Unsettled Spirits (28 page)

So Sam, Spike and I went outside. I instantly wished I'd put on a sweater, but Sam put an arm around me, so I warmed up fast.

Feeling happy and satisfied and ready for my nap, I said cheerfully, "So what do you need to talk to me about, Sam?"

"What the devil were you doing during communion? And don't tell me you needed to blow your nose, either. You stuck the wafer and grape juice into your handbag, didn't you?"

Well, blast the man! "Why were you watching me? You were supposed to be praying, drat you!"

"I know you too well. You've been prying and poking into Underhill's murder, and since he died after taking communion, you think he was poisoned, don't you? How do you expect to get the stuff you stole from the church—"

"I didn't steal anything!" I bellowed, furious. "I'm going to return the communion cup, and if you think anybody wants that grape juice back, they'll have to wring it out of my hankie."

To my utter astonishment, Sam laughed. He had a big, rumbly laugh, and nobody heard it very often.

"Anyhow," I said, calming down some. "I thought it might be a good idea to test the communion elements, since people seem to drop dead fairly often after Betsy Powell gives them their juice."

"Nobody dropped dead today," Sam pointed out.

"I know it." Sullen, Daisy Majesty. Unpleasantly sullen.

"How did you aim to get the stuff tested?"

Good question, and one for which I hadn't come up with an answer yet. Nevertheless, I said, "I figured Doc Benjamin could test everything for me."

"Poor Dr. Benjamin. I can't even imagine having you as a patient."

"That's not fair, Sam Rotondo! Just because you don't approve of the things I do, it doesn't follow that Dr. Benjamin is of a like mind."

"That's only because he's a doctor and not a policeman." Sam stopped walking and turned me around to face him. I had to tilt my head back to do so. "Listen, Daisy, there's a poisoner on the loose, and whoever it is might well have something to do with the Underhill plant. Do you know how scared I was when I found out you'd been snooping around there? If you make the poisoner—and we don't know who it is—suspicious, you might be next on his list."

"Her list," I said automatically.

"Huh?"

"I think it's Betsy Powell. I made her mad the other day when I went to choir rehearsal, so I figured she might have it in for me at communion today."

Shaking his head as if in amazement, Sam said, "For the love of God, Daisy, will you
never
learn not to irritate people you think might be deadly? If you think she's the poisoner, why, for the love of God, did you annoy her?"

"Well, I didn't mean to," I confessed. "It just kind of worked out that way."

"Why do you think she's the poisoner?" asked Sam, sounding as if he were genuinely curious.

"Well, she's the one who gave Mrs. Franbold and Mr. Underhill their grape juice, and both of them dropped dead right afterwards. In fact, I'm surprised you vaunted policemen haven't figured that out yet."

"Mrs. Franbold died of natural causes," said Sam.

My mouth fell open. "And you're only telling me this
now
?"

"You didn't need to know," said Sam. "I was hoping—which was, I admit, stupid of me—that if I didn't tell you everything, you'd leave the investigation alone. I should have known better."

"Yes," I said as Sam let me go and we resumed our walk to his Hudson. "You should have."

"But Underhill was poisoned. And I know you won't like this, and I also know you already said you wouldn't, but I want you to
promise
me you won't go back to that damned plant. They make fertilizer and so forth with deadly poisons there, you know, and I don't want anything to happen to you before we get married. Ten or so years from now."

That was actually kind of sweet. "It probably won't be ten years from now," I said, feeling a trifle embarrassed. "And I don't plan to go back to the Underhill plant ever again."

"It's a good thing, or I'd have to go down there and tell them to bar you from entering their portals."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me." Before I could protest further, he said, "Give me that junk you got at communion. I'll have someone at the police lab test it."

"Oh. Thanks, Sam."

"Huh."

Sam had reverted to his normal state. In a way, I was glad. At least he'd stopped lecturing me. I hurried back to the house, went to my bedroom, and dug in my purse for the leather pouch in which I'd stuffed my napkin, the communion cup, and the now-soggy wafer. I decided I'd just better hand Sam the leather pouch because otherwise, things might get messy.

