Spirits United

by Alice Duncan

  Very well, then.

  When I replaced the receiver on its cradle, Sam had finished with his glass of water and aspirin tablets and had begun scowling at me.

  "What?" I asked. "It's not my fault Gladys Fellowes telephoned. I'm frightfully sorry about Mr. Jeffreys, though."

  "The murder of Philip Jeffreys is none of your beeswax, Daisy Gumm Majesty—soon to become Daisy Gumm Rotondo—so stay out of it, dammit."

  "Applesauce. Anyhow, you'll be able to figure out who did the evil deed at the Halloween party next Saturday. All the suspects will be there."

  "God."

  Sam turned and stomped back to the living room, still relying on his cane, although I hoped the aspirin tablets would take effect soon. I also wondered what he aimed to do with Frank while he was investigating— But wait.

  "Hey, Sam! Stop for a minute! I thought you were supposed to stay at your desk and not go running around after criminals until after your leg heals completely!" I cried, tearing after him into the living room.

  "Too many detectives out sick," Sam said briefly. "Anyhow, I'd rather be working than sitting at my desk." He walked over to his nephew. "Frank, get up and come with me. Say your thanks to the Gumms for putting up with you for another day."

  Frank stood instantly, said, "Thank you very much," and bowed! I swear, if Sam didn't cure that bozo, and soon, there was truly no hope for him.

  Anyhow, we all bade the two men adieu. Well, since we live in Southern California, I suppose I should say we bade them adios, but technically we did neither; we just said good-bye. I walked Sam and Frank out to Sam's machine.

  "Please be careful, Sam," said I. "Don't be too hard on your poor leg."

  Frank, who had been totally intimidated by our dinner that day—I think he was particularly confused by the rutabagas, which he stared at as if they were from Mars—said, "I'll help him, Mrs. Majesty."

  "That's nice, Frank," said I, not believing him for a second.

  "You will not help me," said Sam. "You'll stay the hell out of my way."

  Frank cringed.

  I got on my tiptoes and gave Sam a circumspect kiss—we had an audience, after all—and Sam and Frank drove off down Marengo.

  Oh, dear. What in the world was so important about Dr. Fellowes's stupid project that people were being murdered for it? At least, I presumed the two deaths had something to do with the project. It would be too much of a coincidence if two people working on the same thing got themselves killed within a week of each other for no reason. Wouldn't it?

  Pooh. I had no idea. But I was feeling pretty darned morose when I walked back to the house and explained to my family as much as I knew about what had happened. Which wasn't much, blast it.

  Chapter 25

  About five-thirty that afternoon, just when I was beginning to contemplate making myself a ham sandwich, the confounded telephone rang yet again.

  You'd never know I muttered curses as I walked from the living room to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. I'd taken a breath to give the caller my standard greeting, when I was interrupted before I started speaking.

  "May I come over for a little bit?"

  Sam.

  "Of course, you may! I'd love for you to come over!" I meant it. I wanted to know what the heck was going on and how poor Mr. Jeffreys had been done in. He'd been so young, too. It seemed especially terrible to me that his life had been cut short almost before it had begun. I felt the same way about Miss Carleton's death, although she'd at least been given a few more years on this green earth than had Mr. Jeffreys.

  "I'm not going to discuss the case with you," said he in a gruff voice I knew of old.

  "Yes, I know. But come over anyway. I'll make you a ham sandwich."

  "Thanks. I'm still full from dinner."

  "Well, I'll make you a sandwich anyway. You need to keep up your strength. Will Frank be coming with you?"

  "No."

  Well, that was definite. "Did you leave him at your bungalow?"

  "God, no. I locked him in a cell. I'll pick him up on my way home."

  "You locked him in a cell?"

  "Best place I can think of for him."

  "Hmm. You may be right. Will you be coming over right now? I really will make you a sandwich. Even I can't ruin a ham sandwich." As long as I didn't have to cut the bread. I've never yet been able to cut a straight slice of bread, but I knew Pa would be happy to do it for me. Heck, I'd make a sandwich for him, too.

  "Thanks. Yes, I'll come over now. I could use another couple of aspirin tablets if you have them to spare."

