Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] (30 page)

      
I smiled broadly at my adorable, albeit cranky, husband. “Gee, Billy, that’s one I’d never thought about before. But it’s good! I’ll have to mull it over. There might even be some way to make it work. But I don’t have to use my crystal ball today. Edie strangled Stacy Kincaid with the vacuum-cleaner cord.”

      
“She
what
?” After staring at me, wide-eyed, for about a second and a half, Billy started laughing so hard, I knew it hurt his lungs. I’d learned a long time ago not to let him see my fear and worry about his condition, so I merely continued to grin.

      
“Detective Rotondo just got here, too. Want to see him? I hope he can drive me to the Kincaids’ place, because I don’t feel like cranking the Model T.”

      
“Sam’s here?” He sounded pleased, which made one of us.

      
“Yup. He’s in the living room, and I guess he’s talking to Ma, because I was talking to Mrs. Kincaid when he arrived.”

      
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

      
I neither sighed nor balked, for which I believe I deserve some sort of commendation from Above. Ha! As if.

      
Ma had already left for work when I got to the living room, and Rotondo sat on the sofa, his hat on his lap. I presume he’d removed it in deference to my mother, since he was seldom so polite with me. When I entered the room, he stood politely, too. “Good morning, Mrs. Majesty.” He even sounded courteous. My level of suspicion soared like a lark. Or maybe like a buzzard.

      
“Hello.” Because I couldn’t think of anything else to say, I got right down to business. “I just got a call from Mrs. Kincaid.”

      
Before he could ask about the telephone call, Billy rolled into the living room.

      
“Hey, Sam!” His face was pale and pinched, and I knew the morphine hadn’t begun its job yet. “Did you hear that Edie Marsh strangled Stacy Kincaid with the vacuum cleaner cord?”

      
“God bless Edie for a saint,” I added. They probably thought I was teasing, but I meant it.

      
“She
what
?” Rotondo looked as if he wasn’t certain we weren’t simply fooling around.

      
Of course I wasn’t either, so I couldn’t very well resent his doubt. I did, however, say, “Just joking,” to ease his mind. “Unfortunately, Stacy Kincaid’s still alive. And probably kicking.”

      
“Oh. You had me worried there for a minute.” He grinned at Billy. “Morning, Billy. Spent all my money yet?”

      
Billy grinned back, in spite of his pain. “Not yet. There’s still today, though.”

      
Rotondo chuckled. So did Billy. Their levity vexed me. I’d just received an important telephone call, and these two men were joking about pennies won in a gin rummy game. I was probably only jealous, but I felt righteous at the time.

      
“Back to the problem at hand,” I resumed tartly, “Mrs. Kincaid just telephoned. Evidently Quincy Applewood has returned to the house and everyone’s in a furor. I guess Stacy threatened to stab him through the heart, and that’s when Edie wrapped the cord around her throat.” Boy, I wish I could have seen it happen, too.

      
“What?” Rotondo, who had walked over to Billy’s wheelchair to shake Billy’s hand, jumped up so hard, he darned near fell onto Billy’s lap. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Billy.”

      
Still smiling, Billy said, “That’s okay. I figure I have all your money, so that’s pay-back enough.”

      
“I should say so,” Rotondo said, his smile thin and concerned-looking. Turning to me, he said, “You say Applewood’s returned to the Kincaid house?” As soon as he asked his question, his attention returned to Billy to assess any damage he might have done when I’d startled him.

      
Since I didn’t want him feeling sorry for Billy, primarily because Billy
hates
for people to feel sorry for him, I spoke up. “Yes. I’m not sure when. Mrs. Kincaid was in kind of a state.”

      
“What else is new?” Rotondo said bitingly.

      
“Good question,” said Billy.

      
“Would you mind driving me to the Kincaids’ place, Detective? As long as you’re here, I mean.” Since both he and Billy were looking at me as if I’d asked him to climb an Alp, I said, “If you’re going there, that is. I assumed you were, since Quincy’s returned to the place.”

