by Alice Duncan
“The poor lad didn’t see his killer,” Rolly spelled out.
“May I speak to him? Eddie, I mean?” Mrs. Hastings asked breathlessly.
I wanted to smack her. But I only had a sad—one might even say dispirited, if one were in a punning mood—Rolly write, “The poor lad can’t speak to you today, ma’am. But he sends his love and wants you to be as happy as you can be.”
Wrong thing to write. Instantly Mrs. Hastings began sobbing. “How can I ever be happy again without my Eddie?”
Neither Rolly nor I knew the answer to that one, but Rolly made a stab at it. “It’s terrible, terrible to lose a child. My darling one and I lost a boy. Our sixth son.” This was quick thinking on my part, because before that day, the story was that Rolly and I had only had five sons together way back when in Scotland. Perhaps “only” isn’t the right word, but never mind about that.
By the way, spelling things out on the Ouija board can take a whole lot of time. This was especially true when I first started plying my craft at the tender age of ten. I’d improved a lot over the years, however, and although I still told people that Rolly had no education and couldn’t spell well, I now had that planchette zipping over the board like a mad thing.
Anyhow, the lie about my sixth son put a stop to the tears. Mrs. Hastings’ gaze flew to my face. “Oh, I had no idea!”
“It was a long time ago, Mrs. Hastings. Your grief is much more recent. To tell the truth, I don’t really remember.” A thousand years is a long time, for Pete’s sake. And I’d made up the story of our deathless love in the first place. Oh, the tangled web one weaves . . . but I’m sure you know the rest.
“I see.” Mrs. Hastings sniffled and blew her nose, but didn’t seem inclined to sob anymore, for which I was grateful.
The Ouija-board session didn’t last too much longer, and I hied myself out of the Hastings’ mansion shortly thereafter, leaving plenty of time to drive to Mrs. Pinkerton’s grand home on Orange Grove Boulevard. I attempted to fortify myself for her hysteria the whole way there.
Jackson, Mrs. Pinkerton’s gatekeeper, of whom I’ve spoken before, gave me a friendly greeting at the gate, and I drove on up the drive to the front door. Not for Desdemona Majesty, spiritualist extraordinaire, to use the back door like a common or garden-variety grocer’s boy or anything. Not on your life. I walked up the marble staircase and rang the booming doorbell as if I deserved to do it. Which I did, darn it.
I love Mrs. Pinkerton’s butler, Featherstone. He’s always impeccably dressed in suit and tie, and he even wears white gloves, I presume to check to see if the housemaids have done their job to perfection. He’s sober and serious, and I can seldom resist teasing him.
“Mrs. Majesty,” said he somberly when he opened the door, looking as much like a funeral director as a butler.
“Good morning, Featherstone. Lead me to the weeping woman, please.”
“This way, madam.” Without even cracking a smile, Feather-stone turned and walked down the hallway to the drawing room. I followed him, as I always did, even though I could have found my way there blindfolded by that time.
When he opened the door to the drawing room—which is like a living room, only bigger and with grander furnishings—I saw Mrs. Pinkerton quivering on the sofa, blotting tears with a lace-edged hankie and in one of her better tizzies. I gave an inward sigh, but wafted to her as if on fairy feet.
“Mrs. Pinkerton?” I said softly, since her eyes were pinched shut and she couldn’t see me. Besides which, the Oriental carpet under my feet was so thick, you couldn’t have heard an elephant walk on the thing.
Her eyes popped open, and she leapt from the sofa and ran at me. I braced myself, knowing from prior experience that the hefty Mrs. Pinkerton could quite easily knock me to the floor if I didn’t. I managed to survive upright by holding tightly to a medallion-backed chair. It was one of those Louis the Somethingth chairs and quite lovely. It was also heavy, thank God.
“Oh, Daisy!” she shrieked. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been going mad! I’m so worried!”
Feeling secure on my feet once more, I patted her on the back and said soothingly, “Let’s try to calm down, and consult the board, shall we?”
“Oh, yes! And do you have your tarot cards? I need to know if that dreadful man is headed here!”
“Why would he do that?” I asked quietly—and reasonably.
“I don’t know!” she screeched. “But he’s such a terrible person!”
