Fine Spirits [Spirits 02] (7 page)

      
Everyone at the table knew that Mrs. Kincaid's daughter Stacy was a stinker. In contract, Stacy's brother Harold and I had become close friends since Mr. Kincaid took it on the lam with a pile of bearer bonds. Billy didn't like my friendship with Harold, naturally. He didn't like anything I did. But it was my opinion that Billy ought to be glad Harold wasn't one of your so-called “normal” men.

      
In fact, Harold was a homosexual. That had shocked me at first, but now I appreciated Harold a lot. It was wonderful to be able to talk to a man I could trust in every way. Billy, Sam, and all the other “normal” men I knew called men like Harold “faggots.” Don't ask me why.

      
But enough about the Kincaids. After another moment of thought, I went on to say, “I get the feeling Dr. Wagner is a cruel lout. Maybe a wife-beater.”

      
“Good heavens!” Ma's eyes popped open wide.

      
In fact, everyone's eyes widened as they stared at me. Sam only frowned, which was typical. “What do you mean, a wife-beater?”

      
I shrugged. “He seems to have his wife in a pucker all the time, and the rest of his kids walk on eggshells around him. They all seem to be trying to stay out of his way and not make him mad. Mrs. Wagner is the most unmitigated sissy I've ever met. And then there are those sons of theirs.” I grimaced as I contemplated the two Wagner boys. “Both of them are just like he is: stuck-up, condescending, spiteful, and mean.”

      
“That's quite a catalog of sins, Mrs. Majesty. Would you care to elaborate? Let's see now. The sons are . . . What are their names?”

      
“Gaylord and Vincent,” I supplied. “They're both terrible boys. Or men, I guess they are now. They remind me of a couple of characters out of that F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. You know, they're bored with the world, drink too much, play fast and loose with women--”

      
”Daisy!” Ma cried.

      
Darn it. I hadn't meant to say that in front of my mother, even though it was the absolute truth. I sighed and offered an elucidation I thought the whole family--and perhaps even Sam--could understand. “Do you remember a few of months ago when I told you that Mrs. Kincaid's husband was trying to take advantage of Edie?” Edie Applewood, formerly Edie Marsh, worked as a housemaid in Mrs. Kincaid's mansion. Mrs. Kincaid's louse of a husband had pestered her for months before his nefarious career was nipped in the bud, thanks in part to yours truly.

      
Ma pressed a hand over her mouth and gasped.

      
Aunt Vi said, “Good Lord.”

      
Pa said, “In other words, they're spoiled rich boys playing at being part of the 'lost generation' and preying on girls who have to work for a living?”

      
“Exactly.” I beamed at Pa, who understood everything.

      
“In other words, they're scoundrels, is what you mean,” Billy muttered. Squinting at me in a way I'd come to recognize and dread, he said, “Has either one of them ever bothered you, Daisy? Because if they have . . .”

      
“No!” I cried, not wanting Billy to threaten the Wagner boys, even from so removed a spot as our own dining room. Before the war, I'd have bet money that Billy could have licked both of the Wagner brothers, together or separately, but not anymore. Now I just wanted my husband to keep himself safe at home. “I wouldn't stand for it if they tried. I think they only go after women who can't defend themselves for fear of being fired from their jobs.” I sniffed to let the assembled eaters what I thought of
that
state of affairs.

      
“How do you know this?” Sam asked, his black eyebrows slanting into a V over his eyes.

      
“I talk to the servants, detective. They're not shy about sharing their opinions of people, believe me. I've heard things about the Wagner boys.”

      
Sam sighed. “You're probably right.”

      
“I know I'm right, and I suspect they take after their old man. Children learn to emulate their parents, don't forget. Dr. Wagner's a pompous blowhard who thinks he's clever and desirable because he's got lots of money. I wouldn't trust him alone in a room with a defenseless female.”

      
“Well, that lets you out,” said Sam. “I've never met a less defenseless female in my life than you, Mrs. Majesty.”

