Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] (39 page)

      
Harold said, “Thank God.”

      
Mrs. Kincaid said, “Perhaps that would be best, Stacy, darling.”

      
Humph. She never called
me
darling, although she had called me dear a few times. Then again, I wasn’t her daughter, even though I was nicer to her than was Stacy. There’s that family connection that always gets you, I guess.

      
“Great idea,” said Harold, frowning at his sister.

      
“I won’t!” Stacy said. Looking pouty and rather like a mule digging her back legs into the mud and daring anyone to move her.

      
“Oh, please, darling, don’t start a scene. Not today. Not now.”

      
Poor Mrs. Kincaid. If Stacy’d been my kid, I’d have smacked her from here to next Sunday, and she’d never have defied me again. That, at least, was my fantasy of what true, disciplined motherhood entailed. I had no first-hand knowledge of the motherly state back then.

      
“I’ll see you to the door,” said the ever-watchful and prudent Father Frederick. Even though he seldom offered suggestions of a disciplinary nature to Stacy, he sure knew how to take advantage of one when he heard it.

      
When he took Stacy’s arm tenderly with his hand, she shook it off violently. “Why should
I
leave, when
she
gets to stay?” she shouted, pointing at me. I never did know why she disliked me so much, but she sure gave every indication of doing so.

      
Harold walked over and stood beside Father Frederick. He was decidedly
un
gentle when he took his sister’s other arm and yanked her up from the sofa. “Get the hell out of this room now, and don’t return unless or until someone tells you to come back in. And don’t leave the premises.”

      
Mrs. Kincaid said, “Oh, dear,” again, but Harold and Father Frederick showed Stacy to the door and out of it. She looked as if she’d like to kill everyone in the room, starting either with Harold or me, depending on who was closer after she loaded her gun.

      
As she took off down the hall, Harold hollered after her, “And don’t leave the house and grounds. The detective might have some questions for you.”

      
“I don’t care!” came shrilly back from the escaping monster-in-training. I wondered if she’d learned her disagreeable behavior from her father. I’d also have taken bets that she’d leave the house and grounds as soon as she got James to crank up whatever automobile she chose to use. I wouldn’t have put it past her to snitch Harold’s Stutz Bearcat and have an accident on purpose just for the heck of it.

      
“I don’t think we’ll need Miss Kincaid,” said Rotondo. He sounded relieved because of it, and I couldn’t find it in my heart to fault him.

      
“Good,” said Harold, who belonged to the family and, therefore, felt no compunction about admitting his feelings aloud, unlike some of us present.

      
We were all quiet for several seconds, recovering from the Stacy incident. Then I saw Rotondo take a deep breath. He turned and spoke to me. I got the feeling he didn’t want to, mainly because he looked more or less like a thunder cloud about to burst and rain all over me. “I’m sure you were pleased to know that we ultimately took your suggestion about calling upon the Coast Guard for help, and that the Coast Guard found Mr. Kincaid and brought him back to the States.”

      
“Very pleased,” I agreed. I’m ashamed to say I smirked. It was a small smirk, but still . . .

      
His mouth thinned into a straight line, but he didn’t speak sharply at me, probably because there were other people present. “Most of the bearer bonds were recovered with him.”

      
“Most of them? What about the rest of them?” The fiend had probably cashed in the bonds to buy his boat. What a consummate rotten apple the man was.

      
Algie spoke up. “It will be my pleasure to replace the bonds that are unaccounted for.” Then he blushed and tried to fade into the wallpaper. As I believe I’ve mentioned once or twice, Algie Pinkerton wasn’t exactly aggressive about putting himself forward.

      
“Oh, Algie!” Mrs. Kincaid looked at him with love in her eyes.