True, but she’d married him. On the other hand, I know several women who’d married bounders and have read about even more of them. To be fair, I’m sure there are men who’ve married bad women, too, but people didn’t tend to write about them as often as the other way ’round. Besides that, if Mr. Kincaid had acted like a wretched specimen before the ceremony, probably even Mrs. Pinkerton would have noticed and backed down. Maybe.
“Well, let’s see if Rolly can set your mind at ease.” I guided her to the sofa she’d recently left and pulled up a chair opposite the table in front of the sofa. I took my Ouija board out of its special carrying bag and set it on the table with the two rows of letters facing Mrs. Pinkerton. By that time, I could read upside down almost as well as I could right-side up. “But you’d better dry your tears first, so you can see what Rolly tells us.”
Once and only once had Rolly materialized, more or less, during a Ouija board session with Mrs. Pinkerton. It was right after Billy’s death, and I’d been in a blue funk and a black temper at the time. I regret to this day how hard I was on the woman during that particular session. I must admit, however, that its ultimate result was worth it, since Rolly got Mrs. P to let her pill of a daughter languish in jail for once. I figured it was past time Stacy Kincaid paid the full price for her misdeeds. So she did. Three months behind bars, and she’d been a good girl ever since. Heh.
Anyhow, Mrs. Pinkerton blotted her tears and focused her red-rimmed, swollen eyes on the Ouija board. “What would you like to ask Rolly first?” I asked demurely.
“I need to know if Eustace is coming here,” she said promptly.
“Rolly might not know that, but let’s see if he can answer.” By rights, the Ouija board isn’t supposed to be able to answer any questions other than those posed by and for the persons using the planchette, but what the heck.
I had Rolly fumble around on the board for a few seconds, then spell out, “Don’t know.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Pinkerton. “Should I worry about him coming here?”
That one was easy. Rolly whipped the planchette right up to the word “No” printed on the top right-hand side of the board.
“But what if he does come here?” asked Mrs. Pinkerton plaintively.
Crumb, you’d think she wanted the rat to bedevil her some more, the way she was carrying on. The planchette spelled out, “Don’t borrow trouble.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” Mrs. P removed her pudgy fingers from the planchette and gave me a beseeching glance. “Daisy, perhaps you should try the cards, since Rolly doesn’t seem to be able to tell what Eustace is going to do.”
“Perhaps that’s a good idea. Rolly really can’t tell you what other people are going to do, you know, especially if they’re still living.”
“Yes, yes, I see what you mean.”
That made one of us. However, I nobly reached into my handbag and withdrew my pack of tarot cards, for which I’d sewn a much smaller, but still lovely, carrying bag. After I removed the deck, I shuffled it and laid it out in a simple five-card horseshoe. I didn’t want it to be too complicated for Mrs. Pinkerton to understand.
Oddly enough, the cards made sense in a way. Mrs. P’s “present” card was represented by the nine of swords, which represents fear of circumstances either current or to come. The card representing her existing expectations was the five of cups, which basically means the person for whom the reading is being done can only see bleakness and none of the possibilities to help herself out of her mood. Soun
ded exactly like Mrs. P to me.
The card at the apex of the horseshoe is supposed to represent something unexpected. When I laid the card down, I darned near laughed, because it was the ten of wands, which depicts a fellow carrying an ungodly burden who doesn’t perceive that help is all around him if he’d only bother to look. The card is supposed to show that the person for whom the reading is being done needs to change her attitude in order to overcome her difficulties. Mrs. P to a T.
On the right of the ten of wands came the chariot, which foresees struggles to come, either physical or, in Mrs. Pinkerton’s case, emotional. Fitted right in. And the very last card in the horseshoe depicted the ultimate future. Darned if I didn’t turn over the hierophant. Lord. This card meant that Mrs. Pinkerton was destined to receive aid from someone on a spiritual or emotional plane. I feared that meant me. But that’s precisely what I’d been doing lo, those many years, so the hierophant didn’t come as a complete surprise, although I’d as soon have dealt a different pattern. Shoot. All I needed was for Mrs. Pinkerton to continue telephoning me in a frenzy every day or so.