      
“Amen,” muttered Billy

      
“That's my girl,” said Pa.

      
“You're probably right,” said Vi.

      
Ma only looked confused.

      
I said nothing, but hoped my killing look would teach Sam a lesson in manners. I should have known better.

      
“So, I take it you don't like Dr. Wagner,” he said.

      
“Perceptive of you, Detective Rotondo. I think the man's an ass.”

      
“
Daisy
!
”

      
“Sorry, Ma, but he's conceited and nasty, and I wouldn't trust him to doctor my dog. If I had a dog. I'll bet he kicks dogs for fun.” I thought about Dr. Wagner for another second or two and had a sudden inspiration. “In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if you found out that poor Marianne riled him one day, and he beat her to death in a fit of pique.”

      
Pa's eyebrows arched so high, they almost got lost in his hairline. “I can't imagine a father doing such a thing to a daughter. I know I had to whip Walter a couple of times when he was growing up, but I'd never actually
beat
a child, male or female”

      
Looking grim, Sam said, “I wish all fathers were like you, Joe. Unfortunately, they aren't.” He swiveled his head in my direction again. “But I can't feature a prominent doctor killing his own daughter, Mrs. Majesty.”

      
“So maybe Gaylord or Vincent did her in,” I offered, trying to be helpful.

      
Sam shook his head and smiled faintly. “I think your imagination is running wild again.”

      
“What do you mean
again
?”

      
“Er . . . nothing.”

      
Like heck. “Huh.” Turning to my aunt, I said, “May I please have a piece of pie now?”

      
“Of course, dear.” Aunt Vi handed me a plate with a thick slice of Ma's pie on it.

      
“Thanks.” Eyeing my pie doubtfully, I said, “I think I've made up for my missed lunch.”

      
“I think so, too.” Pa laughed, which made Billy grin, which pleased me, because I hadn't really meant to horrify my family by voicing my suspicions about Dr. Wagner.

      
That did not, however, negate the fact that I thought Sam and his police cronies should start searching the doctor's gardens for freshly turned earth. It wouldn't have surprised me if they'd found poor Marianne's mutilated corpse planted behind the dahlias.

 

      
 

Chapter Four
 

      
Sam left our house shortly after dinner. I was in the kitchen helping Ma and Aunt Vi clean up, so I didn't see him go.

      
I'd have liked to have spoken with him alone. Even though the thought made my stomach ache (unless that was my huge dinner), I'd have told him a few more little things I'd heard about Dr. Wagner. Then I'd have made him promise to search the bad doctor's gardens and trash receptacles. Not to mention the foothills. Dr. Wagner wouldn't have been the first crazed murderer to throw a body away in the foothills, as if it were no more than trash. Terrible, but true.

      
The wretched detective probably wouldn't have listened to me. He hadn't listened to me during the Kincaid affair, either, even though my suggestions had eventually been followed, resulting in the capture and arrest of Mr. Kincaid.

      
As I dried plates, I must have scowled, because Aunt Vi noticed my expression. “Good heavens, Daisy, what are you frowning about?”

      
“What?” I glanced from the plate to Aunt Vi. “Oh. Sorry, Vi. I was thinking about Marianne Wagner. I hope she turns up. But . . . after two weeks?” I shook my head. “I don't know. It seems to me that if she was still alive, they'd have found her by this time.”

      
Ma sighed. “I'm afraid you might be right, Daisy. What a tragedy it would be to lose a child.” She glanced quickly at Vi, whose son Paul had been killed in the war. “Oh, Vi, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . .”

      
But Aunt Vi only smiled sadly. “It's all right, Peg. I know what you mean. It is a tragedy, but at least my Paul volunteered to fight for his country. That poor Wagner girl didn't.”

      
“I can't imagine Marianne volunteering for anything, much less running away from home, although I wouldn't blame her if she did.”

      
“She's shy?” Ma glanced at me, her eyebrows lifted.