      
Hmmm
, wondered I. Did Episcopalians throw people out of their church if they were divorced, as Catholics did? Would Mrs. Kincaid divorce her worm of a husband even if her church recognized divorces as legitimate? I knew Mrs. Kincaid was terrified of scandal, but I still thought she and Algie Pinkerton would make a swell couple. They were both sort of dizzy, and they were both rich, which meant that neither one would be marrying the other for money, which was important. I mean, look at what had happened after she married Eustace Kincaid.

      
And where were Edie and Quincy? Since talk of the case had lagged while Rotondo got his temper under control and Mrs. Kincaid and Algie gazed adoringly at one another, I decided to ask. “Where are Edie Marsh and Quincy Applewood?”

      
Rotondo answered me. “Miss Marsh has been given a leave of absence to tend Mr. Applewood, who’s still in the room next to the breakfast room, recuperating.” He didn’t look as though he approved of these arrangements.

      
Mrs. Kincaid’s gaze swiveled from Algie to me, and she clasped her hands to her bosom yet again. “It was the least I could do, after that poor Applewood boy went through so much to follow my wretched husband through the night. And then to be set upon and beaten over the head by a thug hired by Mr. Kincaid! And poor Edie. After what Mr. Kincaid tried to do to her! She was in such a state.” Mrs. Kincaid gave us all a sappy smile. “They’re planning to marry as soon as may be.” She sighed happily. “Mr. Applewood, of course, always has a position here if he wants it. And dear Edie is welcome to remain, although I doubt that she will once she has a home of her own to care for.”

      
I stifled the urge to ask her how the heck they were supposed to buy a home of their own on Quincy’s salary as a stable boy. Rich people had no idea how the rest of the world lived. I’d discovered that much about life when I was ten years old.

      
“How nice,” I said, meaning at least part of it.

      
Mrs. Kincaid leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I’m giving the Applewood boy a substantial raise in pay, because of the despair Mr. Kincaid caused Edie, and the terrible beating Mr. Applewood suffered in our service.”

      
“That’s very nice of you,” I said, meaning every word this time.

      
Harold and Father Frederick had reseated themselves—Harold had taken the precaution of locking the drawing-room door in case Stacy decided to put on another one of her dramatic performances.

      
It was Harold who got the meeting back on the right path. “So, what’s going to happen now, Detective Rotondo? Will Father be eligible for a bail bond? He’s already skipped the country once.”

      
“That will be up to the District Attorney and the judge, Mr. Kincaid.”

      
“Too bad Father’s friends with so many judges,” Harold muttered pensively. “If he does make bail, I suppose he’ll come back here to stay until it’s time for the trial.” I could tell that Harold didn’t like this scenario at all. “Unless, of course, he lams it again.” That thought cheered him up some.

      
“Probably.” Rotondo wanted Kincaid to stay locked up. It was obvious in his posture and tone of voice, and the fact that his teeth were clamped together so hard, his jaw bulged. I wondered if he was going to ruin his teeth doing that.

      
Mrs. Kincaid pushed herself up on the sofa until she sat as straight as a carpenter’s level, only vertical. “He will
not
be coming back to
this
house! I shan’t permit it.”

      
Looking glum, Harold said, “California has joint-property laws, Mother. You may not be able to prevent him from coming home.”

      
Turning to gaze at her son, Mrs. Kincaid gave him what I can only describe as a dazzling smile. “Ah, but you never knew, Harold, that my late father, your sainted grandfather, insisted that Mr. Kincaid sign a pre-nuptial agreement before he and I were wed. Papa was wiser than I, I must say, because I thought it was unnecessary and that Eustace would balk at the notion. He didn’t, undoubtedly because he was so happy to be marrying so much money. That’s also probably why he cleaned out the bank, because he knew if he left me without funds of his own, he’d be a pauper.” She sniffed. “The vile beast. This house and property are
mine
, and Eustace shan’t get a farthing from me if I can help it.”

      
I’ll be danged. I didn’t even know there were such things as pre-nuptial agreements. For that matter, I didn’t know what a farthing was.

      
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Sam Rotondo smiled. “That’s good. Unless one of his judge friends wants to post bail for him, he won’t be out of jail before the trial. If the case goes to trial.” His smile faded on the last sentence.