When the reading was over, I glanced at Mrs. Pinkerton, and she glanced at me. She blinked several times and then said, “But it’s all so indefinite. Oh, I wish I could get a clear reading of what I should do!”
I wanted to ask her what she expected from a deck of cards but held my peace. Rather, in my most soothing and gentle voice, I said, “The cards are telling you you’re fretting over nothing at the moment, but that if something bad does happens, you’ll find the means to cope with it.”
She blinked a few more times doubtfully. “Do you really think so, Daisy?”
I swept a hand in a theatrical gesture over the cards lying on the table. “That’s what the cards say, Mrs. Pinkerton. Do you see any reason to doubt them?”
“Well . . . no. I guess not. But I’m not sure what I should do.”
“That’s exactly the point. You can do nothing. The probability is that Mr. Kincaid is headed for Mexico. That’s where he was going when the police caught him originally. I don’t see a reason for him to come back to your house, especially with the police patrolling all the time. Do you?”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. I’m sure she craved more drama. “I see.”
I gently laid my hand on hers. “Mrs. Pinkerton, have Rolly or I ever led you astray?”
“Goodness, no!”
“Then please try to take the advice of both Rolly and the cards. Whatever Mr. Kinkaid is doing now, you can’t affect his behavior. If, and I think it’s a remote possibility, he tries to get in touch with you, simply call the police. You have servants and Mr. Pinkerton here all the time, so you have nothing to worry about, really.”
“Well . . . I suppose you’re right, although Algie does go to his club most days.”
“But you still have the servants. I’m sure Edie Applewood takes excellent care of you. And don’t forget Aunt Vi, who has charge of all those knives in the kitchen.”
A martial light appeared in Mrs. Pinkerton’s eye. “Yes! I forgot. I’m not completely helpless, am I?”
“Not at all. And you have the faithful Featherstone, too.”
“Yes. Featherstone is such a rock of dependability.”
“There you go then.” I shuffled the cards I’d laid out back into the deck and stuffed the deck into its bag. “Truly, your future looks grand, Mrs. Pinkerton. If you could make yourself worry less about things that probably won’t happen, you’ll be a happier person for it.” As if she would ever take that sensible advice.
“Yes, yes. Yes, I see.”
I gave her my most reassuring, soothing spiritualist’s smile. “You can do it, Mrs. Pinkerton. I know you can.”
“Thank you, dear. You’re always such a comfort to me.”
That’s why she paid me so much money, bless her. “If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll stop in to see Aunt Vi before I leave. Would you like her to assemble your luncheon?” Mrs. P always called the middle meal of the day luncheon.
“No, thank you. I believe I’ll go upstairs and take a nap. It’s been an exhausting morning.”
Whoo, boy, I should have exhausting mornings like hers. But I only smiled sweetly. “Now? You don’t even want a cup of tea or anything?”
“My nerves are too shattered for me to eat anything right now. I’m going to take a powder and rest for a while. Would you be kind enough to tell your aunt for me?”
“I’d be happy to.” What’s more, if I were lucky, Aunt Vi would let me eat some of Mrs. P’s lunch. I was starving by that time, which was almost one-thirty in the afternoon. “Would you like me to tell Edie to prepare your bed, too?”
“Would you, dear? Thank you so much. You’re so good to me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” I picked up my handbag, left the massive drawing room, and made my way to the stairs. I found Edie in Mrs. Pinkerton’s sitting room, folding freshly laundered clothes. “Hey, Edie.”
She turned and smiled at me. “Hey, Daisy. Mrs. P in a fit again?”
“Isn’t she always?”
With a giggle, Edie said, “She’s been worse lately, since she learned that rat she used to be married to escaped from prison. But I don’t know why she thinks he’s coming here.”
“I don’t, either. Why would he? Do you know of any reason he might come here? Did he leave a fortune stashed in a safe somewhere?”
Shrugging, Edie said, “Don’t ask me. I tried to stay as far away from that man as I could. Disgusting pig.”