      
“Oh,” said Rotondo. “Oh, certainly. I’ll be glad to drive you. You’re right. I need to get over there as soon as possible.” He looked down at Billy. “I was going to make a date with you to win my money back, but I guess we can do that later.”

      
Good Lord in heaven, they really
did
like each other. I glanced at the ceiling, hoping God would spot my face among the millions he saw daily, and asked Him if He didn’t think I had enough burdens to bear already, and couldn’t He spare me just this little one? A glance at Rotondo made me alter my prayer a bit. He was actually sort of a large burden.

      
It was no use. I already knew God didn’t pay attention to trivial prayers, and He would without a doubt consider mine trivial. The fact that
I
didn’t consider it any such thing was of no consequence to God.

      
I went to Billy, leaned over, and kissed him hard on the mouth because I loved him so much. That made him happy, and it also made Rotondo look at the two of us in a strange way. To heck with Rotondo.

      
“Gotta run back and get my hat and handbag,” I said to Billy. I chose a dark green cloche hat and bag, which, when combined with the light green dress and my dark red hair looked fairly dignified. When you’re not even twenty, dignity’s a difficult commodity to come by sometimes.

      
As a color, green brought out the best in me. By that I mean the combination of my skin tone and the green made me look pale and a trifle pasty. Perhaps even a little ill. I figured if I looked sick enough, maybe Mrs. Kincaid wouldn’t keep me around until the earth ceased to turn on its axis or hell froze over. I really did like to be home with Billy, even if he could be a difficult and a lot of trouble sometimes. Often, even. I selected my brown gloves from the drawer because they went with my brown French-heel shoes, and thought I made quite an elegant picture for a woman about to spend a day in what might as well be a haunted mansion for all the turmoil going on in it.

      
I was beginning to long for the days when all I had to do was call people up from the grave to chat with, and deal out Tarot cards, and fiddle with the Ouija board, and gaze into a crystal ball and say pseudo-profound things to silly women. Sing in the choir. Take walks around the block, pushing Billy in his chair. Force Brownie to exercise once in a while. Things like that. Things I was used to doing. Things I understood. This Kincaid mystery nonsense was driving me nuts.

      
Billy wasn’t overjoyed to see me stepping out with another man; I could tell. But he liked Sam, so he’d probably get over it as soon as we were out of sight. I gave him a cheery farewell, made a joke about coming back with all the latest gossip, kissed him again, and he took it pretty well. Rotondo actually helped, too, by completely ignoring me and my nice-looking costume. I swear, the man was a perfect ogre except when he wasn’t.

      
“So,” Rotondo said as soon as he’d helped me into the police car, “things are heating up.”

      
“They are?” I didn’t see how.

      
“At the Kincaids’.”

      
“Oh.” I wasn’t a policeman and guess I wasn’t seeing the Kincaid problem from his perspective. It only looked like a mess to me.

      
Police cars had doors on both sides, which made them much more easy, not to mention more modest, to enter and exit than my old Model T. This particular police car was a Hudson and was nice and roomy and had a closed top. You also didn’t have to fiddle with the clutch cable while you cranked it, which was a distinct improvement over the Model T. Some cars were even being made with batteries in them nowadays so you didn’t have to crank at all, but they were way out of my price range.

      
I was seriously beginning to consider purchasing a Hudson as my next car. You know, when I got rich. Ha! Sorry. Sometimes I get these silly fancies.

      
Although the Hudson was an improvement over the Model T, I still hoped nobody noticed me in it. My reputation was fragile enough, especially after having screeched at Mrs. Barrow this morning, without having all the neighbors seeing me driving around in a police car. Of course I was in the front seat and not behind the screened-in back seat, but I’m sure that part of the picture wouldn’t be bandied about. It would be the “Did you know that Daisy Majesty must have been arrested, and didn’t I just
tell
you it would happen one of these days?” part that people would talk about.

      
“You say Mrs. Kincaid told you Applewood came back to the house?”

