We left the breakfast table shortly thereafter.
By the way, lest you think the Bucks never had time off for themselves, I ought to spell out their work schedule. Both Bucks worked Monday and Tuesday, Thursday and Friday; Mr. Buck in the evenings and Mrs. Buck in the morning and the evening, when she fixed the meals. In between times on those days she’d keep the lower part of the house picked up and the rooms tidied upstairs. The Bucks’ Wednesdays were their own. On Saturdays and Sundays, Mrs. Buck fixed breakfast, but we were on our own for dinners. That didn’t bother me, since I had lots of money and could dine out at a dozen different restaurants. I did, however, make sure that Mrs. Buck left plenty of bread, meat and cheese for sandwiches for the other girls, and sufficient fruits and vegetables to round out a healthy diet. Never let it be said that the angels of Mercy were left to starve on weekends.
Lulu and I had a grand time shopping, and I came home later that day loaded with leisure wear, including a daring (for me) pair of silk lounging pajamas in the Chinese style. Chloe wore pajamas around the house all the time, but this was a first for yours truly. I decided I’d wear them that evening, when Ernie was scheduled to come over to give me my first driving lesson. I was looking forward to it with mixed emotions. I really wanted to learn to drive, and I was happy Ernie wanted to teach me; however, I knew he’d be annoyed that a new member of my household was acquainted with someone who’d worked, however nominally, for the late Mr. Gossett.
But I braced myself and decided to clue Ernie in on Peggy’s revelation at the end of our lesson so I could plead exhaustion and run into the house if he got really mad at me.
He rang the doorbell promptly at six-thirty, the time scheduled for our lesson. To my knowledge, that was the first time Ernie had ever been on time for anything. Naturally, Buttercup set up a riot even before the doorbell rang. The pup had supernatural hearing, bless her, and she loved announcing visitors. I ran to the entryway, scooped her up and opened the door, beaming at my slouching boss.
“Come on in, Ernie! You can say hello to Caroline and Lulu. Peggy had to work tonight, so she’s not here.”
Carefully wiping his feet on the pretty doormat provided for the purpose, Ernie grunted something I didn’t catch, then strolled into my—my—home. He looked around the beautifully tiled entryway and cast his gaze toward the living room, which could be entered through an archway. “Looks about the same to me.”
Blast the man! “Chloe and Harvey left most of their furniture. It wouldn’t have fit into their new home. Besides, Harvey said it’s easier to buy new furnishings than move the old ones.”
“Makes it good for you, too.” Ernie had removed his hat and put it on the shelf provided for the purpose beside the coat rack, where he deposited his overcoat.
I squinted at the latter garment with curiosity. “Yes, it does. They’ve both been very kind to me. Is it cold outside?”
“Cool,” he said. “And we’ll be out in the open air in the Roadster.” He eyed me up and down and then up again. “You look different.” He frowned as he said it.
If Ernest Templeton, P.I., wasn’t the most frustrating human male in the universe, I don’t know who was. I could feel the heat rise to stain my cheeks. “Lulu and I went shopping. This is one of my new, casual weekend outfits.” Because I didn’t want him to know how embarrassed I felt about his close scrutiny, I did a little twirl in front of him. My pretty blue pajama outfit fluttered as I turned. The garment wasn’t garish, although it was definitely a departure for me. No dragons decorated my own personal silk pajamas. On the contrary, flowers and butterflies had been embroidered here and there upon it. I thought it was a gorgeous set, and I didn’t appreciate Ernie’s insouciant, “You look different.” Darn it, I was trying to look good!
When I stopped twirling and glanced up at him, I noticed him nod. “Looks good, kiddo.”
That was better, although I wasn’t particularly fond of being called kiddo. Ernie called me that all the time. Made me feel like his little sister or something.
But enough of that. “Come into the living room and say hello to Lulu and Caroline.”
“Right. Then we’d better get going. It’s getting dark already, and it’s easier to teach someone how to drive when the sun’s out.”
