Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] (29 page)

      
Because I was feeling out of sorts with the men in my life and excluded from the happy group (not to mention deserted by my mother and my aunt), I said, “What are those pennies doing on the table, Detective, hmmm? Isn’t gambling illegal? Like you told me fortune-telling is?”

      
He grinned up at me. “Aw, we make allowances.”

      
“Humph. You’d darned well better make allowances for me, is all I have to say about it.”

      
“No problem,” he said. I wondered if he meant it.

      
Rotondo left our house shortly after that encounter. I was relieved to see him go. I also (and I hate to admit this because it sounds so petty) was feeling a good deal of annoyance that my family should instantly like a man who’d given every appearance of loathing me at first sight.

      
Maybe I was being too hard on Rotondo. After all, he was just doing his job at the Kincaids’. Maybe I was being too hard on
me
, for that matter. Aw, heck, I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I’d never been so happy to hit the sack as I was that night.

      
Billy had remained in a good mood until we were in bed, too, what’s more. I attributed his happiness to having met a man he liked and who was willing to talk to him and play cards with him, and treat him as he would any other person in the world. In other words, Rotondo didn’t treat Billy like a cripple. I’m ashamed to admit this, too, but that upset me a bit. I didn’t want Billy liking Sam Rotondo more than he liked me, for Pete’s sake.

      
In short, I was jealous of Sam Rotondo. Please feel free to consider me a fool; you’d be doing no more than I did when I realized it.

      
I worried about the Sam-versus-me situation for approximately thirty seconds before I fell asleep. Didn’t wake up once during the night, either, what’s more, so I guess I wasn’t all
that
concerned about the Sam-and-Billy situation.

# # #

      
I didn’t want to get out of bed the next morning. Even after a full night’s sleep, I was bone tired and ever so weary of the Kincaids and their problems. Also, Billy’s arm lay across my stomach, and it felt good there. Sometimes the fact that he’d been irreparably damaged by the Germans made me want to scream and throw things, two idiotic and unproductive activities. Oh, but I wanted a real marriage with my Billy. On mornings like this, I felt the loss a lot.

      
Reality and my emotional reactions to it, however, didn’t make money, and I had a feeling I was going to be hearing from the Kincaids any second. Turning my head—I didn’t want to turn my body because I’d disturb Billy’s arm—I saw that it was already eight o’clock. Shoot, I almost never slept that late.

      
With a heavy sigh, but knowing I’d best get going or Mrs. Kincaid would catch me in my nightgown, I decided to get out of bed. I knew she was going to phone. She wasn’t one to handle problems without all the help she could get. And, honestly, she really did have some tremendously big problems to deal with at the moment, and I did feel obliged to help her if I could.

      
Billy awoke as I tried to slide out from under his arm. I turned and kissed him on the lips. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

      
He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

      
“Almost eight.”

      
“Golly, we never sleep this late.”

      
My sentiments exactly. “I guess we both had tiring days yesterday.”

      
“I guess so.” Billy lifted his arms and made a cradle with his hands against which he laid his head. Grinning with what I could only describe as true happiness, he said, “Say, Daisy, that detective fellow is a pretty swell guy. He’s easy to talk to, and he plays a bad game of gin rummy, so I get to win.”

      
Even though my heart gave a smallish spasm when I heard the
he’s easy to talk to
part of Billy’s speech, I smiled. “I’m glad. I didn’t like him at all when I first met him, but I guess he’s okay.” I think that was a lie, although I’m not entirely sure. Sam and Billy together were okay. Sam the detective, all by himself, was a louse.

      
“How come you didn’t like him?”

      
I’d put on a spring frock of light-green-and-white foulard that Aunt Vi had sewn for me for Easter (
and
, I might add, that ended a tasteful five inches from my low-heeled brown pumps), and was tying the solid green sash about my waist when I answered him. “Well, for one thing, he thought I’d killed Mr. Kincaid at first. I know he did.”

      
“Ha!” Billy laughed. I thought that a rather strange reaction from my very own husband, but I didn’t take exception aloud. Inside, my indignation swelled.

