by Alice Duncan
Vi and I had dinner on the table in a very few minutes, so I went into the living room, where I overheard a rather stilted conversation taking place.
"You don't like to read, Mr. Pagano?" Regina asked, as if in response to a comment from someone.
"Well, uh, I don't read much."
"He's an illiterate lout," said Sam, smiling at Frank.
"I'm not illiterate," said Frank, sounding probably as offended as he dared under the circumstances.
"Perhaps illiterate was too strong a word," Sam admitted. "But I won't withdraw the lout part."
"Cripes," muttered Frank.
Both of my parents were smiling. I think they'd caught on to what Sam was attempting—in a relatively crude way—to teach his nephew.
"Reading is very important," said Ma. "You can get a wider picture of the world if you read than you can just sitting home with your family and friends all the time."
"Or running around with gangsters on the streets," added Sam.
Frank said, "I don't—" and shut his mouth with a clack of teeth.
"Reading," said Regina in her soft voice, "can certainly broaden one's view of the world."
"So true," said Sam, sounding complacent. "I showed Frank the September issue of National Geographic. The article we read is called Crossing the Untraversed Libyan Desert. It was fascinating, wasn't it, Frank?"
Frank looked at his uncle and said, "Uh-huh." I didn't believe him.
Because I was there and my interest had been piqued, I said, "I didn't know you subscribed to the National Geographic, Sam."
"Oh, yes. Billy and I used to talk about the magazine all the time. You know how much he loved it."
"Yes, I remember." I sighed.
"This Crossing the Desert article of theirs records a two thousand-mile journey across Libya and the discovery of two previously unknown oases in Egypt." He turned to Frank. "Mrs. Majesty and I were in Egypt a couple of years ago, Frank."
"Oh," said Frank.
Grinning at me, Sam said, "Frank was fascinated by the story of the trip across the desert."
"Yes," said I. "I can tell. But it's dinnertime now, so you all can come in and take your places."
"Thanks," said Sam. He rose from the chair in which he had been sitting, and I noticed him grimace. I guess torturing his nephew hadn't completely healed his leg. Yet. I trusted Sam to prevail.
Because I thought it only proper, I sandwiched Frank between my mother and Regina Petrie across from me. If that didn't make him mind his manners, I didn't know what would. Actually, I did, because I seated myself next to Sam on the other side of the table. Generally I put Sam on the chair opposite mine at meals, but I figured what the heck. We were engaged to be married. Not only that, but if Frank turned sulky or said something hateful, Sam could kick him on the shin.
Pa said grace, as he usually did, and I noticed Frank surreptitiously make the sign of the cross—really quickly. I guess he hoped no one would notice. Not that any of us cared what churches other people attended, and he could believe whatever he wanted to believe as far as I was concerned. I do know that Aunt Vi didn't necessarily approve of the Roman Catholic practice of praying to various saints, and she considered them no better than idolaters because of all the statues and so forth in their churches, although she'd no more say so to anyone outside the family than she would smack Mrs. Pinkerton's face. And she'd never do that.
"These look wonderful," said Sam as the platter of Russian cutlets arrived at his place at the table. "And so do the vegetables."
"They're Russian cutlets," I told him, having confirmed the name of the dish with Vi before we brought out the serving plates. "And you pour the brown mushroom sauce over them. That's Russian pilaf under the cutlets."
"Precisely," said Vi, smiling at me. She knew I wouldn't know a Russian cutlet from a French poodle if she hadn't explained everything to me.
"Pilaf?" asked Frank in a small voice. Then he glanced across the table at his uncle, fear writ large on his features.
"That's the rice stuff the cutlets sit on," I told him with a smile, hoping Sam hadn't kicked him. Since Frank didn't howl or frown, I guess Sam had held his foot.
"We had pilaf in Turkey, Sam. Remember?"
"Not really, but I do remember eating a lot of rice over there. And in Egypt."
"I loved the food in Turkey," I said. "I didn't feel very good when Harold and I were in Egypt."
"You weren't feeling well in Turkey, either, as I recall."
