Angel's Flight (A Mercy Allcutt Mystery) (7 page)

      But back to the matter at hand. “I’m so happy to have another secretary to talk to,” I told Miss Dunstable eagerly. “I’ve only had my job for a little over a month, and I’m sure you can give me some valuable pointers on organization and so forth.”

      She blinked once or twice and said, “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can, Miss Allcutt.”

      “That probably sounds . . . um, unusual,” said I, noticing her puzzled expression. Little did she know. Since I didn’t want to go into my family background and how useless I’d been in the world until Ernie’d hired me, I only said, “I’m so new at this secretarial business, you see. I’ve only had my job for a month or so. This is my first job, too.”

      “Ah. Yes. Well, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

      “Have you worked as a secretary long?”

      “Several years.”

      She didn’t look very old, but perhaps she’d started young. I didn’t think it would be polite to ask her age. “Oh, I’m sure you know ever so much more about secretarial organization than I.” I popped up from my chair, deciding I’d made enough of a fool of myself for one day. “I’m so glad you and Mr. Carstairs decided to move into our building. I won’t keep you from your organizing. I’m sure you have a ton of work to do.”

      She sighed. “Yes. I really detest moving offices. There are so many files and things to put in order.”

      I’d said, “Yes,” although I didn’t know that from experience, when the door behind Miss Dunstable opened, and there stood Mr. James Quincy Carstairs in the flesh. It was pretty good-looking flesh, too. In fact, Mr. Carstairs could easily have passed for one of the movie actors he represented. He wasn’t quite as tall as Ernie, but he, unlike my employer, was clad in a well-cut summer-weight tan suit. He wore his dark hair slicked back
a la
Rudolph Valentino, and had one of those little pencil-thin mustaches. To tell the truth, I’m not much of a fan of those types of mustaches, but they were becoming all the rage in the flickers, so I suppose any man who worked with actors as Mr. Carstairs did might want to wear one.

      He’d opened his mouth to say something to Miss Dunstable when he spotted me. His mouth closed and then he smiled. He had the whitest, most perfect teeth I’d ever seen. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He took a step forward and looked as though he wanted to shake my hand.

      As I’d had etiquette drummed into me since birth, I forestalled a lapse on his part (the lady is supposed always to initiate hand-shaking) by sticking my own hand out. “How do you do. I’m Mercy Allcutt, and I work down the hall for Mr. Ernest Templeton.”

      “Ah, so you work for Ernie, do you? James Carstairs here. And I presume you’ve met Miss Sylvia Dunstable, the most efficient secretary on the planet.”

      “Yes, we’ve just met.” I glanced back at Miss Dunstable for a moment and returned my attention to him. “You know Mr. Templeton?”

      He chuckled. “Everyone knows Ernie Templeton, Miss Allcutt.”

      Did Mr. Carstairs sound a little snide? I couldn’t tell. “I didn’t know that.”

      “He’s quite well known in criminal circles.” Seeing my shocked expression, Mr. Carstairs elucidated. “He used to be a policeman.”

      “Oh. Yes. I did know that.” I guess Mr. Carstairs figured Ernie’s police background explained his odd comment. Not that it mattered, and I did have a job to do down the hall. “Well, I’d best be going. I’m so glad you’ve joined us here in the Figueroa Building.”

      “Pleased to meet you,” said Miss Dunstable.

      “
Very
pleased to meet you, Miss Allcutt,” said Mr. Carstairs.

      I almost floated back to my office. My elevated mood suffered a quick puncture when I opened the door and saw Ernie glowering at my empty desk.

      “Where the devil have you been?”

      Stiffening, offended, I said, “I went down the hall to welcome our new neighbors. In case it’s escaped your notice, a new tenant has joined us here in the Figueroa Building.”

      Ernie said, “Huh. Yeah, I saw. Carstairs, of all people.”

      “He seems very nice,” I said, regretting that I sounded slightly defensive.

      Sneering, Ernie said, “He’s slick. I’ll give him that.”

      “If being well groomed is considered ‘slick,’ I suppose he is,” said I, going to my desk chair and seating myself with something of a flounce.

      “Just watch out for him, is all I have to say.”

      “And exactly what does that mean?” I asked.

      “He’s a devil with the ladies,” said Ernie, twirling an imaginary mustache like the villain in an episode of
The Perils of Pauline
.

