Hungry Spirits [Spirits 04] (20 page)

It worked! I’ve seldom been so surprised in my life. Why, I could have chopped a whole side of beef if I’d been asked to do so. At least that’s what it felt like at the time. God bless Vi. She was such a trooper to teach me this stuff. I held down that piece of chicken and chopped it up like a pro.

“
Of course, tastes vary,” I said, as if I knew what I was talking about. “Some folks like their chicken chopped into fine little pieces, and others prefer a larger dice. I like to use smaller chunks.” Actually, as you’d probably already figured out, I didn’t care. Vi preferred a smaller dice, and as far as I was concerned at that point in time, Vi was Queen of the Culinary Arts. Therefore, wielding my knife as if I did this sort of thing every day, I chopped and chopped until I had a little mound of chicken bits. Boy, was I ever proud of myself!

“
After you get your breadcrumbs ready and have your meat all chopped up, you need to butter your baking dish.” At last we’d come to a part of the process I couldn’t botch. Probably. Hopefully.

I buttered my baking dish. My students buttered
their
baking dishes.

“
After we have our baking dishes prepared, we’ll start filling them. Begin with a layer of chopped meat followed by a layer of breadcrumbs. You’ll need to salt and pepper each layer as you go along, and drop dabs of butter on top of each layer. Keep layering until your dish is full. Your last layer should be breadcrumbs.”

We layered and layered until our dishes were full. Lord, I loved these women. They were so good to me, and they all followed my directions as if they trusted me. Even Hilda did. Her attention and precision troubled me slightly, since I continued to believe she was German and not Swiss. Since I had a reputation as a German-hater to maintain, I really wanted to find fault with her. Unfortunately for me, I was unable to find a single character flaw to pounce upon and detest.

“
When your dish is filled, beat an egg in a little bowl and add a cup of milk.” I demonstrated, and the ladies followed my instructions like the good students they were.

“
Then pour the milk-and-egg mixture over your scalloped meat, dab it with more dots of butter, and bake in a moderate oven for approximately one half hour.”

When we all got our dishes into the big oven in the back of the room, preheated by the ever-helpful and vigilant Flossie Buckingham, we returned to our places and discussed yet more uses for dried bread. Fortunately, the students and the book were resourceful in that regard, since I definitely wasn’t. We covered bread rusks, how to resuscitate stale bread, milk toast, and sprinkling the bottom layer of pie crust with breadcrumbs to ensure the bottom crust didn’t get soggy. As if I’d ever made a pie in my life—or intended to make one in the future. Well, why should I, when we had Vi to cook for us?

After half an hour or so, having pursued the issue of what to do with stale bread, we traipsed back to the stove and withdrew our dishes. By gum, they looked quite nice! They smelled as if they tasted good, too. Another triumph brought to you by Daisy Gumm Majesty, the worst cook in the world. When people say wonders never cease, I think they mean me.

We sampled our scalloped meat (quite palatable, if not up to Vi’s standards) and as we said our good-byes until the next Saturday, I braced myself to receive more confidences from Gertrude Minneke.

She remained behind while the other ladies filed out. They all thanked me and looked happy. When I glanced Gertrude’s way after the last student left the room, she appeared troubled. Oh, goody. If she told me Eugene had been falsely accused of yet another murder, I was going to tell Sam, darn it. I don’t care if I promised her I wouldn’t. Flossie and I chatted for a bit at the door, and then Flossie, too, left the hall. Gathering my courage, I turned and smiled at Gertrude. She didn’t smile back.

“
Would you like to chat now?” I asked pleasantly.

“
Yes, please,” she said, her voice a subdued muffle.

“
Would you like to sit here?” I gestured at two of the desks.

“
Let’s go outside to talk. Is that all right with you? I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

Oh, dear. “Of course.” Inwardly, I heaved a big sigh.