  "Of course, we do. You should get some to keep at home."

  "I have some at home. I'm not at home. I'm still at Cal Tech, but we're winding things up here, so it'll only take me a half-hour or so to get to your house."

  "See you then, Sam. Love you."

  "Yeah. You, too."

  He didn't dare declare his emotions in front of his police colleagues. I was laughing when I hung up the 'phone.

  "Sam?" asked Pa, stretching and yawning. He'd been dozing on the sofa when the telephone's ring woke him.

  "Yes. He's coming over. Maybe if I pester him enough, he'll give us some of the details regarding poor Mr. Jeffreys' death."

  Shaking his head, Pa said, "A shame about that young man." He squinted at me. "He was young, wasn't he?"

  "Very young," I said upon a sigh. "Too young to be foully done to death. I think Dr. Malton did it."

  Pa appeared a bit surprised. "Why?"

  I shrugged. "I just don't like him much. He's too... familiar, if you know what I mean."

  "Not really," said Pa.

  "Oh, he was giving me the eye and kept holding my hand and stuff like that when I met him. That day Gladys and I went to lunch at Cal Tech, remember? I'd only just met him, and he acted as if I were his personal plaything. I didn't like him."

  "Good heavens. He sounds like a cad." Pa smiled and headed to the bread box.

  "He was, darn it. I don't like being pawed by strange men. Or even men who aren't strange."

  With a laugh, Pa said, "Want me to cut you some bread? Your mother and I aim to share a ham sandwich."

  "Yes, please. I promised Sam a sandwich when he gets here."

  "Frank coming, too?"

  "No. Sam locked him in a cell at the police department to keep him out of the way for a while."

  Pa's eyebrows soared. "That sounds pretty drastic."

  I shrugged. "Sounded reasonable to me. I doubt Frank would be much help during a murder investigation. In fact, he'd probably just get in the way. And I expect Sam didn't want him to ransack his house if he left him there while he went investigating."

  "That kid is trouble, isn't he?"

  "He certainly is. This will give him a taste of jail, too, so maybe he'll hate it so much he'll reform his wicked ways."

  With another laugh, Pa glanced in the bread box. "White or rye? I'll take my ham on rye. How about you?"

  "Rye, please. And cut enough for three sandwiches, please. Sam and I will each eat one. If I can't finish my second half, I'll give it to Sam. He needs to keep up his strength." I frowned as I headed to the cupboard to grab a jar of mustard. Vi made the mustard we ate in our family, by the way, just as she made our mayonnaise. Vi was a miracle-worker.

  "Cut enough for four sandwiches, please, Joe. I'll have one, too." Vi walked into the kitchen through the hall door, looking rested.

  "Hey, Vi," said I. "Have a good nap?"

  "Very good, thank you. Did I hear someone say Sam is coming over?"

  "Yes. He'll be here shortly."

  "Good. In that case, I'll make the sandwiches," said Vi. "Here, Joe. Hand me the knife."

  "Thanks, Vi," said Pa, doing as she asked and handing her the knife, hilt first.

  "I'm so glad," I told her. "I don't think I can ruin a ham sandwich, but it's probably better if you make them."

  "Probably," said Vi, smiling.

  It's no fun being so bad at doing something that your w
hole family laughs about it. On the other hand, none of the other people in my family could commune with ghosts. Of course, neither could I, but... Oh, never mind.

  When Sam got to our house, his limp was pronounced, and I was sorry to see it. I'd already procured three aspirin tablets and a glass of water for him, so as soon as Spike and had greeted him, I led him into the dining room, where I'd set out what he needed.

  Sitting with a sigh, he said, "Thanks. I wish I'd taken some with me. They help, but they don't last forever."

  "I know," said I. "You were at the campus all this time? Since you left our house?"

  "Yes."

  "My, that was... hours ago."

  "I know." Sam took his aspirin tablets like a good boy.

  "And it was cold out there, too."

  "Yes, it was."

  "I'm sorry."

  "These will help," Sam said, putting down the water glass he'd drained.

  "How was Mr. Jeffreys killed, Sam?" Before he could tell me again it wasn't my business, I said, "It'll be in the papers tomorrow or the next day, so you might as well tell me. Was he stabbed like Miss Carleton?"