Mr. Kincaid used to corner Edie with his wheelchair and pinch her bottom. He truly was a ghastly man. Edie had been a mere housemaid in those days. Now she held the exalted post of Mrs. Pinkerton’s personal lady’s maid, quite a jump up the social ladder of servants. Edie’s husband, Quincy, took care of Mr. Pinkerton’s horses. Or maybe they were his two sons’ horses. All I know is that Quincy loved horses and Mr. Pinkerton’s sons played polo a lot. Guess they didn’t have to work for a living, either.
“Anyhow, I came up here to let you know Mrs. Pinkerton is going to take a nap now after her exhausting morning.”
“Huh. I’ll go turn down her bed and get her robe laid out.”
“Thanks, Edie. I’m going to see Vi now.”
“Good to see you, Daisy!”
“You too, Edie. Say hey to Quincy for me.”
“Will do.”
Edie vanished into Mrs. Pinkerton’s bedroom, and I went down the back stairs, the ones the servants used, mainly because I didn’t want to see Mrs. Pinkerton again. But I did want to see my aunt. Not only did I need to tell her I’d invited Sam for dinner on the morrow, but I hoped she’d be able to feed me something.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
As luck would have it, when I entered the kitchen, Aunt Vi was just putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a spectacular luncheon for one. She’d even put a single yellow rose in a cut crystal vase on the tray. I couldn’t tell what foodstuffs lay thereon, because they were covered with silver lids, but whatever they were, they sure smelled good.
“Boy, Aunt Vi, you’re not only the best cook in the world, but you prepare very artistic trays.”
“Go on with you, Daisy.” She stopped preparing the meal long enough to give me a hug.
“But I’m afraid all your hard work is for naught. Mrs. Pinkerton claims she’s too shattered to eat anything right now.”
“Oh, bother the woman!”
Aunt Vi seldom criticized her employer, for whom she’d worked for nigh on twenty-five years. I lifted an eyebrow. “Has she been especially difficult lately?”
“You know she has,” said Vi with a frown. “That’s why she called you here today, isn’t it? She’s afraid that stinker of a first husband is going to come after her. Lord knows why. He paid little enough attention to her when they were married.”
Hmm. Interesting. “Well, I guess the fear that he might show up has put her off her food.” I eyed the tray with longing. �
��But your niece hasn’t had lunch yet, if there’s any more of whatever that is left.”
“Daisy Majesty. And to think a year ago, we feared you were going to starve yourself to death.”
“I remember. Those were bad days.”
Vi gave me another hug. “I know they were, sweetheart. But you just sit yourself down and eat whatever you want to eat. If the woman wakes up hungry, I’ll fix her another tray. There’s plenty.” Vi walked over to a bell pull and gave it a tug. Featherstone appeared a moment later. “The mistress won’t be taking her luncheon now, Featherstone. Perhaps later.”
“Very well, Mrs. Gumm.” He vanished again. I swear, his movements were almost as wraithlike as mine. Maybe they taught wafting in butler’s school or something.
“Eat up, Daisy. I have to get the Pinkertons’ dinner started.”
She lifted the silver lids to the plates to reveal a fresh green salad, a plate of what turned out to be a delicious soup, and a lamb chop with fresh asparagus and tiny red potatoes, cut up into slices and served with butter and parsley. Everything was absolutely delicious.
I told Vi so.
“Thank you, sweetie. We’re having lamb chops for supper tonight when I get home. Hope you don’t mind eating chops twice in one day.”
“Are you kidding? This is fabulous, Aunt Vi. What kind of soup is this?”
“It’s just a plain old vegetable.”
“There’s nothing plain about it,” I said, sipping delicately. I didn’t want to annoy my darling aunt by showing bad manners. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Sam for dinner tomorrow night, and the Benjamins are coming to dinner on Friday.”
“That’s fine about Sam, and I have the perfect meal planned for the Benjamins. We’re going to dine on roasted turkey and all the trimmings. I know it’s the middle of summer, but I’ve had a hankering for turkey lately, and leftover turkey makes great sandwiches.”
Oh, yum. I loved turkey. And the stuffing, potatoes, gravy, and all the other fixings that went with it. And turkey sandwiches. Because I’d been taught never to speak with my mouth full, I swallowed my sip of soup before I told her I thought her plan a brilliant one. “And don’t forget that Sam’s taking all of us to Miyaki’s on Saturday night.”
