High Spirits [Spirits 03] (13 page)

      
I knew what she meant. Once more it crossed my mind to ask Flossie to help me with the case Sam had forced me to undertake, but again I didn’t. Poor Flossie’s heart seemed to be in the right place, but her physical self was definitely vulnerable, and I wasn’t altogether certain of her moral character—she was with Jinx Jenkins, wasn’t she? Besides, I’m sure I’d crack if somebody tortured me, and I didn’t want to be the cause of any more torturing of Flossie on Jinx’s part. Not, I’m sure, that he needed a reason to beat up on the poor woman.

      
“But Jinx says Mr. Maggiori will be setting up another séance, so I’ll see you there, right?” She sounded positively happy for the first time since I’d met her.

      
“Right,” said I, wishing it weren’t so.

      
And then Flossie grabbed my hand, burst into tears, and said, “Nobody’s never tried to help me before. You’re so nice to me!”

      
Oh, Lord, another weeping woman. Depending on me. I figured that I was not only done for, but that things couldn’t get any worse. Boy, was I wrong.

Flossie Mosser and I parted soon after that. Because I felt so sorry for her—and because I’m such a sucker—I asked her to meet me at Nash’s Department Store the next morning at eleven. I figured we could have an hour to shop and, maybe, tone down her makeup, have lunch, and I could then escape.

      
Occasionally I ask myself when I’ll learn to butt out of other people’s business, but I seldom pursue the issue since I’m pretty sure the answer is “never.”

      
At any rate, I offered to drive Flossie somewhere, but she said she’d catch the red car, which ran on tracks down Colorado to, I presume, wherever she was going. In a way I hated to see her go. Not that I wanted to offer her housing or anything. In truth, and I know it sounds mean, but I wished I’d never met her. But I knew she was going back to a vicious man who took out his anger on a helpless woman, and I hated to see her do it. Flossie was an okay kid, for a trollop.

      
Lest anyone accuse me of denigrating my own sex, let me say that I don’t consider females helpless as a rule. It is absolutely true, however, that we have fewer rights than do males, and, therefore, have to maneuver considerably more agilely if we want to make a living. Look at me, if you don’t believe me. And there’s also no denying that we’re generally weaker physically than men, which makes Jinx’s predilection for beating up on poor Flossie even more despicable.

      
It was, therefore, with a heavy heart that I drove the Chevrolet to our neat little bungalow on Marengo. I noticed Pudge sweeping Mrs. Ballard’s sidewalk and guessed he was piling up good deeds so he could take a couple of days off or something. I gave him a jaunty wave, even though I was feeling far from jaunty at that moment. However, it never does to disappoint one’s public. Anyhow, I figured the worst of my day was over, and I could relax and enjoy the evening with my family.

      
Wrong.

      
As soon as I opened the front door, Spike attacked the brand-new pumps with crossover straps that I’d got at Nash’s for a song when they held their annual sale. That wasn’t the bad part. I adored Spike and found his enthusiastic greetings always cheered me up when I needed cheering, which I did then.

      
No. What negated Spike’s joyful salutation was the sight of Billy, Pa, and Sam Rotondo sitting at the card table playing gin rummy. They all turned and smiled at me. I suspected Sam’s smile of being of a sardonic nature, but perhaps I was projecting my overall sense of abuse onto him. I doubt it.

      
“Hey, Daisy,” said Billy, looking happy for a change. “Aunt Vi’s cooking a pork roast for supper.”

      
That, at least, was happy news indeed. “Wonderful,” said I, thinking I should really count my blessings instead of dwelling on the unpleasant aspects of my life.

      
“And she asked me to stay,” said Sam, reminding me forcefully of said unpleasant aspects. Nuts.

      
“Great.”

      
I know my voice conveyed my weariness because Pa said, “Rough day, sweetheart?”

      
Stooping to pick up Spike, who obligingly licked my chin for me, I said, “You have no idea.”

      
“Well, Vi’s dinner will perk you up,” Billy said.