      
“Yes. And that’s all I know. She didn’t tell me anything else over the telephone except about Edie throttling Stacy with the vacuum-cleaner cord.” I couldn’t help myself. Every time I thought about that part of the drama, I smiled.

      
“Did she mention anything about her husband coming back?”

      
I frowned at him. “I just told you every single thing she said to me. Did I say anything about Mr. Kincaid? No, I didn’t. And that’s because
she
didn’t say anything about her husband.”

      
“Don’t get testy, Mrs. Majesty. This is a tough case. Sometimes people know more than they think they do.”

      
“Well, I don’t.

      
The expression he shot at the sky outside the Hudson’s window made me think he believed me, darn him.

      
The Hudson had a smooth ride, too. If I hadn’t been in it with Detective Sam Rotondo, I think I’d have enjoyed the ride a lot. Drawbacks. There are always drawbacks. Sometimes I get frightfully tired of them.

Chapter Fourteen
 

      
Featherstone met us at the door with his nose in the air, his patent-leather shoes shining like mirrors, and his pristine white cravat all but gleaming at his throat. I don’t know how the man did that—you know, look perfect all the time. It must have taken years of practice.

      
I wanted to ask him if Edie had damaged Stacy with the vacuum-cleaner cord, but knew he’d never answer me, so I didn’t bother. Aunt Vi, now, she’d tell me in a second. Less than that. Aunt Vi was human. Featherstone was British. There’s a big difference.

      
The commotion coming from the drawing room didn’t leave us guessing where we’d be heading. Although we didn’t really need the butler’s guidance, Rotondo and I followed Featherstone down the hall to the scene of the drama. We even let him do his duty, open the door, and announce us. Talk about important. I actually felt like a queen there for a second. Maybe half a second. I hate to admit it, but Majesty can be a heck of a name to live with sometimes—or live up to, I guess I mean.

      
“Mrs. Majesty and Detective Rotondo, Mrs. Kincaid.” Featherstone might have been announcing the arrival of the Prince of Wales.

      
“Oh!” Shrieked Mrs. Kincaid, vaulting up from the red velvet chair in which she’d been ensconced, and launching herself at me. Harold stood behind the chair, and it looked to me as if he’d been attempting to press her shoulders down and keep her put.

      
I braced myself against a heavy table with a marble top so I wouldn’t fall over when she hit. I got a heck of a bruise on my bum, but I didn’t mind. The poor woman was practically out of her mind with all the fuss and bother going on in her life.

      
“Daisy!” I heard somebody else scream, but I was at present enfolded in the rather fleshy arms of Mrs. Kincaid, so I couldn’t see who it was. I think it was Edie, though. It sounded like her voice. In a way. It sounded like her voice might sound if she’d been crying and carrying on for a year or two.

      
It took a while, but things settled down at last. By then, I’d realized that not only was Edie in the room, sitting in another red velvet chair as if she were a normal human being and not merely a housemaid, but so was Quincy Applewood, who looked sort of like death warmed up, although it also looked as if death might claim him any second. His face was filthy and covered with bruises and welts, and his knuckles had been scraped raw. His chair and Edie’s were close together and they were holding hands. I thought that was just the sweetest thing. I guess I’m a romantic at heart, in spite of everything.

      
After being released by Mrs. Kincaid, I went to Edie first, since she was my friend. “How are you holding up, Edie? I hope everything will clear up soon.”

      
She started crying. Figures.
Everybody
seemed to be crying at me in those days. I patted her on the shoulder and headed for Quincy. “What the heck happened to you, Quincy? You look terrible!”

      
“Thanks.” He grinned, which made a split in his lip start to bleed, and I felt awful. I patted the air with my hand to show him he needn’t smile. Lord, I couldn’t
wait
until this lousy mess was cleared up.

      
After I’d spoken to Quincy, I aimed straight at Harold, whom I knew to be sane and normal. Mostly normal. He greeted me warmly, and I felt better.

      
“All right, everyone, let’s get organized here.”