      
“Why wouldn’t it go to trial?” demanded Harold. “He stole half a million dollars worth of bearer bonds and tried to skip the country. If it weren’t for Algie and Del, the bank would have folded and my dear father would have cheated three-quarters of the citizens of Pasadena out of their life savings!”

      
Rotondo sighed. “I hate to say it, Mr. Kincaid, but money talks.”

      
“But my father doesn’t
have
any money!” Harold paused, smiled, and added, “Not anymore, he doesn’t.”

      
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Kincaid, also smiling.

      
“We’ll see,” Sam said. He didn’t look any too convinced to me. Probably because there were still all those judges. “He’ll be arraigned today, and we’ll find out if someone has posted bond for him.”

      
“I believe it’s time for me to use the telephone.” Mrs. Kincaid sounded grim. I didn’t know she had a grim bone in her body until then. And she still sat tall, as if someone had stuck a pole up her back. “I am friends with the wives of all the judges Mr. Kincaid knows. I believe
I
shall be able to exert some influence in this case.”

      
There you go. What’s that old saying about a woman scorned? I was proud of Mrs. Kincaid for her response to her husband’s desertion. After all, she could had a nervous breakdown and decided she was helpless and done nothing but cry and moan for the next six months. Instead, she did something useful.

      
She surprised me. She exercised a much greater degree of firmness about her husband than she did about Stacy. Still, I held some faint hope that she might gain strength through this ordeal and learn how to deal with her daughter effectively. Stranger things have happened. I think they have, anyhow.

      
Father Frederick stuck a boot into the conversation. Looking upon Mrs. Kincaid with fondness (I wondered if he was a single gentleman. If Algie didn’t work out, Mrs. K. Could do worse than to marry Father Frederick). “I shall be happy to discuss your future plans with you, Madeline. Regarding your marriage, I mean, if you care to discuss such a delicate matter with me.”

      
Lifting her chin, which made her look like an entirely different person than the soft, sort of squishy, giddy woman I’d known for ten years, she said, “I haven’t yet decided what I shall do. I am contemplating securing a divorce.”

      
“My goodness.” Father Frederick appeared thunderstruck—and a tiny bit gratified. I guess he didn’t like Mr. Kincaid any more than I did. “Please feel free to ask for my support and counsel whenever you like.”

      
Borrowing from my own repertoire, Mrs. Kincaid gave Father Frederick a gracious smile. “You know I’d never do anything drastic without consulting with you, Freddy. You and Daisy and Algie have been my main guides and friends for years.”

      
That meant I’d been one of her main guides and friends since I was ten years old. It made no sense to me, but I didn’t argue. Far be it from me to question the judgment or logic of my main source of income.

      
“I
won’t
have a jailbird for a husband,” Mrs. Kincaid added uncompromisingly.

      
“If he gets convicted, I suppose he’ll be a prison-bird,” Harold said.

      
Mrs. Kincaid blinked at her son. “Is there a difference, darling?”

      
Another darling. I concluded that she reserved the
darlings
for her children.

      
Harold said, “Yes. I’ll explain it to you later, Mother.”

      
“Before I do anything, however, I need Daisy to read the cards and consult the board for me.” She patted me on my dark-blue-poplin-covered knee.

      
I smiled at her, thinking
Oh, brother
. If my husband had run off with five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bearer bonds from the bank he was supposed to be head of, I’d be consulting a lawyer, not a spiritualist. Not that Billy would ever do anything of the sort. My Billy, while nowhere near as rich as any Kincaid extant in Pasadena, was an honorable man. It was strange, but I was actually luckier than Mrs. Kincaid, at least in this one element of life.

      
Rotondo stared at the two of us in clear disbelief for several seconds. His stare lasted fully long enough for me to register his distaste for such an agenda as cards and board, and to respond with an
I dare you to say one disparaging word about my business
look.