Fine Spirits [Spirits 02] (42 page)

      
My hand started to tremble. I
really
didn't want to give it back, darn it, and she was making it awfully hard to do so. “But . . . You must take it back, Mrs. Wagner. I can't keep it. It's too much. I didn't earn it.”

      
“You did earn it, and it's not enough, you mean. You saved my daughter from my own fate. If I could give you millions, I would. That's the best I can do.”

      
“But . . .”

      
“Take it, Daisy,” said George. “If I could add to it, I would.” He gave Marianne a smile that darned near gave me a stomachache, it was so sweet. “But I have a wife to provide for now.”

      
Marianne blushed charmingly. It's a good thing she was so pretty. I've noticed that men forgive pretty women a lot more easily than they do ugly ones, and I had a feeling George was going to be getting lots of practice in the area of forgiveness. Marianne would be a long time in learning how to keep house for herself and George.

      
“Oh, yes, Daisy,” she said. “Please accept the money. You were the first person in the whole world who ever tried to help me.”

      
It's a good thing she wasn't watching her mother when she said that, because Mrs. Wagner looked stricken.

      
Okay, I kept the money. I couldn't fight
three
of them, could I? I was as gracious as anything about it, too.

      
As I drove home in the dark, trying my best not to hit anything, I thought over what Mrs. Wagner had said about me rescuing Marianne from her mother's fate. I guess I'd had a hand in it, all right, but I didn't buy her reasoning. As far as I'm concerned, even female people have a duty at least to try to direct their own fate. But I was born and bred a Gumm. Maybe rich people are different. Well, heck, I
know
they're different.

      
Nuts. It was too complicated for me. But now I had a lot of money to compensate me for my confusion.

      
The next day, I kissed Billy before I headed out the door. He eyed me suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

      
“You'll find out,” I said, winking. I don't wink very well, being inclined to include both eyes in the gesture.

      
Frowning, Billy said, “What are you up to now, Daisy? If you're going to exorcize another ghost . . .”

      
“No!” I laughed. “No more ghosts, Billy. Promise. I'm just going out for a little bit.”

      
He still appeared skeptical, but he didn't argue. Maybe his recent even temper wasn't anything to be nervous about. It seemed to me, when I contemplated it, that he was less argumentative now that he had Spike to keep him company when I was gone during the day. It was a comforting thought--considerably more comforting than the notion that Billy had given up on life and stopped fighting because he aimed to commit suicide.

      
Billy's skepticism vanished when I drove home in our brand-new, shiny black, closed-in, battery-powered, four-cylinder Chevrolet automobile (one with a door on the driver's side as well as the passenger's). In fact, he was thrilled.

      
So was everyone else in the family the family, even Spike, who enjoyed going for rides with us.

      
And I hadn't even had to sell the count's bracelet!

      
Christmas was special that year. The Christmas cantata at church went without a hitch, and I even saw Mrs. Dearing, a long-time member whose doctor husband also sang in the choir, wipe her eyes during “Silent Night.”

      
Billy remained relatively civil during the whole season, and even though Sam was a more or less constant presence in our lives, I managed to avoid him pretty well. I talked with Dr. Benjamin again, and he downplayed my worries about Billy possibly committing suicide. I couldn't make myself talk to Sam. Eventually, I decided to believe the doctor--sufficient unto the day, and all that.

      
Spike helped unwrap our presents, even though we hadn't intended him to. Nobody cared.

      
In short, life was good with a couple of minor exceptions, the main one being Sam Rotondo, and I could stand him much better now that I didn't have to fuss with a cranky policeman as well as a cranky motorcar.

      
I'm sorry. You can blame my appreciation of puns on Pa.