      
Couldn’t hurt, I suppose. “Right,” I said, and carried Spike through the kitchen, where wonderful aromas floated, and on into the bedroom Billy and I shared. There I flung my hat and handbag on the dresser, plopped Spike on the bed and flopped down next to him, heedless of his little puppy paws on my black-and-white checks. What I wanted to do right then was go to sleep and never wake up. Preferably with Spike in my arms.

      
Such a happy fate was not to be mine. I knew it even before Vi knocked at the door a half-hour or so later and said, “You asleep in there, Daisy?”

      
Well, I
had
been, but no matter. “No, Vi. Just resting for a few minutes.”

      
“Can you help me put dinner on the table, Daisy? We’ve got a guest tonight.”

      
A guest. Right. Sam Rotondo was at our house so often that I sometimes, in my more cynical moments, thought to ask Pa if he’d adopted him. “Sure, Vi. Just have to change clothes, and I’ll be right out.”

      
“You haven’t changed
yet
?”

      
Did I detect a censorious note in my aunt’s voice, or was it my imagination? Lately I’d been suspecting everything anyone said to me as having more than one meaning. Probably my guilty conscience shading my perspective.

      
“Almost,” I said. “It’ll just take me another minute.”

      
“Your mother telephoned from the hotel. She said she might be a little late getting home, but not to wait dinner for her.”

      
And if anything could remind me that I wasn’t the only one in the world with problems, it was the mention of my hard-working, selfless mother. “Poor Ma. I’ll be right there, Vi.”

      
So, much to Spike’s disappointment, not to mention my own, I scrambled out of my nice checked suit and into a faded housedress with once-green flowers adorning it. Thanks to my short, shingled hair, all I had to do was fluff it a little after I rose from the bed, and I was almost ready to face the world when Spike and I exited my sanctuary. I kept telling myself I wasn’t the only person who faced distasteful realities on a daily basis, but when I saw Sam Rotondo’s broad back hunched over the card table, my internal pep talk fizzled significantly.

      
“I’ll set a place for Ma,” I told Vi.

      
“That’s fine. I know she’ll be here if those auditors finish up early.”

      
“Glad nobody audits me,” I muttered.

      
Aunt Vi sniffed. “I should say so.”

      
I guess she hadn’t forgiven me for upsetting Mrs. Kincaid. Yet one more thing to feel guilty about. If I hadn’t already laid out several plates, my sigh might have blown the tablecloth off the table. I was happy to see Ma walk in right before we all sat down to eat.

      
Dinner was great and went a long way toward soothing my ragged nerves. There’s nothing quite as wonderful as Aunt Vi’s pork roast, which she serves with roasted potatoes, green beans, and Harvard beets. To top it all off, we had one of Vi’s delectable apple pies, with which she served vanilla ice cream. After I’d eaten far more than I should have, I decided the world might be worth living in for one more day, if not even a little bit longer.

      
And then, as if he couldn’t allow me even one evening of peace, Sam asked if he could speak to me outdoors for a minute or two. I glanced at Billy, who nodded his approval. He would.

      
Nevertheless, I stepped out onto the front porch with Sam. It was cold out there, and I’d forgotten to put on a sweater, so I hugged myself and said snappishly, “Make it fast. I’m cold.”

      
“Want to go get a wrap?”

      
Oh, brother. If there was one thing I didn’t need, it was a solicitous Sam Rotondo. “No!” I sounded positively waspish that time. “What I want is for you to leave me alone.”

      
He frowned down at me. “We made a deal, Daisy.”

      
I muttered, “Some deal. For the benefit of not getting arrested, I run the risk of getting myself killed and leaving my family bereft. And Billy with only his pension to support him. And I was only trying to do a good deed!” Can you tell I felt very abused and mistreated?

      
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he snarled. “You’re not going to get killed. Just listen to me.”

      
“I’m listening. Hurry up.” Sullen. Very sullen.