"You're right." I piled some of Vi's wonderful roasted vegetables on my plate next to my molded Russian cutlet. I'd gone easy on the mushroom sauce, although after my first bite, I wished I hadn't. As usual, Vi had prepared a gloriously delicious meal.
"Pilaf, Frank, is what French people call risotto."
"Really?" I asked, interested. I loved eating food, even if I couldn't boil water without ruining it.
"More or less," said Sam.
Frank said, "Huh."
Ma and Frank both appeared tentative as they poised their forks above their cutlets. Not Regina. She delicately forked up a bite, chewed, swallowed, and smiled at Aunt Vi. "Daisy was absolutely right about you, Mrs. Gumm. This is delectable."
"Thank you, my dear. It's the least I can do for you after all the marvelous books you've found for us over the years."
"I love the cauliflower and the squash, carrots and beans, too," said Regina. "Just wonderful. I should learn how to be a better cook. Even if I only ever cook for myself, it would be nice to dine on toothsome meals instead of my usual dull fare."
"Couldn't agree with you more, Miss Petrie," said Sam, savoring his Russian cutlet, pilaf, mushroom sauce and all. "Mrs. Gumm is the best cook I've ever met in my life."
"Uh," said Frank, as if he intended to say something about his Italian background. Then he winced, so I think Sam's foot connected with his shin, only not awfully hard. "Uh, yes. This is good," he said, after having swallowed the tiniest bite of Russian cutlet he could possibly fit onto his fork.
"Thank you," said Vi.
"This really is good," said Ma, surprised. She shouldn't have been. She knew Vi well enough to know she'd never serve us anything that wasn't up to or exceeding par. Whatever par is. I think it's some kind of sports term.
Chapter 19
Sam and Pa both had seconds of Vi's Russian cutlets and mushroom sauce. As I'd had a big lunch, I didn't, although I managed to clean my plate. So did Ma and Regina. Frank left a little rice on his plate but Sam didn't scold him, for which mercy I was grateful.
"I'll clean up the dinner plates and fetch the dessert plates," I said, rising to do so.
So we ate chocolate cake and ice cream, and I felt quite virtuous for not having indulged in chocolate cake for lunch and dinner. After we were all through with dinner, I cleaned off the table and stacked the dishes in the sink. I figured I'd wash them later, after our guests had departed.
When I walked into the living room, I noticed that Frank had somehow got himself seated on the sofa between Vi and Ma. I strongly suspected Sam had something to do with that. Sam and Regina each sat on a chair, as did Pa. I smiled at everyone and walked over to Sam.
"May I speak to you for a moment alone?" I asked him softly.
"Sure. Front porch?"
The front porch was about the only place Sam and I could be private together. The temperature outside, even in mild Pasadena, California, was chilly on that October evening, however, and I didn't think the cold concrete would be good for him.
Therefore, I said, "Why don't we chat in the kitchen? It's too cold outside for your leg, especially if we sit on the porch steps."
"Good idea," said Sam, rising with another little grimace. Guess his poor leg had begun paining him. Not that I've studied psychology or anything, but I'd bet a student thereof would put the blame for that on Pa having mentioned Sam's lack of a cane earlier in the evening.
I led him into the kitchen, sat him on a chair, and left him at the kitchen table with Spi
ke at his feet, hoping in vain for Sam to drop some food on him. Then I went into the bathroom, shook out two aspirin tablets from the bottle stored in the medicine chest—I'd learned the hard way to buy aspirin in bottles and not packets because they're ever so much more convenient to remove from a bottle than from a packet.
Returning to the kitchen, I poured a little water into a glass and handed glass and aspirin tablets to Sam.
He took them and frowned at me. "What's this for?"
"I know your leg is hurting. So just take those aspirin tablets with the water and don't argue with me."
"Hadn't planned on arguing," said Sam. He popped the tablets into his mouth and swallowed them with the water. Handing the glass to me, he said, "Thanks. That was sweet of you to think about my leg."
"I know it pains you. But what I want to know is what happened to the silver candlestick. You didn't let Frank keep it, did you?"
