Genteel Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) (37 page)

“Or the devil,” Harold slid in slyly.

I nodded. “Or the devil
into her, but at least she’ll stop sending the letters. I can almost guarantee it, your grandmother being more amenable to discipline than Lola. I truly tried to get Rolly to make Lola behave, but—”

This time it was Monty who interrupted me. “He did, though. I mean you did. She’s at least a hundred percent better than she was before you got Rolly to talk to her.” He shook his head.
“Good God, what a strange
conversation we’re having.”

I laughed. It was the first time I’d felt like laughing in days. But it really was an absurd conversation. Talking about a patently
spurious
spirit giving advice to misbehaving
adults
, and those
adults
actually
taking the
spurious
spirit’s advice might make anyone laugh.

“Say, Daisy, I’d like to take you and your family out to dinner at the end of this shoot,” said Monty then, surprising me. “You deserve to be feted for your hard work on the set. You’re the only one I’ve ever met who’s been able to affect Lola’s behavior in any way at all, and it would be my
great
pleasure.
Besides, Harold’s told me of your many sacrifices on his mother’s behalf, and I know full well how you’ve sacrificed yourself for this picture.
”

I could feel myself blush. “Oh, but really, that would be too—”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Harold, as if he’d proffered the invitation and not Monty. “If anyone
deserves a night out, it’s you.
Besides,
you know darned well your family would love
to meet
Monty. Well, maybe Billy wouldn’t, but your mother and father and aunt would.”

“Well . . . t
hank you, Monty. I’d love it. And I have a feeling Billy would enjoy it. That’s very nice of you.”

“I was thinking about the Hotel Castleton. They have a beautiful restaurant there, and . . . well, Harold’s told me about your husband’s afflictions, which he incurred in freeing of Europe from the Kaiser’s iron grip.
If we dined
at the Castleton
, your husband wouldn’t have very far to go to get there.
It would be my
true pleasure
to host a party in your honor and his.”

Darned if his words didn’t bring tears to my eyes. What a swell person Monty Mountjoy was
.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling humble. “That would be wonderful.”

“Thank
you
. You not only assisted us with Lola, but you and Harold discovered who was writing those letters, which had been fretting me for
weeks
now.”

“I still can hardly believe your own grandmother wrote the letters, Monty. I think . . . well, I think it stinks, and I think you’re being
overly nice
in forgiving her.”

Yet another elegant shrug. “I’ve known my grandmother all my life, Daisy, and I understand her perhaps a little better than you do.”

“You must, if you can forgive her for writing those
horrid
letter
s
. And to think of all you’ve done for her, too.”

He gave a more-or-less whimsical smile. “My mother and I came to grips with the old lady’s prejudices and
idiosyncrasies
a long time ago. Gran will never be brought to see that the glorious South lost the Civil War and that it’s never going to ‘rise again,’ as they like to say. Besides, South Carolina was the very first
state
to secede from the Union. For Gran and folks like her, that’s a point of pride.”

“Oh, brother,” I said before I could stop myself.

He chuckled. “I know. However, it’s difficult for Yankees to understand how some southerners feel about the conflict. And Gran’s own grandfather was a high-ranking Confederate
officer
, don’t forget.
A colonel, in fact.
He was even wounded in action.”

I thought, but didn’t say, proving yet again that occasionally I
pause
before I speak, that that was the way wars ought to wor
k. Make the high ranking people
or, even better, the guys who start the wars, fight them and leave the young men at home where they belong. What I said was, “I see. I suppose I can understand that.”

“Not only that, but she believes all the publicity she reads in the papers,” said Harold, “even though Monty’s told her it’s mostly bunkum.
She honestly believes the bright lights of Hollywoodland are leading her grandson astray.
”

“That’s only because she worries about the state of her grandson’s moral health,” said Monty, grinning. “She
’s had many burdens to bear as regards her family, don’t forget. She
was totally appalled when Mother began teaching dog-obedience classes, considering anything to do with dogs except hunting beneath the dignity of a fine old southern family. Then, when I went into the pictures, she nearly died of
horror
.”

“Even though you lifted her from poverty to all this.” I waved my arms in an all-inclusive gesture.

“I probably should have bought her an old plantation in South Carolina, but it seemed
a
stupid
thing to do
, since it would have cost more to fix up one of those dilapidated places than it cost to buy this entire complex. This way I got a home for Mother, too. And even one for me, should I ever need a retreat. I do like being around my family, even if it is . . . odd.”

“You
r
family’s no odder than any other family I’ve met,” I told him. It was the truth, too. My work had taken me into all sorts of homes, mainly those of the rich and foolish, and there wasn’t one of those homes that didn’t keep
, or at least try to keep, the
secrets
of its owners
. No matter what the family, it could be guaranteed to contain people who were eccentric, if not downright evil. Heck, Harold Kincaid’s own father was a rotter through and through. I could go on listing prominent families in Pasadena and tell you their oddities from now to kingdom come, and there’
d
still be some left over.

“I know you’re right,” he said. “Still, I understand Gran’s reasons for being unhappy about living here and about Mother and me and how we earn our livings. If we lived life according to the tenets of her childhood, we’d be
sitting in a dilapidated plantation and growing
tobacco and
owning
slaves.”