      
“We got word today that Maggiori is setting up shop in Lamanda Park.”

      
Lamanda Park was a nice little area east of Pasadena that had just been annexed and was now a part of the city. I was kind of surprised since Maggiori’s last place of operation was outside the city limits, in the County of Los Angeles. “Really? Boy, that was fast.”

      
“Yeah. Now listen up. We want you to set up another of those séances as soon as you can.”

      
“I can’t just call him up on the telephone and ask him if he’d like me to conduct another séance for him!” I protested hotly. “For one thing, I don’t have his number. And for another thing, he’d probably think it was really odd.”

      
“Don’t worry.” There was a sneer in his voice, although it was too dark by that time to see the sneer on his face. “According to my sources, he’s keen on getting you back again. He really wants to get in touch with that dead criminal uncle of his.”

      
“Oh, joy. Oh, rapture,” I said, paraphrasing the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta Billy, Ma, Pa, Vi and I had seen last year at the Pasadena Presbyterian Church. Those Presbyterians have a lot of fun.

      
“Yeah,” Sam snarled. “Both of those things. When they
do
call, I want you to tell us exactly when and where the séance will be held. Do you understand?”

      
“Of course, I understand. For Pete’s sake, Sam, I’m not an idiot.”

      
He said, “Huh,” in a tone that let me know he disagreed with my assessment of myself.

      
So that capped my evening. At least dinner had been good.

* * * * *

      
The next morning before I left the house to meet Flossie, a trip I wasn’t exactly looking forward to, I suggested that Billy and I take Spike for a walk. In truth, this meant that I’d hold onto Spike’s leash while Billy tried to remain upright at my side, using my arm and shoulder as a prop. These outings were rather painful for both of us, although Spike loved them. He’d have loved them more, of course, if I’d allowed him to dash around off the leash. However, I didn’t want him to get smashed by the occasional motor vehicle that tootled down Marengo, and I
really
didn’t want him to poop on any of our neighbors’ lawns. Most of our neighbors were swell folks, but I didn’t want to push it, if you know what I mean.

      
It was slow going. I knew Billy had taken his morphine, but I also knew the drug didn’t kill all the pain in his legs. And then there was the problem with his lungs, which were never going to recover from that blasted mustard gas. And whoever invented
that
noxious stuff ought to be forced to enter a room full of it and then sent straight to hell where he belongs. Taking the Kaiser with him. If ever a totally evil weapon was made, that cursed mustard gas was it.

      
On that particular February morning, the air was nippy, and it worried me a bit. “Are you sure you want to do this, Billy? It’s cold out there.”

      
“Aw, hell, Daisy, every year has cold days and hot days. If I don’t learn how to live through them all, I might as well not live at all.”

      
I
really
hated to hear him say things like that. Rather than take him to task or attempt to buck him up, which never worked and generally ended up with a snarling Billy and a weeping me, I said, “Okey-dokey, let me roll your chair down the ramp, and then you can stand up.” I didn’t want him to attempt to negotiate the porch steps.

      
So, with a frolicking Spike’s leash over my arm, I maneuvered Billy’s chair down the ramp, and stood with a then-leaping Spike while Billy struggled out of his chair. I didn’t help him because he hated it when I did that.

      
It was during those times, when Billy tried
so
hard to regain even a fraction of the strength he’d had before he went to war, that I pitied him the most. And if Billy knew that, he’d resent me even more than he already did. He didn’t want to be pitied. He wanted to be whole. And I wanted him to be whole so much. But he never
would
be whole. And I felt like crying.

      
Naturally, since I’d been blessed with a strong character, no matter what Sam Rotondo thinks, and since I loved my husband even if he wasn’t the man I’d married, I only smiled and let Spike romp until Billy had managed to catch what little breath he could and had stopped panting.

      
“All set,” he rasped, and I knew the chilly air was bothering him already.

      
With a suppressed sigh and a bright smile, I went to him, he draped an arm over my shoulder, and we set off down the street.