two Wagner brothers earlier in the day, I understood Claude's trepidation. Those two and their friends had given me the willies.
Because Sam's Hudson was so much larger than Harold's Stutz Bearcat, Sam drove us to the club. On the way, he told us two uniformed policemen were going to be at the club with us, in a back room and out of sight, unless and until they were needed.
"I'm so glad," I told him.
He gave me a surreptitious squeeze, leaned over a bit and whispered, "I love you and don't want anything to happen to you."
I darned near cried.
I think Harold snickered, but I'm not sure.
Chapter 29
The Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club was ablaze with lights when Sam pulled up across the street from it and parked his car. I was a trifle startled and wondered if the party had begun without us.
But when we walked to the club, a nervous Claude Dermott greeted us at the door and explained the lights. "We're just getting ready. The party doesn't actually begin until nine o'clock, but the staff is decorating the place for Christmas." He eyed me. "You look really... colorful, Mrs. Majesty."
"Yes. I'm supposed to be a Gypsy fortune-teller."
"You look like one," he told me. I guess he'd believed the folks in the flickers, too. "But come on in here. I'll show you where I set up a table for you to use." He looked at my empty hands. "But weren't you going to bring a crystal ball or something?"
"Here it is," said Sam, holding out the embroidered sack containing my crystal ball and its stand.
By the way, if anyone's interested, I'd found that "crystal" ball in downtown Los Angeles's Chinatown about ten years earlier. It was just a big glass ball and had nothing to do with crystal, but what the heck. It had surprised me a couple of times in the past by showing me things I didn't really want to see. I hope it wouldn't do so that night.
Or maybe I did. Nerts. I didn't know what I wanted, except for the night to be over and to be in bed with my dog. And, of course, to see the murderer of Dr. E.A. Wagner caught. As long as the murderer wasn't one of my friends.
At any rate, I approved of the table Claude had set up for me, although Harold decided it needed to be decorated more festively. So I sat in a folding chair behind the table, which positioned me with my back to a wall. That was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to sneak up on me.
After Harold had decorated my table with a couple boughs of holly—stolen, no doubt from another table in the club—he stepped back and critically surveyed his work.
He shook his head. "I don't know. The table looks festive enough, I guess, but you seem a trifle out of place. A Gypsy at a Christmas party? I just don't know."
"This wasn't my idea," I reminded him, feeling cross and tetchy.
"Now, now. A fortune-teller might not always belong at a Christmas party, but this was a good idea, whoever had it."
"If you say so. Anyway, you're the one who came up with this particular bright idea."
"Oh, come on, Daisy. You know you want to find out who murdered that miserable piece of… er, garbage. If you don't, poor George Grenville is likely to spend the rest of his life in prison with the likes of my father. Nobody deserves that fate. Except maybe my sister."
"You're right," I said upon a weary sigh, although why I was weary I had no idea. I'd had a nap, after all.
"He's right about what?" asked Sam, walking over to us and gazing judiciously at my table.
"He's right about wanting to find out who really murdered Doctor Wagner. We all three know it wasn't George Grenville, no matter who found what in his gardening shed."
"Huh," said Sam.
"Huh," said Harold.
I swear, if one didn't know better, one would think they two men were related. Sam would be horrified if I told him that.
"Is everything all set up here?" asked a harried Claude Dermott. He was actually wringing his hands. You seldom find people doing that except in novels and the flickers.
Because I felt sorry for him, I smiled and said, "Everything is fine here, Mr. Dermott."
"I'm so glad." He pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his perspiring brow. "I'm so nervous about this party, I can hardly stand it."
"I'm sorry," I said, understanding his feelings, but wishing he hadn't admitted to them. I was already nervous enough for the both of us, and maybe a couple of other people too.
Patting Claude on the back, Harold said, "I'm sure everything will go swell. The place looks wonderful. Whoever put up the decorations did a great job."