"Here you go," I said somewhat breathlessly. "It's all in here."

Sam undid the elastic band holding the pouch closed, peered in, grimaced, and said, "Good God."

"Yes, well, I couldn't think of any other way to take it home with me."

He said, "Good God," again, and we proceeded to his Hudson. Sam gave me a short kiss, leaned over and gave Spike a pat, and he motored off down the street. I heaved a sigh and spoke to my dog. "It could have been worse, Spike. He might have yelled at me. And he
did
offer to have that soggy lump tested for poisons."

Spike only wagged his tail.

* * *

The week following the first Sunday in March was a busy one for Daisy Gumm Majesty, mainly because Miss Lucille Spinks was set to marry Mr. Albert Zollinger the following Saturday, and I had agreed to make all the bridesmaids' gowns. Lucy's sister Pamela was going to be her matron of honor, but Lucy had asked me to be a bridesmaid.

Truth to tell, I wasn't a maid. I was a matron, but I don't think there's a word for that when it comes to weddings. Who's ever heard of a bridesmatron?

At any rate, women were coming and going all week long in the Gumm-Majesty household. I made pot after pot of tea, and fed the bridesmaids Aunt Vi's cookies, and it was actually kind of fun. Lucy planned to wear her mother's old wedding gown for her own wedding, which I thought was sweet. I had to do some alterations on it, since Lucy was taller and skinnier than her mother had been at the time of her wedding. Well, she still was, Lucy being tall and skinny and her mother being a wee bit shorter and plumper than she.

I considered Lucy fortunate that her mother hadn't opted for one of those Victorian-era gowns with a high-standing collar that looked as if it would choke the life out of a bride before she even got hitched. Rather, her mother had chosen a cream-colored silk chiffon mounted over a pale blue fitted bodice. The gown had a scooped neckline, short cap sleeves, a light-blue cummerbund, and a flared skirt embroidered with beaded flowers that matched those on the bodice of the gown. My addition of satin and lace below the beaded flowers looked pretty and not at all out of place.

The gown didn't precisely flatter Lucy's figure, but Lucy was long and lanky and rather shapeless, and it would have been a special gown, indeed, that would flatter her. I'm not being catty. It's the truth. I'd always been a trifle rounder than fashion called for. Lucy was the perfect shape for a straight, tubular, up-and-down dress fashionable in 1924, but she wanted to wear her mother's gown, and by gum (so to speak) I'd alter it for her so that she looked as good in it as I could make her look.

Lucy was in an exuberant mood. "Oh, Daisy, this is so exciting!"

"I know. You seem so happy with your choice, too." Mind you, I thought Mr. Zollinger was a fine man, but he was still a good deal older than Lucy, and if the war hadn't killed off so many young men, she might have made a different choice in a mate. Naturally, I didn't mention that.

Clasping her hands to her bosom, Lucy said, "Albert is so kind to me, Daisy. I know he's older, and not the most handsome man in the world, but he's truly a good and respectable gentleman."

Good and respectable. All righty, then. "I'm very happy for you, Lucy." And I was. The fact that I'd married the love of my life might mitigate my joy for Lucy slightly, but beggars, as they say, can't be choosers. Anyhow, Mr. Zollinger was alive, and my Billy had been dead for almost two years.

"Um, Daisy..." Lucy's voice trailed off.

I looked up at her, having been pinning the hem of her gown. I'd already taken in the bodice so that it wouldn't balloon out over Lucy's smallish bosom, and now I now was pinning satin and lace to the hem. When I was finished with that gown, it would be perfectly charming, as I was as excellent a seamstress as I was a spiritualist-medium. I never say things like that out loud, by the way, but I was proud of my few skills. "Yes?" I asked through the pins stuck in my mouth.

"Is... Is this difficult for you? I mean, I know it's been a couple of years since your husband passed away, but... Well, I hope this isn't bringing back painful memories. And I do
so
appreciate you helping me the way you're doing."