“I’m sure that’s true, so maybe we can have another lesson during the day someday.”
“Tomorrow, in fact. I’m not going to let you loose on the streets of Los Angeles until I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
“Darn you, Ernie Templeton! There you go, treating me like an idiot again!”
He patted me on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you have a . . . um, healthy sense of self-confidence. I only want to make sure it’s not misplaced before you begin driving on your own.”
“Hmm.” But we’d entered the living room by that time, so I didn’t continue ragging my boss.
“Hey, Ernie,” said Lulu, who was sitting in a cozy chair with her feet on an ottoman and reading—what else?—a movie magazine.
“Evening, Lulu. Like your new quarters?”
“You betcha!” Lulu’s smile was as wide a one as I’d ever seen on her face, and it made me glad.
“How do you do, Miss Terry?” Ernie said, politely turning to Caroline, who sat on the sofa, knitting.
The radio was turned on low, and music from a dance band somewhere filled the room with “Tea for Two,” a catchy little tune from the play No, No, Nanette. The only thing I missed about living in Boston was its proximity to New York City, where one could go to see the newest plays and musicals when they came out. But Chloe had assured me that soon such things would be commonplace in Los Angeles, and I saw no reason to doubt her. After all, Los Angeles had become the entertainment capital of the world. That was according to Harvey, and I saw no reason to doubt him, either.
“Good evening, Mr. Templeton,” said Caroline, her cheeks pinkening slightly.
The poor thing was so shy. I guess she didn’t get much of a chance to chat with gentlemen behind the hosiery counter at the Broadway. Not that Ernie was particularly gentlemanly. However, he gave her a slight bow that surprised me. I guess he could act the gent when he wanted to. He never seemed to want to around me.
“You going to teach Mercy how not to run into things, Ern?” asked Lulu saucily.
She and Ernie were great friends. They’d known each other for about three years by then. And all that time Lulu had been filing her nails behind the reception desk in the lobby of the Figueroa Building, hoping to be discovered. Maybe she was a slow learner or something.
“I’m going to try,” said Ernie, sending a prayerful glance ceilingwards.
I smacked him on the arm. “I’m not going to run into anything!”
With a chuckle, Ernie said, “Well, you’d better get a sweater or something, because it’s going to be chilly out there. I’m taking you to the Chavez Ravine, where there’s not much to hit if you do step on the gas instead of the brake or rip out the clutch.”
Lulu laughed. Caroline smiled. I did neither of those things. Rather, I flounced up the stairs, got a black sweater that wouldn’t look too awful with my beautiful new pajama outfit, and tripped downstairs again. At least Buttercup seemed to be on my side. She followed me up the stairs and down as if she wanted to go with us.
I knelt and petted her, and then gave her a hug. “Don’t worry, precious. One of these days, Mommy will be able to give you rides in the car.”
Ernie said, “Huh.”
Scowling at him to let him know what I thought about his confidence in me—me, who was an extraordinarily efficient secretary, after all—I headed toward the door.
“Bye, gals,” he said with a wave as he followed me out of the room.
Lulu held on to Buttercup. “Have fun, you two.”
“Yes,” said Caroline. “Have fun.”
“I’ll try,” said Ernie. “I think Mercy’s mad at me for some reason.”
“For some reason
,” I grumbled as I opened the door.
“Hey, Mercy, I was only kidding.”
“A likely story.”
He only laughed some more, and I decided to contain my annoyance for the time being. He was doing me a favor, after all. Besides, I should be accustomed to his teasing by this time.
“You got the key?” he asked as we got to the Roadster.
“Right here in my bag,” I said, handing the key to him. My bag, by the way, went beautifully with my pajamas.
“Gotcha. All right. You get in the passenger side, and I’ll show you how to start the thing.”
He went so far as to open the door for me, so I forgave him a tiny bit of his teasing. “Thank you.” My voice was relatively frigid as I stepped onto the running board and entered the machine—which, by the way, was approximately the same blue as my new outfit. Not to mention my eyes. He only laughed again.
