Spirits United

by Alice Duncan

"I don't know." Robert looked blank.

  "Nuts. I think you should scoot down to Detective Rotondo's office right this minute. You shouldn't wait any longer." I stared at him hard. "Don't forget that you might be in danger. Whoever killed Miss Carleton and Mr. Jeffreys might do you in next if whoever it is finds you prying into suspicious things about that horrible project."

  "It's not horrible. It's going to be quite useful."

  "If you say so, Robert. All I know is, it's managed to get two people murdered so far, and if you begin looking into the results as if you believe something to be amiss, you might be next."

  "Good Lord, do you really think so?"

  I felt like banging my head on the table. "Robert Browning, I've known you for years and years, but I never thought you were naïve before now. Yes! I really think so. And I'll bet Sam... er, Detective Rotondo will think so, too. If it's not too late, I'll go with you to the police department."

  "Too late? What do you mean?"

  "I have duties to perform at home, Robert."

  "Oh. Oh, of course." Robert lifted his arm, shook his coat sleeve down and glanced at his wristwatch. "It's four-thirty now."

  "Good. Let's go. I need to be getting home soon, but I don't think this should wait."

  "Well... If you really think so."

  "I really think so."

  "And you'll go with me? I feel foolish now for not having confessed everything before. But those weren't my secrets. They belonged to other people. People whom I respected and... well, loved, if we're talking about Elizabeth."

  I patted him on the arm. "I know, Robert. But you need to tell the detective everything you told me. Trust me about this."

  "Very well." Robert rose and stood behind my chair to pull it out for me.

  Those library chairs were very heavy, and the chair made a terrible scraping sound as he pulled it back. I cringed, expecting an outraged librarian to appear out of the periodical stacks. But we were in luck. No one showed up to scold us, and Robert and I walked outside. Then we faced a dilemma.

  "Um... Where is your car, Robert?"

  "Right there." He pointed to a Chevrolet parked right in front of mine.

  "I should have recognized it," I said. His car was fancier than ours, but I didn't care. I loved our machine. "Perhaps we'd better take both cars," I said. "I'm not sure if Sam will be there, and if he isn't, I'll need to rush home. If he is, I'll still need to rush home, but I'll be there to give you moral support as you tell him your story."

  "It's not my story. That's the whole problem."

  Aw, crumb. "I know, Robert. Just do it anyway."

  "Right."

  "So I'll remain with you while you spill the beans to the detective. If it looks like I'll be late, I'll telephone my family from the police station." Providing the people at the police station would cooperate.

  So Robert got into his fancy Chevrolet, and I got into our not-so-fancy Chevrolet, and we drove the couple of blocks to the Pasadena Police Department, which sat right behind Pasadena's City Hall.

  Together we walked into the station. I didn't recognize the policeman sitting at the reception desk, but I boldly walked up to him. "We need to see Detective Rotondo," I said firmly.

  The policeman gazed up at me. He didn't stand, the rude thing, but oh, well. "Are you Mrs. Majesty?"

  Surprised, I confessed that was indeed my name.

  "Very good. Hold on one moment, and I'll get the detective for you."

  And he did. After what sounded like an unpleasant conversation with Sam—I could only hear one side of it, of course—the man finally rose from his chair. He walked across the room, unlocked a door, and ushered Robert and me in. I led the way to Sam's office, but allowed Robert to open the door for me. He was such a gentleman, I feared he might suffer a nervous collapse if I opened the door for myself.

  Inwardly, I was still shaking my head in mystification that Robert had concealed so much pertinent information from the police. I didn't roll my eyes, but I wanted to.

  "What's going on, Daisy? Mr. Browning?" Sam's rock-solid posture and forbidding countenance didn't invite confidences.

  "Robert has some things to tell you. They're important to your investigation, Sam."

  Sam's forehead crinkled with his frown. He just hated when people came to me with their confessions instead of to the police. Huh. If Sam weren't so formidable, people would confide in him more readily.

  Frank Pagano wasn’t in the chair next to Sam's desk, so I sat there. Robert pulled up a chair on the other side of Sam's desk and sat.