"Thank you," said Claude. "We keep decorations for various seasons stored in the basement. We only put away the Thanksgiving cornucopias and Indian corn a week or so ago. All these holidays come in a row, and they keep us hopping."
"I'm sure that's so." Harold's voice oozed compassion.
Which it should. I'd never thought about how people who ran businesses like the Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club had to make their places of work look appropriate for various seasons, but it made sense. Especially here in Southern California, where pretty much the only way you could tell one season from another was by the decorations folks put up.
That's not entirely true. For instance, the weather in recent days had been quite nippy. But at least we didn't have to slog through feet of snow.
Sam pulled up another folding chair and we sat beside each other, watching the staff of the club scurry here and there setting out Christmas-related items. A couple of women who were maids, according to their black dresses and white aprons, decorated a gigantic fir tree across the room from my table.
"That's a gorgeous tree," I murmured.
"Yeah," said Sam. "Hope nobody sets it on fire with a cigarette."
"Golly, Sam, I was only worried about being murdered before you said that. Now I can worry about the Christmas tree burning the club down, too. Thanks heaps."
With a grin, Sam said, "Always happy to oblige."
Waiters had begun arriving with trays of food by that time. Two long tables on each side of the room, each with a red table cloth and adorned with fir boughs and holly berries, began filling with what looked like tons of canapés and snacks of all varieties. A small orchestra consisting of mainly brass, along with a with a couple of violins and a cello, tuned up. Their conductor wore a red bow tie in honor of the season.
When the director gave the signal, the orchestra commenced playing "Joy to the World." They sounded quite nice. "The Pasadena Golf and Tennis Club really knows how to throw a party," I muttered.
"Sure does," Sam agreed.
"You all set?" asked Harold, munching on something as he walked to my table. Glancing around, he said, "The place looks great, doesn't it?"
"It does," I agreed. "And I love the Christmas music."
"Aha! Take a gander at who just joined the party," said Harold, hurrying to the door, where I saw Dr. Fred Greenlaw, his sister Hazel on his arm. I liked the both of them really well.
"Good evening, Daisy!" said Hazel, coming to my table. "Harold said you'd be here, offering spiritualist advice to the members."
"It's good to see you, Hazel," said I, meaning it. She was a nurse and a lovely person, two attributes of which I approved. Not that she needed my approval. We shook hands, and then Hazel called her brother over to my table.
Naturally, Sam had stood upon Hazel's arrival. He leaned slightly on his cane, but he smiled at her as they shook hands. His smile didn't waver when he traded her hand for her brother's. I took that as a good sign, given what Sam thought of Dr. Greenlaw, Harold, and their ilk.
Hazel, Fred, Sam and I chatted together for some time, and I was surprised when I glanced up and saw that the room had filled with people. "My goodness. I guess I'd better set up my crystal ball and start looking clairvoyant."
Hazel laughed.
Sam handed me his cane and said, "Will you look after this for
me? I don't want to carry it around with me."
"Don't you need it?"
"Naw. I took a couple of aspirin tablets just before we drove over here. I should be all right for an hour or so."
"Very well, if you're sure, but I have more aspirin tablets in my handbag if you need more."
"Thanks, sweetheart."
"You're more than welcome. I hate it that you hurt all the time."
"It's not all the time," said Sam, although I think he was downplaying his pain, poor fellow.
Anyway, I tucked the cane beneath the table, then glanced up at him. "Does it stick out on the other side?"
"A little," said Sam.
"I'll turn it sideways," I said, and commenced to move it with my black Gypsy shoes. " Is that any better?"
"Yeah. Nobody can see it now, since the cloth hangs down to the floor."
"Good. Come back from time to time so we can compare notes." I divided my gaze between Sam and Harold.
Harold saluted.
Sam didn't.