I thought it was kind of her to think of my possible emotional pain. I hesitated for a moment before answering her. "It's not painful. Exactly. But I do remember when Billy and I married with... nostalgia, I guess. We were
so
young and stupid."

Boy, I'd never thought of Billy and me as stupid before, but I guess we had been.

"You were?" Lucy sounded thunderstruck.

"Well... Yes. We were. I'd just graduated from high school, and Billy was working at the Hull Motor Works, and the United States had just joined Europe in the war, and we thought... We thought it was a romantic time. And it was, for about five minutes." I heaved a huge sigh.

"It's terrible what Mr. Majesty went through in that horrible war," said Lucy.

I laughed. "Mr. Majesty? Just call him Billy, please, Lucy. I can't even imagine Billy being 'Mr. Majesty.' If he'd lived, and if we'd had children and grown old together, I guess he might have become Mr. Majesty, but... Oh, he was so young and so handsome and... and I just think of him as Billy."

"I see. I hope I didn't upset you." Lucy sounded worried.

"Not at all. I still miss my Billy, but his life after the war was so hard and painful." I shook my head and felt a lump forming in my throat. I cleared it away and said, "He just wasn't the same man after he came home. It's probably a sin to say so, but in a way I'm glad he died when he did."

"Are you really?"

I grabbed the pins from my mouth and stood, pulling my hankie from my pocket as I did so. "Yes. He was in dreadful pain, and he could hardly breathe, and he just wasn't the Billy I married after he came home from that damned war. Sorry for swearing."

"Oh, Daisy, I don't blame you." Lucy had started sniffling, too, so we had ourselves a little sob-fest. Then we both laughed.

"Mercy sakes, aren't we the ones," I said, not quite knowing what I meant.

After ruthlessly wiping her eyes, Lucy said, "Yes. We are."

Then we laughed again and I finished pinning the lengthening satin and lace onto the bottom of her gown.

Except for that one isolated circumstance, I managed to keep my spirits up for the remainder of the week, in spite of everyone else's joy at Lucy's impending marriage. Or maybe because of it. I don't know. All I knew for certain at that point was that I'd always, always love my Billy, and that I wasn't quite ready to embark on another marriage, this time to the large and block-like Sam Rotondo. Even though I loved him. I really did.

Lucy was in an absolute dither at choir rehearsal that Thursday. She could hardly sit still, and Mr. Hostetter spoke to her sharply once or twice.

Leaning over, I whispered to her, "I don't even know why you bothered to come to rehearsal tonight. After all, you've got a wedding to prepare for."

"I couldn't sit still at home, and I figured I'd be better off at rehearsal, even though I won't be here on Sunday, because we'll be on our honeymoon." She giggled.

"Miss Spinks," said Mr. Hostetter. "I understand this is an interesting time for you, but the rest of the choir needs to learn Sunday's anthem."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hostetter."

He smiled at her. "That's quite all right. I understand."

I doubted that, although I didn't say so. After all, what would an oldish man know about a young woman getting married in 1924, when half the men her age had been killed in a fruitless war? I guess all wars are fruitless, but still... Lucy getting married was not only romantic—sort of—but really rather amazing, given the circumstances. And things were worse in Europe. Hard to imagine almost an entire generation of young men being wiped off the face of the earth because of one man's greed and lust for power. I still think someone should have executed Kaiser Bill for what he did to the world.

There I go again. I'm sorry.

Anyhow, rehearsal went well after Lucy calmed down some. Our hymn for Sunday was "Forty Days and Forty Nights," to ring in (if that's the right term) the Lenten season. As I've said before, hymns for Lent are generally on the gloomy side, but I loved the music to "Forty Days" so I didn't mind it so much. If Lucy were going to be in church on Sunday, she and I would probably have sung a duet at one point or another during the anthem, but I didn't begrudge her impending absence. Heck, the girl was getting
married
!

Chapter 23