      
“I always got the impression that she's scared to death

      
of her old man. I guess that's not exactly shy, but it was as if she didn't dare move without his permission, just like his wife. Now if it were Stacy Kincaid who'd disappeared, that would be something else. I can definitely imagine Stacy running away from home, probably with a man.”

      
“Daisy!”

      
Shoot. I'd shocked my mother again. I couldn't win that night, no matter what I said. “Sorry, Ma, but it really wouldn't surprise me if Stacy ran off. Not Marianne, though. She's too . . . too . . . I don't know. Afraid of everything, I guess.”

      
Aunt Vi tutted sympathetically. “Poor dear thing.” Aunt Vi was a dear thing herself, and always compassionate regarding other people's problems.

      
“I hope some dangerous lunatic didn't get hold of her,” I said, thinking of a few of the crime novels I'd read. My mother and my aunt both turned to stare at me in horror, and I became defensive. “Things like that happen, you know. Mashers and kidnappers and so forth
do
nab young women from time to time. People like that surely must be crazy or they wouldn't do such things, but from what I've read, they don't often look it. Crazy, I mean.”

      
“Daisy! For heaven's sake!”

      
The fact that I'd managed to shock my poor mother three or four times in a single evening demonstrates better than anything else how black my mood was. I usually tried to spare Ma's sensibilities. That evening, it was like a demon had taken possession of my brain. Or maybe just my tongue. I snapped, “They exist, Ma. Ravishers of young women and kidnappers and even child murderers. You might not read about the cases in the
Pasadena Star News
or the
Evening Herald
, but that doesn't mean horrors like that don't happen.”

      
“Good heavens.” Ma clutched the back of a chair, presumably because she felt faint. I hadn't meant to stun her so badly. It irked me that she didn't share what I considered to be my reasonable concerns regarding Marianne Wagner's disappearance and possible explanations for it.

      
“Whether they happen or not, we don't need to chat about them at the dinner table or while washing dishes, Daisy Majesty.” Aunt Vi sounded as stern as she was able. She was a firmer disciplinarian than my mother, but that didn't mean much. Her asperity in this instance annoyed me. Darn it, it wasn't
my
fault the world contained demented people who thought it was a good idea to snatch women and assault and murder them.

      
I wanted to slam my dish towel on the rack and stomp off, then throw myself on my bed, have a temper tantrum, and cry for an hour or two. Fortunately, even
I
could recognize such an urge as unusual and unproductive, and I stopped myself before I could explode. I shook my head hard in an effort to loosen my bad mood from its moorings. As I might have expected, given the rest of my evening, shaking didn't help.

      
That being the case, and hoping to preserve peace in the family, I said stiffly, “I'm sorry, Vi. You're right. I beg your pardon.” I didn't want to apologize. I wanted these two women, who were the most important females in my life, to understand and value my point of view. Fat chance.

      
Vi patted me on the back with a wet, soapy hand. “Fudge, Daisy, don't worry. I know you have too many burdens to bear. I don't blame you for being short-tempered sometimes.”

      
“Of course, dear.” Ma gazed thoughtfully at the cup she was drying. “But I do wonder what has happened to the poor Wagner girl. Even if you don't care for her father, her parents must be desperately worried about her.”

      
“I'm sure her mother's worried, anyhow.” I didn't reiterate my suspicions of Dr. Wagner, because I didn't need another lecture from Vi.

      
Ma and Aunt Vi glanced at me as if they thought I was being unreasonable, but I knew better. Some angel of sanity seized me, thank God, and I didn't say so.

      
After I'd put away the last dish, I felt as though I'd been whipped, so I wandered, yawning, into the living room where Pa and Billy were chatting. As I walked over to my husband, my usual wish that he was still a whole man flitted through my head. Stupid head. Stupid thought.

      
“Ready for bed, Billy? I'm bushed.”

      
He glanced up at me. “Rough work getting rid of ghosts, is it?”

      
Pa chuckled.

      
I gazed suspiciously at my husband. He didn't look as if he was trying to start an argument, so I didn't blow up. “Yeah. But I think skipping lunch is what really made me tired.”