Striving for patience, I sat with my hands folded in my lap. Ernie eased into the Roadster and sat behind the wheel for a moment, looking at the arrangement of the dashboard and everything.
“Say, this is pretty keen,” he said, running his hand over the smooth wood paneling. “Chloe’s got good taste in autos.”
“I think it’s Harvey’s taste, actually. He bought it for her. Just like he did the Rolls.”
Ernie gave his head a quick shake. “Must be nice to have money.”
I bit my tongue.
“Glad the top’s up,” he said next.
Ah, good. A safe topic. “Yes. I figured it would be better to have it up just in case it gets windy.”
“Good thinking. All right, here’s the first thing you need to do when you want to start your car.”
And thus my very first driving lesson began. My goodness, but there were a lot of things to do in order to operate an automobile properly. You had to turn a key, press a button on the floor with your foot, make sure another foot was pressed down on the clutch—which wasn’t at all what it sounded like, but rather a pedal on the floor in between the brake pedal and the gas pedal.
“And you’d better never get them confused, either,” said Ernie, “or you’re liable to end up driving yourself off of a mountain or something.”
Although I felt like slapping him, I only said, “I’ll do my very best to keep the arrangement of the pedals in mind.”
“Good girl.”
Ernie backed the machine out of the driveway and we began our journey to Chavez Ravine, which was about thirty minutes from Bunker Hill. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, which seemed a good thing to me. Ernie said it was because we were driving the wrong way. “If you want traffic, you have to head toward Los Angeles, not away from it.”
“I don’t want traffic,” I told him.
“No,” he said. “You don’t.”
You’d think he had absolutely no confidence in me at all. I was very nearly depressed by the time we got to Chavez Ravine.
But I cheered up considerably when Ernie turned out to be a considerate and complimentary teacher. I’d expected him to rag me during the entire lesson, but he didn’t. He gave me quite a few “That’s the ways,” and “Good girls.” I wasn’t awfully fond of being called a girl by him, but I appreciated the thoughtfulness behind the expression.
We spent about an hour in Chavez Ravine, and I was fairly confident I wouldn’t stall the Roadster every time I started it by the time Ernie said we should be getting home. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, and we can do this again,” he said.
“What time?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I don’t suppose so. Caroline was going to discuss my book with me, is all. I think she likes to go to church in the morning.”
“Good God,” said he, a remark that was almost appropriate. “Do you go to church? Don’t tell me you and Lulu are still going to the Angelica Gospel Hall?”
“Very well,” I said. “I won’t tell you that, because we aren’t.”
“Thank God.” Another almost relevant remark, by Jupiter. “So, do you want me to come by in the afternoon?”
“Sure. About one? Or is that too early for you?”
He gave me an evil look. “Of course, it’s not too early for me. What do you think I do with my evenings, anyway?”
“I have no idea.” I sounded like a pious choir member. However, it wouldn’t have surprised me a whole lot to discover Ernie frequented the many speakeasies sprinkled throughout the Los Angeles area. He was no angel, my Ernie, even though he lived in the City of Angels. When I’d first met him, he’d carried a little flask with him everywhere he went. Still did, in fact. Anyhow, I’d been shocked until I learned the flask carried nothing more dangerous than apple cider. I’m sure Ernie wanted me to think he was concealing liquor in the silly thing.
“One o’clock,” he said, sealing the deal.
Then he drove me home, in spite of my pleading with him to allow me to try my hand at driving by myself. “It’s my car, after all,” I reminded him.
“Wait until you have a little more experience under your belt, and I’ll let you drive the car tomorrow. Maybe. It’ll be daylight then, and safer.”
I suppose I couldn’t argue with him about it being safer for a beginner to drive in the daytime.
When he pulled up in front of my house, I stiffened my spine. We’d been getting along quite well during our lesson, but now I had to tell him that Miss Peggy Wickstrom’s gentleman friend, Johnny Autumn—I still loved that name—had known the murdered Mr. Gossett.
“Thanks, Ernie,” I said when he pulled to a stop in my driveway.