"Good Lord, no. I drove him up to your church, marched him to the pastor's office, and made Frank confess and hand over the candlestick." Mr. Merle Negley Smith was our minister at the First Methodist-Episcopal Church.
"Bet Frank didn't enjoy that," I said, smiling.
Sam's grin was probably more wicked than mine, although I don't know for sure. "He hated every minute of it. What made it worse was that Pastor Smith didn't scold him. He looked sad and disappointed, and prayed over the little thug."
I laughed. "I'd love to have seen that!"
"I enjoyed it." Sam smirked malevolently. "That kid's about to drive me 'round the bend."
"You'll fix him. I have faith in you."
"You do, huh?"
"I do."
"Next time you say those words, I expect we'll be married." Sam gave me a big frown.
"Let's wait until your leg is all healed. Anyway, I wanted to tell you Harold and I will be visiting Dr. and Mrs. Homer Fellowes tomorrow, and Harold will plan the Halloween party to which all the suspects in Miss Carleton's murder will be invited."
"Good God." Sam rolled his eyes. He did that a lot around me.
"Sam! It's a great way to get them all in one place so you can question them. Surreptitiously, you know. You won't be in uniform or anything." I had a brilliant idea. "In fact, you'll be in costume! I know just the thing, too."
"I'll be cursed if I'll wear a costume to any damned party," growled Sam, his frown turning ferocious.
"Nonsense. You have to be there, because all the suspects will be there. And Frank can help serve food at the party, so you can keep an eye on him, too. We don't want him running loose on the streets of Pasadena and getting into mischief, do we?"
"I want him to get out of Pasadena altogether," said Sam. "Damned kid's a waste of space."
"Precisely what I was thinking about Stacy Kincaid earlier today. You don't like Frank much, do you?"
"No. I don't know how Renata ended up with a kid like him. She's a caring person who loves her kids and has always done right by them. I'll introduce you two one of these days. You'll love her."
"Is she coming to Pasadena?" I asked. Oh, boy! I'd love to meet some of Sam's relatives. Some of his other relatives, I mean. I hoped none of the rest of them was like Frank.
"No. But I figured we could have our honeymoon in New York City. That way you can meet my family—God save you—and I can take you to see the sights. New York's an impressive place."
"When Harold took me to Egypt, we spent a couple of days in New York, but I didn't enjoy it."
"You weren't enjoying anything back then."
I sighed. "True. Won't your parents be coming to the wedding?"
"No. They won't set foot in a church other than a Catholic one. Frank's right about that. Catholics aren't supposed to attend other kinds of churches. My parents are strict Catholics and stuffy that way."
"Oh." Gee, I'd never thought of myself as a particularly undesirable daughter-in-law. The idea that Sam's parents might disapprove of me gave me a sinking sensation in my heart. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not. Consider yourself lucky. Don't get me wrong. I love my mother and father and sisters, but get them all into the same room, and you can't hear yourself think. Why do you think I stayed here after Margaret died?"
"I never thought about it. Your family's loud, eh?"
"All Italian families are loud," said Sam.
"Your father didn't balk at creating this lovely engagement ring," I said, staring fondly at my left hand.
Sam picked up my ring hand and kissed it. "He balked. I told him it was either accept you as a daughter-in-law or lose a son."
"You didn't!" Honestly, I was appalled.
"Did, too. Since I'm their only son, they decided to tolerate you."
"How kind of them," I said, feeling picked-on. And just because I wasn't an Italian or a Roman Catholic. Criminy!
On the other hand, my parents would probably have been dismayed if Sam had remained with his church and not gone with us Methodists to ours, or if I'd converted to Catholicism. In fact, they'd have been horrified if I'd done the latter. Hmm.
Religion causes a lot of problems in the world sometimes, doesn't it?
Sam leaned over and gave me a kiss. I kissed him back, and we might have stayed in each other's arms a lot longer than was proper, but Frank interrupted us. Actually, he appeared at the door to the kitchen, said, "Whoops!" and backed up.
Pulling away from me, Sam said, "Damn that boy."
I just sighed. Kissing Sam felt good. After Billy's demise, I didn't think I'd ever be able to love another man. Just goes to show that life is full of tricks, I reckon. I rose from my chair, and Sam pushed himself up from his, grunting a little.