      
“And,” I went on, “he thinks all spiritualists are fortune tellers and illegal bunco artists.”

      
“Can’t really blame him for that, either, Daisy. I know, I know,” he said when he saw I was heating up and about to blow, “I don’t like your job either, but I know you have to do it.”

      
“Hmmm.” That was a bigger concession to reality than Billy had made in a long time. I considered thanking Sam Rotondo for it the next time I saw him, but decided it was far too soon to be thanking him for anything.

      
“You look swell today, Daisy,” Billy said when I’d finished brushing my hair into its regulation knot in a pouf.

      
“Thanks. I try to look as mysterious as possible under all circumstances, you know.” I said it in a sepulchral tone and made my face into one I hoped resembled Dr. Hyde in a picture we’d seen last year (a picture, by the by, that had scared Billy and me into leaving a night light on in our bedroom for almost a week).

      
“I think you’d look good in one of those short bobs,” said Billy. “You know, like that picture actress everybody’s talking about. She’s a redhead, too, you know.”

      
I turned around, my Dr. Hyde expression vanishing like magic. “Really? Do you really think so? You don’t think it would tarnish my mediumistic image?”

      
“Hell, no! Anyhow, you can always wear a hat.”

      
“Boy, oh boy, I’ve wanted to get a bob for the longest time.”

      
“Do it,” Billy said. “To heck with your image. Nobody’s not going to hire you if you get your hair cut, are they? That would be dumb.”

      
I made another face, this one merely a stab at a humorous grimace. “Most of the rich people who use me are dumb, or they wouldn’t be hiring mediums in the first place.”

      
It made him laugh, and I was glad. Usually, I only annoyed and irritated him. “Gotta get some breakfast,” I said. “I have a sinking feeling Mrs. Kincaid’s going to call any minute now, and I can’t face that hell-house on an empty stomach. Want me to bring you something?”

      
“Naw,” my Billy said. “I’ll get up in a bit. It feels good to lie here for a while.”

      
That was because, when he’d been lying in bed for several hours, he didn’t feel the pain in his lungs and legs as much as when he moved around. I thought about offering to get him his morphine, but didn’t. Billy’s morphine scared me, even though I understood that he needed it. Anyhow, he knew his body better than I—which was just one more unlucky aspect of our marriage, I guess.

      
So I staggered out to the kitchen, feeling tired and head-achy. In fact, I felt as if I’d been hit on the head with a sledge hammer and then run over with an automobile.

      
Ma hadn’t left for work yet, so there was coffee already made. I kissed her on the cheek. “You’re saving my life with this coffee, Ma. I hope you know that. I’m sure it will cure my headache.”

      
She laughed. “Take a powder with it, and it’ll go away.” Good old Ma. She always knew what a person needed. She picked up her handbag, ready to walk to the Hotel Marengo and keep their books for yet another day. “The Kincaids are getting to you, are they?”

      
I shut my eyes and shuddered. “I know they’re going to call me to come over there today. I’m not sure I can face another day in that house.”

      
“Sure you can,” said my mother, kissing me on the top of my knot. “It’s your job, and a Gumm always does her job. And so does a Majesty,” she added conscientiously.

      
Of course, she was right. And, of course, the phone rang. It wasn’t even eight-thirty yet. It was our ring, but Ma and I raced to get to it in order to forestall the neighbors. Ma got there first.

      
“It’s for Daisy, Mrs. Barrow. Please hang up the wire.” I could tell Mrs. Barrow wasn’t being cooperative, because Ma’s mouth scrunched up like a prune and her nose wrinkled. “Of course, Daisy is here. She’s standing next to the telephone. Waiting to take her call.” She put emphasis on the
waiting
part, not that Mrs. Barrow ever cared.

      
With a sigh, Ma handed the phone to me. “The old cow won’t believe me,” she said in a stage whisper Mrs. Barrow could probably have heard in her house down the street even without the telephone to help, but I took the receiver and tried to smooth over the unpleasantness.

