Genteel Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) (21 page)

“Yeah,” I said, feeling miserable. “It’s so hard.”

We were interrupted at that maudlin point by the sound of someone hurrying up behind us. Turning, we found Harold approaching.

“Daisy, I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure, Harold.”

Sam, who shared Billy’s opinion about men of Harold’s stamp, frowned, but he didn’t say anything cutting. “Want to watch Daisy cast a spell on Miss de la Monica’s dressing room? That’s what I’m going to do.”

With a brief laugh, Harold said, “Sure. Why not?”

So the three of us tramped into the big, cold marble building and walked up the
carpeted
stairs. Since we couldn’t fit three across on the staircase, I gestured for Sam to go first, sensing Harold had a reason for having hailed me. As Sam tromped up the steps ahead of us, sure enough, Harold gave me a significant look. I lifted my right eyebrow. Or maybe it was my left. It doesn’t matter. Harold
understood my unspoken question, and he
nodded.

Oh, dear. Monty had received another letter.

Chapter Eleven

Sam came to dinner at our house that night. That wasn’t anything unusual. What was unusual was that I was the one who invited him.

“It’s because I told Lola I’d perform a personal séance for her this evening,” I explained after I’d proffered the invitation. “Billy’s going to hate
my going out two nights in a row
, and I was hoping you could play gin rummy with him and Pa while I’m at the Winkworth place.”

Naturally, Sam frowned. “I don’t know, Daisy. I hate to spring myself on your aunt unannounced.”

“I’m
inviting
you, Sam. Billy needs you, because I won’t be there, and he’s going to pitch a
fit.
I
need you.” Boy, I hated saying that.
“
If you’re there—”

“He won’t throw a fit in front of me. Is that it?”

Feeling defeated,
deflated,
abused and battered by the Fates, I snapped. “Yes! Yes, that’s it. Darn it, Sam, this is my job! Maybe I shouldn’t h
ave taken it
but I did take it
,
and now I have to do it to the best of my ability. If I can get Lola to stop delaying
the action
every day, maybe the pi
cture will finally get finished
and we can all go home again. Do you think I
like
dealing with that
ghastly
woman?”

Sam held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No. I know you don’t like dealing with her. And I know you’re just doing your job. Sort of like I’m just doing mine.” He scowled hideously for a second. “But will you at least telephone your aunt and let her know to expect an extra person for dinner? Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman wanted to rest from her duties, too, and had planned
to serve
Campbell’s soup and toasted-cheese sandwiches.
Which would be all right with me,
”
he hastened to assure me.

I eyed him speculatively. “Would
Campbell’s soup and cheese sandwiches
be much different from what
you generally fix for yourself?”

The sound he made was something between a snort and a laugh. “Hell, no. It would be considerably better than what I generally fix for myself.”

“Very well. I’ll ‘phone Aunt Vi. She’ll probably be thrilled.”
I turned to Harold. “Is there a telephone in this house?”

“Sure. I’ll show you.”

Turning to Sam, I said, “Will you excuse us for a minute? I’ll be right back to cast my spell.”

Sam said, “Huh.”

It figured
.

Anyhow, I did call Vi, propounded my scheme for Sam coming to dinner and why, and she seemed quite pleased, at least about the Sam part. “Really, Daisy, I know you earn a good income doing what you do, but deserting your husband day
and
night is going pretty far.”

I was stunned. While Vi occasionally chastised me for saying something she didn’t approve of, she’d never before chided me about my wife-hood.

“Deserting him?” I repeated, hardly able to believe my ears.

“Well . . . I don’t mean
deserting
him, exactly,” Vi said, backtracking slightly. “But I know he hates it when you leave him after you’ve been away all day.”

She was right. I told her so. “You’re right, Aunt Vi. I’m so sorry about all this. It’s Lola de la Monica. She’s an absolute horror to work with, and i
n order to get her onto the set
I had to promise to hold a personal séance for her this evening. I
promise
you and Billy that it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, Daisy.” Vi hesitated for so long, I thought we’d been disconnected by the operator. “I know I should
n’t
say anything, but I worry about Billy. He seems so different lately.”

So she’d noticed, too, had she? “I know, Vi. Sam and I were just talking about the same thing. That’s why I wanted him to come over tonight, so he could keep Billy and Pa company. I
really
don’t want to have to come back to this place toni
ght. I just feel so responsible
now that I’ve been hired.
Nobody else can get the woman to behave herself. I plan to sic Rolly on her tonight.
”

“I understand,” said Vi. “I know you’re doing your very best, Daisy.”

She sounded so sincere, my emotions nearly got the be
s
t of me. Again. I really had to get a grip on my nerves. “Thanks, Vi. See you after work.”

“Take care of yourself, Daisy.”

“I will.”

Turning from the telephone, I met the handkerchief Harold was holding out for me.
“You look
ed
like you might need it,” he said kindly and without a hint of sarcasm.

“Thanks, Harold, but I’m not crying.”

“You sure?” He eyed me keenly.

“Well . . . not yet anyway.”

“Before we go back up to the monster’s dressing room, I want you to see this.”

The telephone kiosk was directly beneath the staircase, and I didn’t trust Sam to keep to his own business. Therefore, after casting a glance upstairs—I didn’t see a lurking Sam—I snagged Harold’s sleeve and hauled him into another room. This one looked as if it might serve as a kitchen if this house were ever to house anything akin to a family rather than a bunch of actors’ dressing rooms.