“Slaves,” I said, and shuddered.

“You got that right,” said Harold.

“
I couldn’t agree with you more
,” said Monty. “But she’s old and set in her ways.”

“So you’ve said.” I didn’t mean to sound as unkind as I did. But really. If ever there was an abomination
perpetrated
on earth, it was the practice people
had
of enslaving other people. I know
slavery
still goes on today; that doesn’t make it right.

“Getting back to Granny, when would you like to conduct this séance?”

I blew out a considering breath. “The sooner the better, I guess. Lola will have fewer reasons to throw temperaments if the letters stop.”

“Good point,” said Harold. “What day is today, anyway?”

I had to think for a minute. “Wednesday.”

“How about Friday night? The shooting is nearly done, and that will give Daisy an evening home with her family
before she has to spend another evening out
.” He glanced at me with sympathy. “Her husband doesn’t like having her working day and night.”

“I don’t blame him,” said Monty, the gallant gentleman.

“That’s for sure. I guess Friday will be all right,” I said. “Billy’s almost used to me conducting séances on Friday and Saturday nights, even though he doesn’t approve of them.”

“Rather like my granny doesn’t approve of my acting?” Monty asked in a sugary voice.

“You have a point,” I admitted. “A
valid
point.” I thought about something else. “By the way, I think
I’m going to have to
tell Sam Rotondo it’s your grandmother behind the letters.”

“Why?” Harold demanded.

“I don’t want the police involved.” Monty sounded as adamant as Harold.

“I don’t either,” said I. “Which is the whole point. Don’t you see? We don’t want Sam snooping into the matter and discovering things we don’t want him to discover.
If I tell him who’s behind the letters, he’ll stop snooping. If I don’t, he’s sure to continue. He’s like a bulldog that way.
”
As I had reason to know from personal experience.

It took a mere second or two for the two men to understand my meaning.

“Oh,” said Harold. “I guess that’s true.”

Mo
nty said, “Oh. I suppose it is. But . . . what about Gran? Will they arrest her? I don’t want that to happen.”

Thinking bitterly of my questioning of Sam Rotondo before I left home that evening, I said with regret, “I don’t know. I ask
ed
Sam if
a person had
to press charges
against another person
in order for an arrest to be made
in a poisoned-pen case
, but he didn’t answer me.” I sniffed. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“Hmm,” said Harold in mock seriousness. “I wonder why that is.”

“Darn it, Harold, there’s no reason on the face of this green earth that Sam shouldn’t trust me. I’ve helped the Pasadena Police Department more than once to catch criminals, don’t forget.”

“How could I ever forget?” asked Harold with a shudder. He’d been picked up with me at that
accursed
speakeasy.

“You know, Daisy,” said Monty musingly, “I
do
believe I’d have to press charges in order for an arrest to be made
, although I’m not entirely sure
. See if you can find out from your detective friend. Or maybe I can have someone else ask him.” He frowned. “No. I’d better not do that. I don’t want anyone even thinking that I’ve been getting letters, too.”

I sighed as I rose from my comfy chair. “I’ll see if I can find out. Maybe I can make a general-interest telephone call to the police station and someone will answer the question. It’s a simple question, after all.” I said that mostly to make myself feel better.

Anyhow,
we agreed that I’d visit the Winkworth mansion yet again, this time on Friday night, to conduct a séance and, with luck and strong words from Rolly, get Monty’s grandmother to cease and desist writing her poisoned-pen letters.

Sometimes I hated my job.

Chapter Twenty

“Again?” Billy sounded disgruntled, as well he might.

“I’m sorry, Billy. But this is the last time. I promise. Besides, the shooting will wrap up next week, and then there will only be publicity shots to
do in order
to
advertise the picture, and then I can come home and stay home.”

“It’s about time,” he grumbled.

I agreed with him.
We were again seated at the breakfast table, Vi having set before us bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. You’d think scrambled eggs and bacon would be the same the world over, but I swear Vi’s were better than any others I’ve ever eaten. Of course, she baked her own bread, too, and it was so good, it was probably sinful. Most delicious or fun things were sinful, after all.

“Besides,” I said, remembering Monty’s generous offer to treat my entire family to a wonderful meal at an elegant restaurant, “Monty Mountjoy wants to take
us all
out to dinner at the Hotel Castleton once shooting wraps up. He said he owes it to all of us.”

Billy squinted at me. “How does he figure that?”

“Well, because I’ve had to spend so much time away from home, of course.”

“He wants to take
all
of us?” Vi asked, her eyes wide
and her coffee cup stalled halfway to her lips
.
It was nice to have Vi home with us during the morning hours, although her vacation would be over soon, because Mrs. Pinkerton would be coming home from her trip with her new husband soon.
“Oh, my!”

“Say, that’s swell of him,” said Pa, who was surreptitiously feeding Spike bits of buttered toast under the table. Truth to tell, there was no need to be sneaky about
feeding
Spike tidbits. We all did the same thing. Spike was going to have to
start
watch
ing
his waistline pretty soon if we kept it up, too.

“I thought it was a nice offer. He said the Hotel Cas
tleton has an elegant restaurant, and that
it
’s close to home
.”