“You’re welcome.”
“Um . . . Ernie?”
“Yeah?” He turned to look at me, and I noticed his eyebrows had dipped.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked him, irked.
“Because when you talk to me in that sweet little voice, I know you’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”
“Fudge.”
He was right. Curse the man.
“Spill it, Mercy.”
So I spilled it.
Chapter Eight
“God damn it, Mercy Allcutt! I swear I don’t know how you keep doing this!”
“Keep doing what?” I demanded, incensed. “And don’t swear at me!”
“Hell, you should be used to me swearing at you by this time. How do you always manage to get mixed up with the cases I want you to stay out of? Do you do it on purpose?”
He was serious. I gawped at him. “I certainly don’t do it on purpose! I had absolutely no idea Miss Wickstrom’s young man knew Mr. Gossett until she told us at breakfast.”
Ernie’s head bowed until it rested on the steering wheel. I think he was only being dramatic, but he muttered, “I can’t stand it.”
I sniffed.
His head lifted with a snap and he gave me a hideous scowl. “I mean it, Mercy. Don’t go poking into this case. There’s a lot more involved than you think, and some of the people concerned are folks you don’t want to get chummy with.”
Folding my arms over my chest and feeling hurt and indignant, I said, “I have no plans to get chummy with anyone, Mr. Templeton. And it’s not my fault one of my new tenants knows someone who knew Mr. Gossett.”
He’d begun drumming his fingers on his former headrest, and he continued to glare at me. “I wonder,” he said softly. “I’d swear you do these things on purpose. Did you make her knowing someone who knew Gossett a condition of her tenancy?”
“If that’s not the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire—”
He held up his hand, and I stopped ranting. “I know. It’s just some sort of Mercy-type luck, isn’t it? You attract these things. You must. I never got mixed up in stuff like this until you trotted into my office in your little Boston dress and applied for a job.”
I sniffed again. “You hired me.”
Expelling a huge sigh as he did so, he said, “Yeah. I know I did. Been sorry about it ever since
, too.”
“Ernie!” I cried, crushed. “You don’t mean that!”
He stared at me, frowning, fully long enough for me to believe he actually did mean it. What a lowering reflection. I felt my chin tremble and firmed my resolve. I would not cry in front of this horrid man.
“Take it easy, kid. I know you don’t do these things on purpose. Probably. But even you have to admit it’s uncanny the way you manage to weasel yourself into all the dirtiest cases I work on.”
“It is not uncanny. And I didn’t weasel anything. It’s not my fault.”
“Right.”
We sat silent in the Roadster for several more minutes. I contemplated opening my own door and stomping away from my aggravating employer, but he still sat behind the steering wheel, and I didn’t quite dare reach for the key in the ignition. He could easily grab my wrist, and then what would I do? Struggle for possession of my own key? Too embarrassing.
At last Ernie gave another weary sigh and said, “I don’t suppose I could meet this new tenant of yours, could I? Is she another genteel working girl like Miss Terry and Lulu?”
The notion of Lulu as a genteel anything at all almost made me laugh, which is probably what he intended, darn him. However, I wasn’t about to give up a good fit of indignation so easily. “Miss Wickstrom,” said I in my chilliest voice, “works nights at Clapton’s Cafeteria.”
“Clapton’s, eh? Is she there tonight?”
“I presume she is.”
“You don’t know?”
I turned upon Ernie like a furious tornado. “I’m not her keeper, curse you, Ernie! I’m her landlady. I have three respectable girls renting rooms from me, and I don’t keep tabs on their every movement! I’m neither their mother nor their nanny! For all I know, Miss Wickstrom is enjoying an evening out with her young man, Mr. Autumn.”
“Autumn,” murmured Ernie meditatively.
“Yes,” I said. “His name is Johnny Autumn.” I considered telling him I liked the name but knew better.
Ernie sat still for a minute then said, “I’ll have to ask Phil if he knows about this Johnny Autumn of yours.”
Angels of Mercy Page 9