Lowering my voice, I said, “All right. What is it?”

Harold handed me a sheet of paper. On it, in the same cut-from-the-newspaper format as the other letters I’d seen, I read:

CHANGE
YOUR WICKED WAY
S
OR TRAGEDY WILL STRIKE!

Again, the exclamation point had been penned in. I frowned at the missive for a moment. “Not a particularly original thinker, our letter-writer, is he?”

“Or she
.”

“
Or she,
”
I admitted. I didn’t want to, being a woman myself. However, since I knew it to be only fair, I said, “
Women have so little power in the ordinary course of nature, they might just feel letter-writing is the only way they have to express themselves.”

“You aren’t like that,” Harold reminded me.

“True, but I’m not an ordinary woman. And I catch heck for it all the time, too, even though I make more money doing what I do than if I held a regular woman’s job.”

“Well,” said Harold, probably thinking he was speaking judiciously, “don’t forget that men traditionally have families to support.”

I lifted my head so fast, I almost sprained my neck.
“Darn it, Harold Kincaid,
I
have a family to support!
Why
I should earn less than a man for doing it is beyond me!”

Harold winced. He should, the rat. I’d never heard such rubbish come from his mouth before, and it had shocked me. “You’re right. I’m wrong. Sorry about that, Daisy. I really do know better.”

“I should hope so.”

Still feeling a little miffy, I shoved the letter back at Harold. “Here. You’d better keep this. We can discuss it with Monty this evening. I’ve got to come back here to do a personal séance for Lola.”

“Lola,” said Harold. “Fah.”

I couldn’t have
phrased
it better myself.

Anyhow, Harold and I reclimbed the stairs
, entered the room,
and found Sam waiting for us, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a frown on his face. I frowned back. “I was only using the telephone,” I told him. “Just like I said I’d do.”

“How’s your aunt?” he said, unfold
ing his arms—and a good thing, too.
Rotten, suspicious man!

“She’s fine, and she says she’ll be pleased as punch for you to come to dinner. Then she scolded me for leaving Billy again.”
I don’t know why I added that last part. I really do know better.

“Good for her,” said Sa
m
.

I wasn’t surprised, but
I’d had enough of being bullied for
one
day
and let Sam know it. “Curse you, Sam Rotondo! I have to earn a living for my husband and myself! And my father,
too,
for Pete’s sake, since he can’t work any longer. If you think I enjoy leaving Billy to deal with idiots like Lola de la Monica, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought you were!”

He held up his hands in a defensive gesture, and I noticed that both he and Harold stepped away from me. I guess they could tell I was nearing my breaking point. What I wanted to do was continue ranting for another fifteen or twenty minutes
at
the both of them.

Instead, I sucked in at least a gallon and a half of Lola-scented air—we were in her dressing room, and
it smelled just like
she
did
.
Whatever the scent, it
was probably “white” something-or-other—and said, “Enough of this.” I turned to Harold, who dared step forward a pace.
Brave
man.
“Are you getting a new lock for the door?”

“Yes. The crew’s going to install it today.”

“Good. Then let me wave my magic wand for a second or two, and we can get the heck out of here. I hate this room
. It smells like her
.”

“Tell me again why you need a special lock for this particular door,” said Sam
, blast him
.

I, being accustomed to Sam’s suspicions
being
directed my way, answered for Harold. “Lola thinks somebody’s out to get her.”

Sam scratched his chin. “How does she figure that?
Anyhow,
you said she
thought
spirits were haunting her.
”

“That, too,” I said, not wanting to get into the letter situation.

“I don’t see how a new lock will keep out a ghost.” I just hated when Sam got logical on me.

“A new lock won’t keep out a ghost. Or it wouldn’t if ghosts existed.”
I shrugged. “You figure it out. I think
she wants the spell and a new lock
because she’s an egomaniacal crazy woman.”

“That would be my guess, too,” said Harold, bless him. “But since she
does
be
lieve someone’s out to get her—either spirit or human—
and she’s already caused so many delays, I figured a lock and a guard would be cheaper than more delays.”

“I see,” said Sam, as if he were reserving judgment until he discovered exactly which one of us was lying to him.

“So I’d better put a spell on this room and get it over with,” said I.

“Are you serious?” Sam again.

“Why not.” So I walked to the middle of Lola’s dressing room, turned a full circle, and said, “Boo!” Dusting my hands together, I said, “There. That should do it. Let’s get to the set in case Lola decides to pitch another fit.”

Both Sam and Harold laughed, and I felt minimally better.

* * * * *

Ma and I were setting the table when I heard Sam and Billy whispering together in the hall. Mind you, they talked together all the time when Sam came to dinner or to play cards, but I hadn’t noticed them whispering before. Therefore, when Ma went back to the kitchen to retrieve
an extra bowl—Aunt Vi had prepared her special French onion soup as a first course that evening, bless her heart—I tiptoed to the door to the hall and listened. I know one isn’t supposed to eavesdrop, but I’d been doing more than my share of it lately. Anyhow, this was my husband and his best friend whispering, I was mortally worried about my Billy
and
was
curious as to why he deemed it necessary to speak to Sam in secret.
The
following is what I heard
: