Spirits United

by Alice Duncan

  "Harold! I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow. I'm so glad to hear from you."

  "That sounds ominous. I was coming home tomorrow, but my mother called, and I get to go with her to interview criminal attorneys to take my idiot sister's case tomorrow, lucky me."

  "Yes. I was there when poor Mr. Pearlman was trying to explain to your mother why he couldn't represent Stacy."

  Harold sighed. "Mother will never understand how the world works. She doesn't want to. It's deliberate ignorance, if you ask me."

  "You may well be right, but I don't really blame her a whole lot. After all, she's never had to do anything for herself."

  "No. She's always had other people to take care of things for her."

  "She had to put up with your father for quite a few years, don't forget."

  "How could I ever forget that skunk?"

  Harold and Stacy's father was Mr. Eustace Kincaid who, as I believe I've mentioned earlier, was at present living at the San Quentin Penitentiary. A very bad man, Mr. Kincaid. I'm surprised Harold turned out so well. On the other hand, Stacy more than made up for Harold in the horridness department.

  "So what is it you want me to do now? If you expect me to hide another nearly beaten-to-death woman, I won't do it."

  "No, it's nothing that drastic. In fact, you'll probably enjoy it."

  "Huh," said Harold, sounding rather like Sam only an octave higher.

  "All I'm hoping you can do is organize a Halloween house-warming party for Gladys and Homer Fellowes."

  "Who are they?"

  "Don't you remember Gladys? She was the studious person who used to be secretary to that awful Mrs. Winkworth."

  "Oh, yes. The one with the thick cheaters. I thought she was in love with Monty Mountjoy."

  "She used to be. She transferred her allegiance to Dr. Homer Fellowes, the man who invented the thing they used on that motion picture."

  "Oh, yeah. I remember him. His specs were even thicker than hers. Sounds like a match made in heaven." He was being snide.

  "They're both nice people, although neither one of them has a lot of imagination. Or a sense of humor, unless Gladys is hiding hers somewhere."

  "And why do I want to organize this party? That is to say, why do you want me to?"

  "Because I'm lousy at planning parties."

  "And?"

  "And Gladys aims to hire me to put on my Gypsy act and read cards and the crystal ball and such for her guests."

  A spate of silence ensued. I began to get nervous.

  "Very well, Daisy Gumm Majesty. What's the real reason you want me to do this? Don't fib to me. I can always tell, you know."

  Harold knew me too darned well.

  "Oh, all right." After checking that none of our party-line neighbors were listening in—they weren't—I explained to him about Miss Carleton's murder and how Gladys didn't want her husband's name or that of Cal Tech or that of their precious "project" splattered all over the front pages of the newspapers.

  "Hmm. And you expect to spot the crook? I doubt your tame detective will appreciate your snoopery."

  "He'll hate it. But I'll make him go with me, and then he can't complain. Heck, I'll just explain to him that all the suspects will be gathered together in one place, and he'll probably love it."

  Another spate of silence.

  "You don't believe that for a minute, do you?"

  I heaved a sigh. "No, I don't. But he really can't accuse me of prying into his case. For all he'll know, the party is truly a house-warming for Gladys and Dr. Fellowes. That's what I'll tell him, at any rate."

  Yet another moment of silence. Harold finally said, "He won't believe you."

  "You're probably right, but Gladys actually asked me to pry into the case because she fears the police will blacken her husband's name and ruin the precious project he's working on."

  "Huh. What project is that?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Something about a geological survey of the San Gabriel mountains."

  "Sounds fascinating."

  "Yes, I know. I think so, too."

  We were both being sarcastic.

  "When does she want to plan this so-called house-warming party?"

  "As soon as possible. The sooner, the better."

  "Well, Halloween is Friday three weeks from tomorrow. I suppose I could plan the party for that date. Or maybe the week before. A Friday or Saturday would probably work best for folks who have to work."

  "Sounds wonderful. I'll ask Gladys which date she'd prefer. And if the police catch the crook before then, you won't have to do a thing."

  "And what do you suppose the chances of that are?"

  "Slim to none."

  "That's what I figured. All right. I'll have to meet your friend. Since I have to visit lawyers with Mother tomorrow, how about we get together on Saturday? Perhaps you can take me to your friend's house, and I can see its layout and decide what to do."

  "Sounds perfect to me. Thank you, Harold. You're a true friend."

  "Yes. I know." And he hung up.

  I got the feeling he wasn't altogether pleased with me. I didn't fault him for that. I'd involved him in a horrible problem a few months prior. But he'd come through like a champ and, acting together, Flossie, Harold, Del and I had actually probably saved a woman's life. Of course, Sam had been shot in the thigh during the denouement of that little episode, but that was only because he'd been sneaky and followed me one day. Then again, if he hadn't followed me, Flossie and I would probably be dead, so I guess it had worked out fairly well except for the bullet hole in Sam's thigh.

  Poor Sam.

  As soon as I'd hung up after speaking with Harold, the blasted 'phone rang again. I answered with my usual recitation, but was interrupted mid-speech.

  "I know who you are," grumbled Sam.

  "Oh, hello, Sam! Good to hear from you. How's your nephew?"

  "He's a pain in the neck. He ran away from home. My sister was scared to death for him, but I put through a trunk call to her, so at least she knows where the little son of a... gun is."

  "It doesn't sound to me as if you're a particularly loving uncle. What's he done wrong? I mean, I know it was wrong of him to run away, but it sounds as if you dislike him for more than that."

  "He's a damned little hooligan! He worked for a numbers runner in New York, and he's afraid they're out to get him."

  "Good heavens. I didn't know he was in trouble with the law. Why does he think the numbers runner is after him?"

  "Because he skimmed off some of the profits, the idiot. Anybody but he would know you don't mess with one of those gangsters. It's one of the more stupid things a person can do in New York City."

  "Mercy sakes."

  "He's also wanted for questioning by the N.Y.P.D. because the stupid kid got into a fight with some Irish kids. They form gangs, you know. The Irish gang and the Italian gang hate each other."

  "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize he was in trouble with the law."

  "He's in trouble with the law, all right, in New York City and Pasadena, the fool. That would be me in Pasadena, by the way. Anyway, I'd probably better not come to your house with the little thug. He isn't fit to be around decent people."

  "Nonsense," I said firmly. "Perhaps if he sees how decent people act, he'll learn the error of his ways."

  "Cripes. My parents and my sister and her husband are all good people, and they haven't influenced Frank any. He's a punk."

  "You sound as if perhaps you're being a little hard on the boy. Maybe he just needs to learn that the whole world doesn't exist in New York City."

  "And that the whole world isn't Italian."

  I grinned. "Yes. He seemed a trifle shocked that you should be marrying a non-Italian."

  Sam actually laughed a bit. "Yeah. Good thing. It's past time he learned how the world works."

  "Oddly enough, Harold and I were discussing the same thing regarding his mother."

  "Huh. At least she has money. This kid doesn't even hav
e a brain."

  "Well, please bring him along anyway. I'll set an extra place for him, and he'll begin learning how people outside New York behave."

  "I doubt it, but if you say so. Keep an eye on him, though. He's apt to steal the silver."

  "I don't think we have any silver."

  "Won't matter. He'll probably steal something just for the hell of it."

  "He can't be all bad. Can he?"

  "I don't know. Is Stacy Kincaid all bad?"

  "Good Lord, he can't be as bad as Stacy."

  "Huh," said Sam, and he hung up the receiver on his end of the wire.

  "What's going on?" asked Pa. He'd hung Spike's leash on it hook in the service porch and was looking at me quizzically.

  "Sam's bringing his nephew to dinner tonight."

  "Oh, I didn't know his nephew was visiting. He didn't say anything about a nephew."

  "He didn't know about the visit until the kid showed up. He evidently ran away from home."

  Pa's face assumed an expression of surprise. "My goodness."

  "Evidently Sam has serious doubts about his nephew's goodness. His name is Frank Pagano, by the way. The nephew, I mean. One of Sam's sisters' children. I think he has three or four sisters."

  "Poor guy. No brothers?"

  "Nope. Only sisters. He's not awfully fond of this nephew. Says he's a junior hoodlum." I didn't think Pa needed to know that Sam hadn't used the modifier. Let him meet Frank with an open mind. Semi-open, anyway. I guess I'd already spilled a few of the beans in Frank Pagano's regard.

  And darned if the telephone didn't ring again. I gave it a malevolent glare. "Good Lord, what's going on with the telephone today?"

  "I don't know," said Pa with a grin. "But it's undoubtedly for you."

  "Undoubtedly." I lifted the receiver, and this time the caller allowed me to render my entire opening speech.

  "Daisy? This is Regina," came a soft voice on the other end of the wire.

  "Regina! How lovely to hear from you!" To the best of my recollection, Miss Petrie had never telephoned me before.

  "Thank you. Oh, but Daisy, I'm hoping you can... Well, I'm hoping you will be able to help me. A bit. A little bit. Just perhaps give me a couple of hints or tips or something."

  "Oh." Interesting. "About what?"

  "Um... Well, Mr. Browning has asked me to join him for luncheon next Tuesday, and... Oh, Daisy, I don't know what to do!"

  She sounded desperate. "What do you mean? Just be yourself. He clearly appreciates you."

  "But I'm so dowdy, Daisy. And you always look so perfect. I thought perhaps you might help me to... I don't know. Freshen my appearance. Or something."

  Oh, boy! Precisely what I'd been longing to do! "I'll be more than happy to assist you, Regina. In fact, I do believe I have a few good suggestions for you." I mentally rubbed my hands together in glee. "In fact, why don't you join us for dinner... tomorrow. Tonight I have to go to choir practice, but if you can come tomorrow evening, we can go to my room and I can give you a few suggestions. I think it will be loads of fun!"

  A moment of silence. There was a lot of silent moments going around that day. "Do you really think so?"

  "I really do. I'll just tell my family you'll be joining us for dinner tomorrow night, and then we can have a jolly old time."

  "Thank you, Daisy. I... I really don't know how to thank you."

  "Nonsense. All you need is a little help here and there."

  "Do you really think so? I've always been so plain and... dull."

  "Nonsense! You're far from plain, and you're definitely not dull. Mr. Browning wouldn't have asked you to dine with him if he didn’t admire you."

  "Well... Maybe." I could tell she didn't believe me.

  "Please trust me about this. I know what I'm talking about. I've known Robert Browning for years. He's a fine man."

  Unless, of course, he'd murdered Mary Carleton. But no. Robert couldn't have done such a dastardly thing.

  I hoped.

  "Are you sure your family won't mind?"

  "Of course not! They love having people over for dinner, and I've already told you that my Aunt Vi is the best cook in the known universe."

  After a shaky laugh, Regina said, "Yes. I know you've told me that several times."

  "Well, then, come to dinner! We dine at six p.m. Not a fashionable hour, I know, but we've never made any claims to being fancy people."

  "We always dined at six, too, my mother and me."

  "Wonderful. We'll see you then. Of course, you know our address because we're on file at the library."

  "Yes. I'll be there a little early."

  "I'm really looking forward to this!" I told her honestly. I'm sure my excitement could be heard in my voice.

  "Thank you."

  "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For giving me a chance to perk you up."

  "Oh. You mean you don't mind?"

  "Mind? Good heavens, Regina, I've wanted to have at you for years now." That didn't sound quite right.

  Nevertheless, Regina didn't seem to mind. She even laughed again. "Well, I give you permission to do anything you might have in mind to 'perk' me up, as you term it."

  "It will be fun," I told her again, meaning it.

  "Very well. See you tomorrow evening." She hesitated. "Um, you haven't heard anything about Miss Carleton's case, have you?"

  "Not a thing, unfortunately."

  "I didn't think so. Well, thank you, Daisy, and I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you again."

  "You're more than welcome." I hung up the receiver grinning, I'm sure, from ear to ear.

  "What's up?" asked Pa, looking at me curiously.

  "We're not only having a guest tonight, but we'll have one tomorrow evening, too. Miss Petrie, from the library, will be joining us tomorrow for dinner."

  "My goodness. I'll be happy to meet her at last. She's been a great source of books for the family for a long time now."