      “Don’t be ridiculous, Ernest Templeton. I’m sure Mr. Carstairs has absolutely no interest in me.” Which was moderately depressing, actually. I mean, I’m not ugly or anything. In fact, I’m rather nice looking. However, I didn’t doubt for a second that if a man could choose between, say, Jacqueline Lloyd and Mercedes Louise Allcutt, he’d select the former. Miss Lloyd, at least on screen, was perfectly stunning, which beat “nice looking” all hollow.

      “Well, just watch out, is all I have to say.”

      I said, “Hmm,” and pretended to be looking for something in my desk drawer.

      It was Lulu LaBelle and her brother Rupert Mullins who rescued me. I’d asked them to visit my office, and they were early for the appointment we’d set for two-thirty that day. I smiled at them both, though, considering them in the light of salvation from Ernie’s too-penetrating gaze and snippy commentary.

      “’Lo, Ernie,” said Lulu, taking one of the chairs in front of my desk.

      “Afternoon, Lulu,” said Ernie, friendly again. “This your brother?” He smiled at the nervous young man who’d accompanied Lulu and who now stood beside her chair fidgeting.

      “Yes. Ernie Templeton, please say hello to my brother Rupert Mullins.”

      The two men shook hands, Ernie at ease, as ever, Rupert looking as though he might faint. I hoped he wouldn’t act like a frightened rabbit when Mr. Easthope arrived. If Ernie scared him this much, how much more might he be affected by the smashingly handsome Mr. Francis Easthope?

      I found out a second later when Mr. Easthope entered the office. Ernie nodded at him before retiring to his own office. Mr. Easthope stood at the door, smiling upon Lulu and Rupert. For a second, it looked as if brother and sister both might swoon, but Rupert, who had just seated himself, sprang to his feet once more and Lulu, putting a hand to her no-doubt palpitating bosom, only gazed soulfully at the vision of graceful masculinity lingering by the door.

      Since this was my party, sort of, I got up, too, and made introductions. Mr. Easthope was suavity itself as he shook the hands of the Mullinses. Lulu recovered from her semi-swoon enough to say, “Pleased to meetcha.” Rupert nodded and gulped.

      I waved to the chair beside my desk. “Please, Mr. Easthope, won’t you be seated? I’m hoping that Mr. Mullins will be able to be of use to you, both in doing the duties of a houseboy and in helping rid your home of invaders.” I smiled brightly.

      “Ah, yes. Has Miss Allcutt told you about my problem, Mr. Mullins?” Mr. Easthope asked politely.

      After gulping again, Rupert said, “M’sister did, sir. She told me about them fakers taking in your mama.”

      Mr. Easthope’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he seemed to be contemplating Rupert’s response. I wondered if Mr. Easthope was faintly disappointed, as I was, by the naive and ill-spoken Rupert. However, as so many people have said before, beggars can’t be choosers. Rupert was here, available, and needed a job, and he might well be smarter than he appeared. He certainly wouldn’t be the only bright person in the world who, through lack of opportunity, had failed to achieve a first-class education. At least that’s what I’d read often enough.

      Surreptitiously eyeing both brother and sister from the corner of my eye, I wasn’t sure about that. It might well be that both Lulu and Rupert had been given ample opportunities to learn grammar and had simply avoided doing so. I know good and well that I managed to avoid learning very much in the mathematics classes I’d been forced to endure when I was in school.

      However, that is neither here nor there.

      “Good,” said Mr. Easthope. “I’m glad to hear it.”

      “I’ll really try to help, sir,” said Rupert in a rush of words. “And I really need a job.”

      That sentence ended in something of an “Oomph,” and I realized that Lulu had elbowed him in the side when I saw Rupert rub his ribs. To prevent further violence, I said, “I think this will work out very well for all concerned. Don’t you, Mr. Easthope?”

      “Indeed I do.”

      Mr. Easthope then went on to tell Rupert what he expected of him in terms of houseboy and spy duties and how much he intended to pay him. Rupert, who still had a glazed look about him, might or might not have been listening. I have a feeling he was so desperate for work that he would have taken anything anybody offered him at that point in his life. Lulu looked happy about the pay arrangement, so I guess the wages were all right. From personal experience, I only knew what my own were. I hadn’t a single clue how my pay stacked up against anybody else’s, since I’d had no experience working until Ernie hired me, and I didn’t know anyone else in the working classes to ask. I mean, you can’t just waltz up to a secretarial stranger and ask her what she’s making, now can you?