  After heaving another sigh, Sam said, "Yes. After having a loud argument with someone."

  "With whom? Did anyone see with whom he was arguing?"

  "No. Your pal Robert Browning was there, and so were Dr. Malton and Dr. Fellowes."

  "Oh, dear."

  "Yeah. And a bunch of students were there, too. I guess you don't have to be stupid to enjoy a good tragedy. All those brilliant science students were as eager as your average Joe to look at a dead body and find out what had happened."

  "That's kind of sad, but it's also human nature. I mean, if a neighbor of ours was stabbed to death, I'd be interested."

  "You're always interested in dead bodies."

  I decided not to argue. He was right, actually. To a degree.

  "A student named Davidson was there, as well. He said he's working on that geological project the two doctors are heading, as was the dead man."

  "I know. I met them when Gladys took me to Cal Tech. We ate lunch in the Athenaeum. It's a really nice place."

  Glowering at me, Sam said, "I wouldn't know."

  Whoops.

  "You didn't tell me you'd been dining at Cal Tech with the Fellowes woman."

  "I didn't?"

  "No. You didn't."

  "Oh. Well, it wasn't important. Guess I just didn't think of it."

  "Right. As if you ever forget anything at all about a murder case."

  "I'm sorry, Sam."

  "Nuts." He rubbed his chest, then his left leg.

  "What's the matter?" Alarm shot through me instantly. I didn't like Sam rubbing his chest like that. "Does your chest hurt?" I stood, ready to run around the table and hold him in his chair should he look likely to fall out of it.

  "No." He sounded almost as surly as Frank.

  "Why are you rubbing your chest, then?"

  "I don't know. It was the damnedest thing." He pulled the juju Mrs. Jackson had given him out of his right trouser pocket. "Every time I talked to those folks working on the project, this stupid thing seemed to get hot." He glared at his juju.

  I did, too. Only my look wasn't a glare, but a stare. Could it be? Sam would never believe it. "Um... When did it seem to heat up?"

  Sam lifted his head and gaze at me. Not fondly. "I just told you."

  "Only when you were with the people working on the project?"

  "Yes."

  "Sam! Do you know what that means? Or what it might mean, I mean?"

  "No. I don't have a single notion what it might mean, and don't you start spouting your spiritualist nonsense at me, either."

  Vi appeared from the kitchen with a tray with a plate piled with sandwiches. She'd also sliced up a couple of apples. "Let's just use our napkins so we don't have to dirty any more dishes for Daisy to clean up," she said, smiling happily.

  Hmm. Well, I decided later, it was just as well she'd interrupted us, because I doubted Sam would even consider what I thought that heated-up juju might mean. Even if I asked him specifically whom he was with when it got hot, he probably wouldn't tell me but would merely scoff.

  "Thank you, Vi," said Sam. He sounded unutterably weary.

  Poor Sam. I guess I shouldn't pester him. But, boy, I wished I knew more about his juju's antics. Heck, my juju never got hot when I was around an evildoer. It didn't seem quite fair that Sam should receive special help from his juju when he didn't even believe in its efficacy.

  Well... Truth to tell, I didn't either. Any more than I thought I could talk to dead people. However, there had been one or two times in my career as a spiritualist-medium during which odd things had happened, and I no longer considered anything beyond the realm of possibility. Heck, my crystal ball had once been instrumental in discovering where a missing butler had been held captive. Not Featherstone. This was another butler.

  Ma joined us at the table, and Pa didn't bother with saying grace again. I guess he figured one or two blessings per day was sufficient.

  Sam noticed his juju lying on the dining-room table and swiftly tucked it back into his trouser pocket. I think I was the only one who noticed.

  "Ham on rye," he said, as if to divert attention away from his surreptitious movement. "My favorite."

  "Mine, too," said Pa, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

  "Where's Frank, Sam? I thought he'd be with you." Ma smiled sweetly at Sam.

  "No. I was called to the scene of another murder, this one at Cal Tech, and I left Frank with some police buddies of mine. I figured they could keep an eye on him."