  "All right, what's all this about?" Sam asked gruffly. Papers littered his desk, and it looked to me as if he'd been writing a report or something. He turned it over when he saw me glance at it. I didn't roll my eyes again.

  "Go on, Robert. Tell Detective Rotondo what you just told me. Don't leave anything out."

  So Robert did and Sam took notes. A couple of times it looked to me as if he wanted to whack Robert Browning upside the head as he so often did to his nephew, but he restrained himself.

  As for Robert, he looked and sounded like a little boy who'd been caught doing something naughty. As well he should.

  As Robert spoke, I kept a close watch on Sam, wondering if his juju were heating up. He didn't slap a hand to his chest or anything, so I presume it didn't. Ha. I knew Robert wasn't the killer!

  When Robert finished talking, Sam sat back in his chair and looked at him. It wasn't a kindly look.

  "Why the devil didn't you tell this in the first place? This is important information. If you'd told us what you knew before now, Mr. Jeffreys' life might have been spared. You do know that, don't you?"

  "But..." Robert covered his face with his hands. "Oh, God."

  "Right," said Sam. He turned to me. "You don't need to play nanny to Mr. Browning any longer, Daisy. Go on home. I'm sure it must be almost time for dinner." He heaved a sigh. "Wish I could be there."

  "I wish you could be, too, Sam." Rising from my chair, I contemplated giving him a little kiss on the cheek, but decided not to. It would only embarrass him. This was his place of work, after all. "Hope to see you tomorrow. Even if you have to bring Frank with you."

  He smiled, and I left the police station.

  By the time I got home, the rest of my family was already there. They all looked at me as if they'd been worried about me. Even Spike, who leapt up on me and gave me doggy kisses. I felt guilty.

  "I'm sorry I didn't telephone to say I'd be late," said I. "I had to go with Robert Browning to the police station to talk to Sam." Then I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

  "Why did Robert Browning have to go to the police station?" asked Ma.

  "Yes, and why did you have to go with him?" asked Pa.

  "Why did Mr. Browning have to talk to Sam?" asked Vi.

  See?

  Taking off my coat and hanging it on the coat rack, I contemplated my response. Yes, Robert had confided his secrets to me. But I didn't think it was my place to tell his secrets to anyone other than Sam. Therefore, I had to scramble for an answer to three sensible questions.

  "Um... Well, he was keeping something from the police. He told me what it was today, and I told him he needed to tell Sam about it."

  That was no good. They'd all want to know what Robert had told me.

  To forestall further questions, I said, "I can't divulge anything right now. Robert didn't even want to tell me, and I'm sure he'd be annoyed if I told anyone else. Eventually everything will come out, and then everyone will know."

  They all looked at me with disapproval on their faces, and I wished I'd lied to begin with. Even Spike seemed irked with me.

  I held up my hands. "I'm sorry! It involves the murders of two people, and Sam would kill me if I spilled the beans." They still appeared displeased, so I said lamely, "I'm sorry," again.

  A collective sigh went up from my audience.

  "Well," said Vi in a tone of voice that let me know she didn't approve of secrets being kept from the fam
ily, "Will you please set the table?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I said in a small voice, and went to the dining room to do same. I didn't bother changing clothes, although I felt a little crumpled by that time. "Oh, Sam and Frank won't be joining us tonight. Sam has to work. I don't know where Frank is."

  "Hmm," said Vi.

  Oh, dear. I didn't like having my family mad at me. Believing I'd be better off if I just kept mum and went about my assigned task, I set the table for the family only. I didn't even ask what Vi aimed to give us for dinner.

  Fortunately, I didn't have to wait too long to find out, because as soon as the table was set, Vi called me into the kitchen to begin taking viands out for the family to enjoy.

  "This smells delectable, Vi," said I, venturing into speech at last.

  "Thank you."

  Very well. I decided I'd best just keep my mouth shut until the temperature warmed up a trifle. Figuratively speaking. The house itself was warm, even though the weather remained chilly outdoors.

  "It's just tomato soup," said Vi, relenting somewhat.

  "I love tomato soup, especially if you put milk in it," said I tentatively.

  "I did."

  "Oh. Good."