      At last Mr. Easthope stood. Rupert jumped to his feet, too, I guess believing he shouldn’t remain seated if his employer was standing. To my mind, this proved he had decent instincts even if he appeared a trifle rough around the edges.

      “I’m so glad we could meet and settle this matter, Rupert,” said Mr. Easthope. I guess that a fellow, after he’s been hired on as a houseboy, no longer qualifies as a
mister
. “Would you like to come along with me now, or do you have to pack some things first?”

      “Um . . . I guess I have to pack.” Rupert cast a desperate glance at Lulu, who nodded. He nodded, too, relieved. “Yeah. I’ll pack some stuff and get to your place as soon as possible.”

      “Very well. You know the address.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      Mr. Easthope had given his address, that of a swanky bungalow on Alvarado Street, and I’d written it down in case Rupert was too befuddled to do so.

      “You can take the bus there, Will,” said Lulu. “I’ve got the schedule.”

      “Okay,” said Rupert docilely.

      “I’m very pleased to have you on my staff,” said Mr. Easthope, shaking Rupert’s hand once more. He turned to me. “The next séance is set for tomorrow night, Miss Allcutt, scheduled to start at eight o’clock. Will that be all right with you?”

      
You bet, it will!
“Yes,” I said in a polite, dignified voice. “That will be fine. I’ll be there at eight.”

      “Come a little early if you will. I’ll introduce you to Mother and the . . . d’Agostinos.” He spoke the spiritualists’ name as if it was bitter on his tongue—which it probably was.

      Oh, goody. That meant I’d get to leave Chloe’s house even earlier than I’d anticipated. Hiding my glee with difficulty, I said, “That won’t be any problem at all. I’m looking forward to it.”

      Heaving a large sigh, Mr. Easthope said, “I wish I were. I’d like to wring their necks.”

      I didn’t fault him for that. “I understand. Perhaps, with my assistance and that of Rupert here, we’ll have this problem fixed before too long.” I smiled at Rupert, who nodded vigorously.

      “You bet I’ll do my best, sir,” said he.

      Giving us one of his spectacular smiles, Mr. Easthope said, “Thank you both very much. With two such enthusiastic assistants, perhaps my troubles are on their way to being solved.” And he left the office as elegantly as he’d arrived.

      Lulu, who evidently had been holding her breath for several seconds, let it out with a whoosh when the door closed behind Mr. Easthope. “Oh, boy, is he one honey!” She sagged in her chair and fanned her face with her meticulously groomed hands.

      “He seems real nice,” said Rupert, sounding diffident.

      “He’s
very
nice,” I assured him. “He’s one of the best. And he’s a great friend to my sister and me.” I added myself there at the end to boost my own morale, which had flagged considerably since the advent of my mother into my life in California. Not that I didn’t consider Mr. Easthope a friend, but I really hadn’t known him all that long or that well. He was Chloe’s bosom buddy.

      “Well,” said Lulu, getting up from her chair with what looked like a good deal of reluctance, “I gotta go back to work. Can’t leave the lobby unattended, even though Mr. Buck said he didn’t mind watching it for me for a few minutes.”

      “That was nice of him,” I said, thinking Mr. Emerald Buck was a real gem, even as his name implied.

      So Lulu and Rupert left my office, and I glanced at the prettily decorated wall clock I’d bought and put up my very own self. It was a little past three, which meant I had less than two hours of perfect tranquility before I had to return to Chloe’s house and endure another evening in my mother’s company.

      Unfortunately, the afternoon was sped along by the entry of James Quincy Carstairs, who tapped on the office door and entered about ten minutes after Lulu and Rupert had fled. He peeked around the doorframe and spied me seated at my desk, wishing I had something to do. “Ah, Miss Allcutt.” He stepped into the office.

      “Good day again,” I said, happy to see him, and not merely because he was a handsome man. The awful truth about Ernie’s business was that . . . well, there wasn’t much of it. I’d just been contemplating Miss Dunstable’s files and wishing I had some of my own to organize.

      “So this is Ernie’s office, is it?” said Mr. Carstairs, looking around. “I must say it’s nicer than I anticipated.”

      My reaction to this comment was mixed. One the one hand, I didn’t think it spoke well of my employer. On the other hand, it
did
speak well of my decorative abilities. It was, after all, I who had put the rug on the floor, the pictures and the clock on the wall, and made sure the windows were washed, the brass plaque polished to a high shine, and the wooden furniture buffed until it gleamed.