To my surprise, if not total amazement, I realized as soon as my men walked off that most of the people standing close by were waiting for me. By gum—so to speak—it didn't look as if anyone else in the world, or at least in the higher echelons of Pasadena society, cared if crystal balls and Christmas didn't go together. The Christmas music helped disguise the anomaly. Or maybe it didn't.
A couple of giggling girls, one with dark hair and one with light hair, whom I'd seen at other people's mansions although I couldn't recall their names, were first in line. As I could only use the crystal ball on one person at a time, I smiled Gypsy-ishly at the both of them. "Who wants to be first?" I asked in my best mystical voice.
The girls each poked the other on a shoulder while I waited, suppressing an urge to gesture for someone else to take the chair across from me. I gave myself a stern reminder that I was there to provide entertainment, not annoy the guests.
Finally the dark-haired girl sat in the chair. Her hair was bobbed in the latest style, and she wore a perfectly smashing gown of bright Christmas red adorned with fabulous beading. I tried not to stare at the beading, but it sure caught the eye. What's more, after squinting at it for several seconds, I decided I could do my own beading in a like style. Therefore, because she'd assisted me even though she didn't know it, I smiled sweetly at the girl. She giggled nervously.
"Merry Christmas," I said.
Evidently she hadn't expected a Christmas greeting from a Gypsy, and she gulped. "Um... merry Christmas."
"Would you like me to consult the crystal ball about anything in particular?"
It occurred to me that people were standing too close to my table. Nobody'd want to ask the crystal ball anything if the whole rest of the room could hear her. Or him, but it was usually ladies who availed themselves of my services.
I held up a hand, attempting to do so in an occult manner. "One moment, please."
The girl blinked as I stood, craned my neck and scanned the room. As soon as I caught Harold's eye, I gestured for him to come to me. He did so, thereby making him the second male of my acquaintance who did as I asked of him. The other one was Spike.
In a low voice, I asked Harold to set a boundary around my table so each person for whom I read the crystal ball could have a modicum of privacy.
"Sure!" he said. "Don't know why we didn't think of that earlier."
"Nor do I, but I'd appreciate it if you'd make my table a little more—isolated or something."
"Absolutely."
And darned if he didn't. He snabbled Sam and Fred Grenville, who set up a barrier of chairs around my table, the backs of the chairs facing me. Therefore, although folks could sit on the chairs, they wouldn't be staring at me or at anyone for whom I was consulting the ball. I know that sounds idiotic. It is idiotic. But it's how I made my living, so I respected it.
Again I smiled at the young, dark-haired lady. "There," I said softly, attempting to sound enigmatic. "Now, would you like to consult the crystal ball about anything in particular?"
"Oh!" She covered her mouth with a well-manicured hand and giggled some more. She looked as if she'd visited a beauty parlor that very day, and I recalled her being one of the Wright girls. The Wrights were fabulously wealthy, the head of the family having made a fortune from chewing gum, of all odd things.
By golly, it was the Wrights' missing butler who'd made my crystal ball show me a bunch of fir and pine trees a year or so before! As soon as I recalled that other evening, I wished I hadn't. Anyhow, back to the Christmas party...
"Yes, please," the girl—Veronica Wright, I do believe—whispered.
"Let me see," I said, playing my part for all I was worth and recalling snippets of gossip I'd heard here and there. "You want to know if a certain gentleman of your acquaintance is interested in deepening your relationship?"
"Oh! However did you know?" she whispered in awe.
I didn't tell her. Rather, I waved my own personal well-manicured hands over the crystal ball in what I knew to be a mystical manner because I'd practiced in front of the mirror in my bedroom, and said, "Love will be yours soon."
"How soon?" she wanted to know. She would.
"The crystal ball can't give you dates and times," I told her. "However, it can tell you that your gentleman friend will be courting you in good earnest in the coming year. In fact, 1925 will probably be the year of your engagement, if not marriage."
"Oh, my!" Veronica said, thrilled unless I missed my guess. She turned in her chair. "Sally! Do come here! This is wonderful. She can tell you all sorts of things."