  I took the tureen to the table and set it beside Aunt Vi's place at the table. Because she hadn't told me earlier that she aimed to serve us soup, I scurried to the china cabinet, took out four bowls, and stacked them at Vi's place, too.

  "Will you call your parents in for dinner, Daisy?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  So I did, and we all sat down. Pa said grace, Vi served soup and passed the bowls around. Her tomato soup was the best, of course. As soon as we finished our soup, which we ate with soda crackers, I picked up the dishes, took them to the kitchen, and brought out a platter and a bowl Vi had warming on the stove.

  "I love stuffed cabbage," said Pa, as Vi served up two of the rolled-up cabbage leaves for him, handed me his plate, and I passed it to Pa. I'd already put the bowl of what Vi called Harvard beets on the table, so I passed those to him, too.

  Thank the good Lord, by the time the meal was over, everyone seemed to have forgiven me for teasing them. I hadn't meant to tease them, but I still felt guilty. In those days, I felt guilty most of the time, so this was nothing new.

  Chapter 28

  I'd just put the last dish away and was contemplating what to read next when the stupid telephone rang. Sighing, I went to answer it.

  "Gumm-Majesty—"

  "You don't need to go through the whole speech," said Sam. "Is it all right if I come over? I'd like to talk to you about what we both heard today."

  "You would?" This was a whole new attitude on Sam's part. He generally wanted me as far away from his cases as I could get.

  "Yes. But don't get your hopes up. I'm not going to allow you to poke and pry."

  "I don't poke and pry!"

  "Right."

  "Anyhow, yes. Please come over. I can heat some dinner for you, in fact. Vi made stuffed cabbage, tomato soup and Harvard beets."

  "Really? I haven't had Harvard beets since I left New York City."

  "You haven't dined with us enough. Vi makes them fairly often. She's from Massachusetts, you know, home of Harvard."

  "I thought your family came from Auburn."

  "We do."

  "Harvard is in Cambridge."

  "I mean the state, Sam, not the precise town. Don't be so picky."

  "Oh. All right. Be there soon."

  "Good."

  But he'd already hung up the receiver on his end of the wire. Good old Sam.

  I strode to the living room and told my family Sam aimed to pay us a visit. Instantly, Vi rose to her feet. "I'll fix a plate for him."

  "He might have eaten already," I said.

  "Nonsense. He's a big man. He can eat again."

  "He probably could," I acknowledged, "but I don't necessarily want to marry a fat man."

  "Daisy!" said my mother. I should have anticipated as much.

  "It was supposed to be a joke, Ma," I explained.

  She said, "Oh."

  I love my mother.

  Not too long after that, Spike raced to the door. I hadn't even heard Sam's Hudson pull up outside. That was probably because the wind was blowing a gale. Have I mentioned Santa Ana Winds? I do believe I have.

  I reached the door not long after Spike did, and well before Sam had climbed the porch stairs. He had his cane in one hand and was attempting to keep his hat on his head with the other.

  "Come on in, Sam. Vi is heating you a plate of dinner."

  "Thanks." He sighed as he stepped into the warm house. "It's nasty out there."

  "At least we don't get feet and feet of snow."

  "That's true." He hung his hat and coat on the coat tree.

  "Where's Frank?"

  "All tucked away safe and sound."

  "You stuck him in a cell again?"

  "Yep."

  I couldn't help but laugh. "By the time you get him home, he'll be so terrified of cells, he'll never misbehave again."

  "That's what I'm hoping for. He's not happy, but I told him Pasadena cells were heaven compared to New York City cells. Not sure he believes me, but he'll find out if he doesn't change his ways."

  "Come on in and say hey to the family, and then you can tell me whatever you want to tell me while you eat your dinner." I thought of Frank again. "Would you like to take something home for Frank to eat?"

  Sam eyed me as if I were insane. "Why would I do that? I want the kid to suffer. I'm not about to reward him for being a petty criminal."

  "What's he eating?"

  Sam shrugged. "Don't know. Whatever they can find, I guess."

  "Who's they?"

  "The guys at the station. I told them not to be generous."

  "You're all heart, Sam."