But I walked with her outside, where the Salvation Army had a little courtyard. Two benches had been set out there under a couple of big old oak trees, and we sat on one of the benches. It wasn’t an especially comfortable place to sit, what with the seats being hard and cold, oak leaves plopping down on us and the wind picking up, but I didn’t complain. What I wanted was to get this over with.

“
Now, Miss Minneke, what can I do for you?”

“
Get Eugene and me out of Pasadena.”

My eyebrows soared and I gawked at her. “Do
what?
”

“
Oh, Mrs. Majesty!” She burst into tears. Have I mentioned how much I dislike having people cry at me? Well, I do.

“
But . . . but, Miss Minneke, how do you expect me to do that?”

She wiped her eyes with a hankie. “You have an automobile, don’t you?”

“
Yes. It belongs to my entire family, though. It’s not just mine.”

“
But you
have
one. That’s the important point.”

For her, maybe. “Um . . . I think I need to know a little more about what seems so important to you that you need to flee the city where you’re getting so much help from Mr. and Mrs. Buckingham and the Salvation Army. It doesn’t seem right to me that you should just up and go away. They took you on and sponsored you,” I reminded her. “And you agreed to the deal they offered.”

“
I know. I know.” She sounded miserable. As well she might. “But, you see, some of the awful people Eugene got mixed up with back East have suddenly shown up in Pasadena. Eugene is sure he saw the leader of the gang in town the other day.”

The leader of the gang?
Just who were these people Eugene used to hang around with, anyhow? I decided to ask. “Just who are these people, Miss Minneke? If Eugene is afraid of them, he ought to go to the police and make a clean breast of things.”

“
No! He can’t do that. He’d be arrested if he went to the police, and then we’d never be able to prove he didn’t do what they’re saying he did.”

So we were back to that scenario, were we? With Eugene and Gertrude trying to clear Eugene’s name of a crime he was believed to have committed in New Jersey. From all the way across the country, in my fair city of Pasadena. That part of her story still didn’t make any sense to me.

“
Are you absolutely sure your brother had nothing to do with the . . . crime?”
Murder
sounded so ugly.

“
Of course, I’m sure!”

Now she looked offended, which I considered nonsensical. “Miss Minneke, I can truly sympathize with your troubles, but you must understand my reservations. You may well be sure that your brother is an innocent man, but I have no way of knowing that.”

“
But I
told
you he didn’t do it!”

“
Yes, yes, I know you did. But your saying so doesn’t necessarily make it so.”

Her expression changed dramatically. Now she gazed upon me as she might have if I’d kicked her kitten. “You don’t believe me?”

This time my sigh was entirely audible. “Listen to me, Miss Minneke. I believe
you
believe your brother is innocent of the heinous crime of which he is accused. But I don’t know him the way you do. For all I know, you, a loyal sister, are looking at him through rose-colored glasses. I’ve read about people who have refused to believe their loved ones committed terrible acts, yet their loved ones have been proven to have done the deeds of which they’d been accused. You might well be one of those people. I don’t have any way of knowing the truth one way or the other.”

She began to whimper softly.

“
Besides,” I went on, “my time isn’t really my own. I have an invalid husband to care for, and a living to earn for the both of us. He was seriously wounded in the war and is unable to work, and my father has a bad heart condition, and
he
can’t work. I can’t just take off if I feel like it. I have too many people depending on me.”

Silence descended upon us, much as those pointy oak leaves continued to do. At least she stopped whimpering.

At last Gertrude said, “Well . . . I guess I understand your reservations—although I
know
Eugene didn’t kill anyone. I’m not looking at him through rose-colored glasses, believe me. I’m too much of a realist to do that.”

Hmm. I didn’t buy that one for an instant. I didn’t say so, however.

“
But . . . well, if you can’t drive us to Los Angeles or San Diego, could you possibly lend us some money?”

Good Lord. This was almost worse than driving the two of them out of the city to elude the coppers and New Jersey goons.

She began wringing her hands again. Shoot. “
Please,
Mrs. Majesty. It would mean so much to Eugene and me. And we’d pay you back. Truly, we would.”