  "Indeed she has been. And before dinner I'm going to have at her."

  "I beg your pardon?" Pa looked startled.

  "Nothing evil, I assure you. But Robert Browning has asked her to take lunch with him on Tuesday. She's terribly worried about the impression she'll make, and I'm going to spiff her up, by gum. So to speak." Honestly, the last name Gumm, while intensely honorable, could be a sore trial sometimes.

  "Oh," said Pa. "Does she know about this plan of yours?"

  "She's the one who asked me to help her," I told him merrily.

  "Well," said Pa.

  I couldn't have said it better myself.

  Chapter 11

  Sam and his nephew showed up at our home at approximately five forty-five that evening. Spike and I met them at the door.

  "Good evening, gentlemen," I said, smiling at the two of them. Fran[k still seemed rather sullen. I had a feeling Sam had a lot to do with his glum mood.

  "Good evening," said Sam. "Frank, you've already met Mrs. Majesty." He glanced down at Spike, who was dutifully sitting and staying and sweeping the floor with his tail. Spike loved meeting new people, but he was a brilliantly obedient hound.

  "It's nice to see you again, Frank. This is my dog, Spike." I gestured at Spike and released him from his enforced obedience.

  Gazing down in astonishment, Frank said, "That thing's a dog?"

  Sam cuffed his nephew in the accustomed manner and said, "Mind your manners, you lout. That, Frank, is a special, fancy dog. A dachshund. That's German for... What was it again, Daisy?"

  "Badger hound," I said. "They were bred to go into badger holes and drag the beasts out. I guess badgers can be pests. They're also tough creatures and quite vicious."

  "It's a German dog?" Frank sounded as if he disapproved, the U.S. and Germany having not long since been at war with each other.

  Truth to tell, I wasn't fond of anything German, either, although I tried not to allow my husband's misery and death from the hands of the foul German gas to color my interactions with any
one. With limited success, I fear.

  "No," I said sternly. "Spike was born and bred right here in Pasadena, California. Well, he was born in Altadena, but he's as American as you and I."

  "Oh. I've never seen a dog shaped like that before."

  "Many people haven't," I told Frank, whom I was beginning to dislike a bit. Perhaps Sam was right about his nephew. "But hang up your coats and hats and come in. I'll introduce you to the rest of the family."

  After the two fellows had hung up their hats and coats, Frank looked around uncertainly. Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder and propelled the reluctant adolescent through the living room and in to the dining room. My family stood around, adjusting place settings and so forth. Delicious aromas issued from the kitchen. Vi poked her head out to smile at Sam and Frank.

  "Pa, Ma and Aunt Vi, this is Sam Rotondo's nephew from New York City, Frank Pagano."

  Pa, who'd never met a stranger, approached the young man, thrust out his hand and said, "Pleasure to meet you, Frank."

  "Yeah," said Frank, taking my father's hand as if he weren't accustomed to shaking hands with people. Perhaps he wasn't. He hadn't been sure about shaking my hand, either.

  "How nice that you're visiting your uncle," said Ma, also smiling at him and holding out her hand.

  Frank, after sending a glance at Sam as if pleading for assistance, said, "Yeah. Thanks." He shook Ma's hand as iffily as he'd shaken Pa's.

  "My Aunt Vi is a marvelous cook, Frank. I'm sure you'll love your dinner tonight," I told him.

  Frank said, "Uh..."

  "Mrs. Majesty is correct, Frank," said Sam. "Mrs. Gumm is a fantastic cook."

  "It sure smells different in here," said Frank.

  Sam rolled his eyes. He usually only did that to me. "Mind your manners, you dolt. The Gumms and Majestys aren't Italian. It's past time you expanded your horizons."

  On a side note, I'd once told my beloved Billy that I wanted to broaden my horizons. He'd glanced significantly at my hips and told me my horizons were broad enough. That was in the good old days, right after we were married, and I was, as I remain, too curvy for modern fashions. But that has nothing to do with the current narrative. By the way, Billy had been joking; he liked my horizons just fine.

  "Um... Yeah. I guess so."

  Frank earned another clout for his efforts and said, "Hey."