      
“Mrs. Barrow? I believe this call is for me.”

      
“Daisy? Daisy? Is that you?”

      
The voice belonged to Mrs. Kincaid and my heart sank, because she sounded frantic again. If Stacy had run off to some speakeasy and gotten herself arrested a second time, I was going to personally take the child to the dog pound and have her put to sleep. I could tell them she was a rum-running Rottweiler or something.

      
“Huh,” said Mrs. Barrow. “Well, if you’re so sure it’s your call, Mrs. Majesty, I’ll hang up. But you really must understand that sometimes the rest of us like to speak to our friends on the telephone, too. You shouldn’t hog the wire the way you do.”

      
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nuts. I’d been away from home all day long the day before and couldn’t possibly have hogged a thing on Mrs. Barrow’s telephone wire. Also, I knew good and well that Billy and Pa never bothered to use the phone if they could avoid it—another male idiosyncrasy, I suppose. I didn’t point that out, since I figured it was a good idea to keep conditions civil whenever possible, but said gently, “I believe this is an important call, Mrs. Barrow.”

      
“Yes!” shrieked Mrs. Kincaid. “Oh, yes, yes! Oh, Daisy, you
must
come back here! Something awful’s happened!”

      
Mrs. Barrow still hadn’t hung up, so I decided
to hell with civility
, and said, “Hang up the wire right this minute, Mrs. Barrow, or I’ll call the police!” Remembering Sam’s visit from the night before, I lied like a rug. “As a matter of fact, there’s a policeman sitting in my living room right this very minute!”

      
She hung up with a clang that nearly broke my ear drum. It occurred to me too late that Mrs. Barrow would probably already be racing out her back door to spread the gossip that something dreadful had happened at the Majestys’ house because the police were surrounding the place, and wouldn’t you just expect something like that from one of
them
. But at least I got rid of the old hag, and that was the point.

      
Working on Mrs. Kincaid, I said, “Please try to calm down, Mrs. Kincaid. What can I do for you? What’s happened?” Oh, sweet Lord in heaven, they hadn’t discovered her husband’s body, had they? I couldn’t ask.

      
“Quincy Applewood has come back!” she shouted in sort of a combination of a sob and a wail that would have done an Irish banshee proud. “He’s saying some crazy things, Daisy!
Crazy
! And nobody can find that Mr. Rotund person who works at the police office, and I don’t know what to do, and Del and Algie have gone to the bank, and Harold hasn’t a clue what’s going on or what to do about it, and Stacy is threatening to throw a knife at Mr. Applewood and kill him the way he killed her father, and poor Edie Marsh has just throttled Stacy with the cord from the vacuum cleaner, and—Oh, Daisy! You
must
come!
Now
!”

      
Golly, I guessed I did. And by gum, if I wasn’t proud of Edie, I just didn’t know anything. “Please try to calm down, Mrs. Kincaid. I’ll be there as soon as I can be.”

      
Someone had knocked on the front door as I was talking to Mrs. Kincaid. Ma went to get the door and by golly if it wasn’t Sam Rotondo! If Mrs. Barrow had argued with me for another thirty seconds or so, I wouldn’t have had to lie to her.

      
His arrival, one I considered suspicious in the extreme although I couldn’t have said why, did make my conversation with Mrs. Kincaid easier, however. “And you’ll be pleased to know that Detective Rotondo is here right this minute. Perhaps we can drive over there together.” The notion didn’t appeal, since I didn’t want to ride anywhere with Rotondo, but it might save time. And I wouldn’t have to crank.

      
“Oh, Daisy! I
knew
I could count on you!” She was weeping copiously when the receiver clicked down in the cradle.

      
Sucking in air for comfort and squaring my shoulders for strength, but still feeling more than a little bit shaky, I toddled into our bedroom. Billy was up, and I could tell the pain had started in on him hard. He was already in a bad mood when he looked at me.

      
“Let me guess,” he said, sounding surly. “You just got a call from that insane Kincaid woman begging you to bring your crystal ball to her house and throw it at her insane daughter.”