  "I know." His grin was positively wicked.

  "Come in here, Sam," came Vi's voice from the dining room. "I have a plate all ready for you, and I'll heat up a bowl of soup for you, too."

  "Thanks, Vi," said Sam. He greeted my parents, who greeted him back, and Sam, Spike and I walked to the dining room.

  "Here you go," said Vi, beaming.

  "I'm a lucky man," said Sam, who gazed greedily at his plate of stuffed cabbage rolls and beets.

  "You'll be even luckier when Vi brings in your soup," I told him.

  "Tastes great," said he, after swallowing his first bite of stuffed cabbage.

  I took over for Vi, managed to heat Sam's soup without burning it or the saucepan, poured the soup into a bowl, and took it out to Sam, who was doing justice to his late dinner.

  "Good, huh?" I said.

  "Delicious," said Sam.

  After he'd slaked the worst of his hunger, I said, "So, what do you want to talk about, Sam? You usually don't want me anywhere near your cases."

  "I don't want you near this one, either," said he after swallowing another bite of cabbage roll. "But I want to know more about this precious Halloween party the Felloweses are hosting this coming weekend."

  "All the people who are working on Dr. Fellowes's precious project will be there."

  "That's what I wanted to know. Good." He relaxed a bit and took a sip of soup. "Great soup."

  "And I have your costume just about finished, too," I said.

  He looked up sharply. "Costume? I'm supposed to wear a costume?"

  "It's a Halloween party, Sam. You're going to attend it as a Roman senator."

  "Cripes."

  "You'll look great," I assured him. "You'll even have a red sash over your shoulder."

  "Good God."

  "Will Frank be coming? He can help serve. That should keep him out of trouble."

  "Don't bet on it."

  "Well, he can't get into too much trouble if we keep him busy. I guess."

  "He can be crafty and cunning, you know." Sam ate some beets.

  "Crafty and cunning? I didn't think he was smart enough to be either of those things."

  "H
e's not, but he thinks he is."

  "Oh, well, we'll just have to keep an eye on him."

  "I'm going to be watching the suspects."

  "And I'm going to be telling fortunes." Before he could tell me fortune-telling was illegal in the City of Pasadena—although the Felloweses lived in Altadena—I held up a hand. "Only for fun, Sam. Nobody will be paying me a red cent."

  "Better not be."

  The old grouch.

  "So, did what Robert Browning tell you help?"

  After swallowing again, Sam said, "Don't know yet. I hope so."

  "What I can't figure out is who would profit by a phony gold rush."

  "Maybe nobody will. Maybe someone only wants the project managers to look like imbeciles."

  "Oh. I hadn't considered that."

  "I have to consider everything. It's my job."

  "I guess so." I leaned my head on my hand, which was propped on the table via my elbow. I'd never dare sit at the table like that during the family dinner hour, but this was different.

  After Sam finished eating, I took him to the sewing room and showed him his toga. His lip curled, and he stared at it as if it were a poisonous snake or something equally vile. "I'm supposed to wear that? It's a dress!"

  "It's not a dress, Sam Rotondo! It's a Roman toga. The big-wigs of the Roman Empire wore them. I don't think the riffraff were allowed to wear togas. Only the governing class. Classes. I don't know much about ancient Rome, actually. But I do know the ancient Roman big-wigs wore laurel wreaths, so I made you one of those, too."

  "God."

  A trifle peeved, I snapped, "You're Italian, Sam Rotondo. I should think you'd be pleased to wear a Roman senator's toga."

  "Right."

  "Want to try it on?"

  "No."

  "But I have to make sure it's long enough for you." I thought of something. "I don't suppose you have any leather sandals, do you?"

  "No. I do not have any leather sandals."

  "In that case, I'll have to be sure it's long enough to cover your big, copper shoes."

  "God."

  "Oh, stop being an old grump! Let me get my measuring tape."

  So Sam stood still while I measured him from his shoulders to the ground. He was a large man. Six feet tall, by gum, and not precisely slender. Mind you, he wasn't fat, but he was a chunk of a guy. My Billy had been long and lean. Marriage to Sam would bring a whole new perspective to my life, for sure.