So the blonde, whom I assumed to be Sally, tripped up to my table, and Veronica rose and allowed her to sit. Sally waited until Veronica had gone out of hearing range before consulting me. Her question wasn't quite as banal as that of her friend.
Leaning over the table, she whispered, her gaze sliding around the room as if to be sure no one was spying on her, "Can you please tell me if my father's business will get better? He's so afraid we'll lose everything."
I glanced at her and saw tears standing in her eyes. All right. I know she was one of the upper crust of Pasadena society. Still and all, if you're accustomed to having everything you ever wanted and feared having it snatched away from you... well, I felt sorry for the girl.
Therefore, I took my time before I answered her, wishing the stupid ball really could predict the future. As I passed my hands over it for about the fifth or sixth time, darned if it didn't suddenly turn a murky gray color. Startled, I lifted my head almost fast enough to break my neck and looked around. No one hovered over us. However, when I glanced to my right, I saw Gaylord Wagner grinning at me.
Mercy sakes.
What did this mean? Casting a glance at the ceiling, I didn't see any light bulbs that might have burned out. Could the crystal ball...?
No. That was absurd.
Nevertheless, I was a trifle rattled as I returned to the subject of this sitting. Fortunately, the ball cleared again. When I took a surreptitious glance to my right, Gaylord Wagner was gone. Very odd.
However, words began spilling from my mouth. I'm not sure how they got in there, but what they said was, "Your father's business, in spite of recent reversals, will recover. Your family will experience happiness beginning at the end of February or in early March."
And where that tidbit of information had sprung from, I had—and still have—no earthly idea. Sally was pleased, and I was pleased for her. I also hoped I hadn't lied to the sweet thing.
Anyway, the party went on, and I continued to ply my trade. Occasionally the crystal ball turned an ugly gray, and every single time it did that, when I looked around, darned if there wasn't a Wagner brother, either Gaylord or Vincent, nearby.
At the very first opportunity—in other words, the first time Sam walked over to my table to see how things were going, I took a little break from my duties, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him outside. It was cold out there, darn it. But I wanted privacy in
which to convey my message. So I did.
I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone that he looked at me as if I'd lost what was left of my mind.
Chapter 30
The front door to the club opened, and I whirled around, afraid one or both of the Wagner brothers had followed Sam and me outside for some fell purpose. I nearly fainted with relief when Harold, shivering, walked over to us.
"I saw the two of you leave. What's going on?" he asked, rubbing his coat-clad sleeves with his hands. "It's too damned cold out here for a tête-a-tête, Daisy."
"I know it is," I said, still shivering. "But Sam doesn't believe me!"
"I believe you," said a clearly cranky Sam.
"What doesn't he believe?" asked Harold, his gaze flipping from me to Sam.
"I do believe her!" said Sam, still cranky.
"He doesn't either!" I cried, frustrated and frozen.
"I do believe her crystal ball went from clear to gray every time one of the Wagners was near it," said Sam, his own voice sounding frustrated and frozen.
"It's the truth!" I cried, feeling helpless. "It is, Harold!"
"I believe you," said Sam, still more loudly and frustrated.
"Interesting," said Harold in a judicious voice. Then he shrugged. "I believe you, too, Daisy, but your mud-colored crystal ball doesn't help us any."
"But... but... but..."
"Harold's right," said Sam, interrupting my stuttered attempt to defend my crystal ball. Boy, I never thought I'd ever even compose a sentence like that one, but there you go. "Even if you're right"—He held up a hand to preclude any more outbursts from me—"we need hard evidence, not a muddy crystal ball."
"I have an idea," said Harold before I could bellow at Sam.
Actually, I had no intention of hollering at Sam because I knew he was right. I could imagine me in a courtroom telling a judge and jury that the Wagner brothers were guilty of their father's murder because my crystal ball had said so. Even I'd laugh me out of court.