I was getting tired of this, darn it. My voice was a trifle tart when next I spoke. “I’m sure you would, and I’m also sure it would mean a good deal to you and your brother. But it would also mean breaking your agreement with the Salvation Army and with two of my own dear friends. It’s not a matter of paying me back. If you didn’t think you’d be able to abide by the contract you signed with the Salvation Army, you shouldn’t have signed it in the first place.”

“
But it was the only chance we had. We learned of the opportunity through the Salvation Army in Trenton. They paid our way out here on the train, and we never
ever
guessed people would come after us.”

“
Then it’s doubly important for you to keep your word,” I said in my severest tone of voice.

She whimpered again. “I know. I hate deceiving people.”

We sat there silently for a few moments, Gertrude biting her lower lip and me wishing myself elsewhere before she spoke again. “If . . . if I could get hold of some money from someone else, would you be willing to purchase train tickets for us?”

“
Train tickets? Where would you go?”

“
Oh, I don’t know!” She sounded as desperate as she claimed to be. “It doesn’t matter. We just need to get out of here.”

“
If you’re determined to go—and I still don’t think it would be honorable of you to do so—then why can’t you buy your own train tickets? Why the elaborate charade?”

“
Because they might be watching for us at the train station!” Her tone implied I ought to have known that already.

“
Who’s ‘they,’ in this context?” I asked drily.

“
The criminals.”

“
Oh. Well. . . .”

“
Please,
Mrs. Majesty! This may be the only chance Eugene and I have.”

Nuts. “The Salvation Army is giving you both a chance at a new life right here in Pasadena,” I reminded her.

“
I know. I know.” She clearly didn’t like being prompted to remember where her duty lay.

“
They not only paid for your transportation, but they found housing and a job and training for the two of you. I think it would be. . . .” I hesitated, trying to select the right word. I wanted to use
immoral,
but didn’t think Gertrude would appreciate my candor. I opted for
dishonest.
I supposed it amounted to the same thing, but it didn’t sound quite so severe. “I think it would be dishonest of you to break your agreements with two Salvation Army churches.”

Her tears started in earnest once more. “But we didn’t
know
those horrid men would come after us, Mrs. Majesty! And Eugene is innocent! You’re being terribly unfair.”

I was being unfair?
I,
Daisy Majesty, whose only responsibility to this woman was to teach her how to cook with stale bread? I thought not. However, I couldn’t find it in my heart to completely crush her. I stood and said, “I don’t know, Miss Minneke. This whole scenario makes me very uncomfortable, as much as I’d like to help you. Let me think about it for a while.”

She didn’t appear happy, but she said, “All right. Thank you for thinking about it, anyway.”

I drove home that day feeling pretty darned oppressed.

Chapter Twelve

The next day, Sunday, I took the family for a nice ride up into the foothills after church and dinner. But not before I had to endure much questioning by Lucille Spinks about Sam Rotondo. Shoot.

“
Do you know if he ever asks ladies out to movies, Daisy?” Lucy was buttoning up her choir robe as she asked the question.

Pulling my stole over my head, I said, “I don’t know. He took my family out to a movie and dinner once. Want me to ask him?” I didn’t want to ask Sam if he’d like to better his acquaintance with Lucille Spinks. For some reason, when it came to Sam, I still couldn’t help but think of her as a rival. Idiotic, I know.

She blushed, for Pete’s sake! “Oh, no! Well . . . would you mind?” She turned around and put her hands over her face. “Oh, I feel so silly!”

Would I mind? Yes, I would. “Of course I wouldn’t mind, Lucy.”

In a way, it was both unkind and foolish of me to resent Lucy’s interest in Sam. The war had deprived us of so many, many young men that there weren’t a whole bunch of them left for the ladies who’d been left behind. Then again, some of the men who’d fought in Europe had come home with French or British brides, thus taking even more men away from the crop of females wanting to get married at home. The situation was tough, and I resolved to treat Lucy with compassion, even if she did want to take Sam away from Billy.