"The aspirins aren't helping?" I asked, concerned.
"Give 'em time. They take a few minutes to start working. They will help, so thanks for thinking of them."
"You're welcome. Wish you could stay longer."
"Must get the brat home."
Holding hands like a couple of school kids, Sam and I walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where Frank stood in a corner, looking frightened.
"How'd you escape from the two Gumm ladies?" Sam asked him gruffly.
"I... I, uh... I just said I needed to go to the... the bathroom." Color rose to Frank's cheeks. As his complexion was what they call an "olive" hue, the blush didn't enhance his appearance any.
"Didn't anyone tell you where the bathroom was?" I asked, genuinely interested.
"Um... Yeah, they did, but—"
"Trying to find something else to pilfer?" his uncle asked mildly.
"No!" Frank turned a sort of puce color. Most unbecoming on him.
"Just want to get out of there, eh?" said Sam.
"Um... Well..."
"It's all right, Frank," I told him kindly. "I know you're not used to us folks here in California."
"You can say that again!" the young man blurted out. I think it was perhaps the first truly honest thing he'd said to me thus far in our acquaintanceship.
"Come along, then, you hooligan. We'll be polite, thank Mrs. Gumm for a delicious meal, get our coats and hats, and I'll take you home."
"Where do you sleep, Frank? I know Sam's bungalow isn't large. Is there more than one bedroom?"
"No. He sleeps on the sofa," said Sam, answering for his nephew. "I'm not about to let him have my bed."
Frank hung his head.
Sam grabbed him by the arm, jerked him around, and the three of us walked into the living room together.
Nudging his nephew, Sam said, "It's about time for us to get going. Thank you again for the wonderful meal, Vi."
"You're more than welcome," said Vi, smothering a yawn. She had to get up early in the morning. "Come again any time, young man."
"Uh... Thanks," said Frank. After peering at his uncle from the corner of his eye, he added, "Ma'am. Thank you for inviting me."
"You're welcome, Mr. Pagano," said Ma, rising and yawning in her turn. "I know it's early for bed, but we're early risers in this household."
"We are indeed," said Pa, standing in his turn.
"As am I," said Regina, likewise getting out of her chair.
"So am I," said Sam. He shoved Frank toward the coat rack.
"One of these days when you both can stay longer, we can have a musical evening," I said, attempting to sound bright and chipper. The odds a chipper mood would prevail were slim, what with Frank sulking and Sam wanting to murder him—I knew the signs—but I figured it was worth a try.
"That would be lovely," said Regina. Her voice actually did sound bright and chipper, if soft. "I love music, and I noticed your piano. I wondered who in the family played."
"Daisy," came a quartet of voices from my family and Sam.
"Oh, my, you can do everything, can't you, Daisy?" said Regina, gazing at me with something akin to rapture.
"Not really. My accomplishments on this green earth are minimal, to say the least."
"Nonsense. You sing and play the piano beautifully."
I had to look at him to be sure the comment had some from Sam. When I did, I found him gazing fondly at me. Good Lord.
"Thank you, Sam," I said, marveling at having been paid a compliment by Sam Rotondo, of all people. And in front of my family, Regina, and his rotten nephew, too!
He grinned, knowing he'd disconcerted me. He was such a tease sometimes. If Frank hadn't been there, I'd have smacked his arm. Since Frank was there, and Sam knew I'd never do anything so unladylike in front of my family, he was safe from repercussions. For the moment.
I didn't see the two men out to Sam's Hudson as I usually did, but rather turned to speak to Regina, since she'd also declared her intention of leaving. She came up to me and held out her hand.
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done for me, Daisy. I'll always be grateful."
"Fiddlesticks. Let's set up a date so we can go shopping next week sometime, all right?"
"Next Wednesday, the fourteenth, I'll be leaving at noon, because I have to work on Saturday. Would that be a good time for you? In the early afternoon?"
"Absolutely! I think the Fellowes's Halloween party will probably be the next Saturday, so we can find a costume for you to wear."