  "Another murder? Terrible! But it's probably a good thing you didn't take Frank to the scene," said Ma, having no idea that Sam had locked him in the clink.

  Neither Sam nor Pa nor I enlightened her. Sam smiled.

  After we'd consumed our sandwiches, the rest of my family and Sam went to the living room while I cleared off the table and washed the very few implements Vi had used to make our sandwiches. Then I joined everyone in the living room. The time was six-thirty-ish by then.

  I sat on a chair near Sam, who shared the sofa with Vi and Ma. "How's your leg, Sam. Have the aspirins helped any yet."

  Rubbing his left leg, Sam said, "I think so. It's hard to tell sometimes. It's been a long, cold day, and I don't think the weather or having to stand for hours interviewing people did it any good."

  "I'm sorry. I wish I could wave a magic wand or something and make all the pain go away."

  "I wish you could, too." Sam didn't smile.

  "It's a shame you had to do all that legwork, Sam," said Pa. "I thought you were supposed to sit at a desk for a few weeks or so."

  "I was, but there's an epidemic running through the police department, and there are too many detectives out sick for me to be able to sit all day long. Anyway, I'd rather be in the thick of things, even though it's hard on the old leg."

  "If I were a policeman, I think I'd rather be interviewing people and visiting crime scenes than sitting at a desk," I said.

  "I know you would," said Sam. Not tenderly.

  "But listen, Sam," I said, deciding not to pounce on him for his negative attitude, "I need to tell you a couple of things."

  "Aw, jeez."

  "No. They aren't bad things. Only Mrs. Bissel called me because I'm conducting a séance at her home on Tuesday night, and she asked specifically if I could get in touch with Mary Carleton. If you want to go with me, I'm sure Mrs. Bissel wouldn't mind."

  Sam's head flopped back until it rested on the back of the sofa. I got the feeling he wasn't pleased.

  "Would you like to go with me?" I asked in a small voice.

  Lifting his head, Sam gazed at me with eyes that looked rather like shiny black olives. "I don't even want you to go there."

  "But I have to."

  "Cripes. Will anyone from Cal Tech be there?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Then what's the use?"

  "Um
... I don't know. It was just a thought."

  "Right." Sam heaved himself to his feet. "But I need to get going now. I have a lot of paperwork to do, and then I'll have to spring Frank and take him home. I hope to God they fed him."

  "I'm sure they did," I said, trying to sound loving and supportive.

  "Huh."

  Typical.

  Spike and I walked Sam out to his Hudson. I'd reversed my decision regarding talking to Sam about his juju. Since I didn't want the rest of my family to hear it, mainly because I feared Sam's reaction and I didn't care to sully my relatives' ears with profanity, I waited until we were alone.

  We stood in the street beside the driver's side of the machine and I said, "Listen to me, Sam. I know you'll think this is crazy, but you really need to isolate whoever it was that triggered your juju's reaction."

  He frowned and opened his mouth to talk, but I help up a hand to stop him. "I know, I know. You think it's insane. But has your juju ever become warm before when you were questioning suspects?"

  "No. This was the first time. And it wasn't just warm. It was cursed hot." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the cunning little charm Mrs. Jackson had crafted for him. "Stupid thing."

  "It may or may not be stupid," I said. "What I think you should do is interview all the people working on Dr. Fellowes's project and see which one or ones cause the reaction."

  Sam stared at me. "You're crazy."

  "I'm not crazy! Just try it, for Pete's sake. What can it hurt?"

  "I have no idea." He started to stuff the juju back in his pocket, but I stopped him.

  "Put the string around your neck, Sam Rotondo," I commanded. I can be quite commanding when I put my mind to it.

  "Cripes."

  "Just do it, Sam."

  "Good God." But he put the string carrying the juju around his neck again.

  I smiled. "Thanks, Sam." I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss. "I do love you, you know."

  "I know. I guess." Then he put his arms around me and hugged me tight. "It's driving me nuts not being able to do more than kiss and cuddle, you know."

  "I know. I'm sorry. We can probably figure something out."

  "Yeah?" Sam drew slightly away from me and gazed down at me, his brow furrowed.

  "Yeah. Why not. We're going to be married."