Hungry Spirits [Spirits 04] (24 page)

“
Doesn’t your father mind spending the money?” I asked, perhaps not tactfully, but I was curious.

“
Not really. He says he’s happy to support me until I get married.” She heaved a huge sigh this time, and her face took on a glum aspect. “If I
ever
get married. There are so few men our age left.”

My sigh joined hers. “Too true.”

She brightened. “But you look swell, Daisy. I love your frock.”

“
Thank you.” It was an old dress I’d worn a couple of hundred times, a dark-blue jersey, but it was comfy and warm, and went well enough with my black coat and other accoutrements.

She leaned toward me and whispered, “Is he here yet?”

“
Who? Oh, Sam?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear. Detective Rotondo. Isn’t that a queer name, though?”

“
Sam?”

“
No! Rotondo, for heaven’s sake.”

“
Oh.” I thought about it as I hung Lucy’s coat on the coat tree.

Did I forget to mention that this conversation was constantly being interrupted by shrill, rapturous barks from Spike? Well, it was. Fortunately, Lucy liked dogs, so she didn’t mind. However, in order to shut him up, after I hung her coat, I picked him up. He was ecstatic and Lucy petted him, so that was all right.

“
Well?” Lucy prodded.

“
I don’t suppose it’s terribly odd, at least not for a person from New York City, where there are lots of other Italians. We don’t have so many of them out here, I guess.” I mused for another second and a half. “I suppose it does sort of bring to mind the word
rotund,
which Sam isn’t.”

“
Yes, it does, and no, he isn’t.”

I could practically hear her little heart pitter-pattering in her bosom. Poor Lucy. I didn’t tell her that Sam kept forgetting who she was, and that I truly didn’t hold out much hope for her making a match of it with him, although the notion of such a match still worried me some.

However, a knock came at the door just then, Spike tried to leap out of my arms—I didn’t let him—and I went to answer the knock. Sam. I stepped back, and he entered our house to see Lucille Spinks simpering at him.

After a moment, which I could swear he spent trying to figure out who she was, he said, “Good evening, Miss . . . uh. . . .”

“
Lucille Spinks,” I hissed as close to his ear as I could get.

“
Of course. Good evening, Miss Spinks. How nice that you could join us.”

“
Thank you,” said Lucy, a note of worship in her voice.

I feared for the evening. Or at least for Lucy.

“
Is that Sam?” came a voice from the hall, and Billy rolled himself into the living room. “Hey, Sam, I’m really looking forward to this.” He spotted Lucille. “How-do, Miss Spinks.”

“
Good evening, Mr. Majesty.”

“
Gee, guys, when did you become so formal?” I asked, astonished at the Mister-and-Miss thing. We’d gone all through school together, for Pete’s sake. Neither of them answered.

“
Hey, Billy. How are you doing?” Sam asked my spouse.

“
Pretty good, all things considered.”

I surveyed my husband as the rest of my family crowded into the living room, ready for a night of fun and fellowship—which worked out nicely, the season being one for thanksgiving and all.

As far as I could tell, Billy didn’t look pretty good. He still looked pale and pasty and unhealthy, which he was. My heart gave one of its gigantic spasms. Oh, how I wished I could help him.

Since I couldn’t, I decided to do my best for Lucy. “Say, Lucy, could you ride with Sam? Our car isn’t big enough for all of us.”

“
I think I can fit everyone in my Hudson,” Sam said, frowning. He would. As uncooperative as ever, Sam Rotondo.

“
Oh, it would be such a tight fit,” I said lightly. “Let’s take both machines.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “Well. . . .”

“
Good,” I said. “Then it’s settled.”

It took some maneuvering to get Billy into the automobile without his chair, but we managed. Sam helped him, then turned and said in a low voice, “What are you trying to do, Daisy? If you’re trying to set me up with—”

Bother. I honestly didn’t think he’d catch on, since I’d never believed him to be a man of particularly keen perception. On the other hand, he was a detective, so perhaps I was wrong. “I’m not trying to do anything, Sam Rotondo, except get us all to the movies.”

“
I don’t even know that woman.”

“
For heaven’s sake, you’ve met her three or four times now!”

“
Cripes,” he muttered, and stomped over to his Hudson.

I did notice, however, that he was courtesy itself to Lucille. He opened the door for her, smiled, and said something to whatever she’d said to him, and then he went to the driver’s side. He shot me one last severe glance before climbing into his car and slamming the door.

So I got into our machine. Billy said, “It’ll never work, Daisy. I don’t think Lucille is Sam’s type.”

“
Oh,” I said. “Well, at least I tried.”

Billy shook his head. Ma said something about not interfering in other people’s business. Vi said she hadn’t realized what a matchmaker I was. Pa only laughed.

God bless my father.

Chapter Fourteen

Dinner at Mijares was wonderful. I had something called tamales, which were . . . well, I’m not sure what they were, but they were very tasty. I’m also not sure what everyone else ate, but they all seemed to enjoy whatever it was. I noticed Vi inspecting her meal closely, as if she were trying to discern what went into the various dishes, and it occurred to me that I needed to drop in at Grenville’s Books and see if I could find a book on Mexican cookery for her. I’d never seen one there, but as you must have guessed by this time, I didn’t look for cookbooks on a regular basis.

I did suffer a start, though, when I saw Eugene Minneke busing tables. I almost said something to my dining companions, but recalled Sam’s interest in the ever-vanishing Gertrude in time to stop myself. I did offer Eugene a sweet smile from across the room, but he only scowled back. Hmm. What, if anything, did that unpleasant expression mean? Probably nothing, although I could discern no reason to be scowled at by the fellow. Shoot, I hadn’t yet even told his sister I wasn’t going to help them escape from Pasadena. That jolly task would be mine on Saturday. Oh, joy.

Anyhow, I no longer felt the least bit guilty about not attempting to assist the Minneke siblings to run away from their responsibilities and/or the people who chased them. I’d begun to harbor severe doubts about Gertrude and her brother. Anyway, their problems were in no way mine, even when I considered assisting them in the most altruistic light possible. If I abetted them in their flight from Pasadena, I’d be helping them turn their backs on an obligation, not merely to the Salvation Army, but to my dear friends Johnny and Flossie Buckingham.

So there. I had a mad urge to stick my tongue out at Eugene, but quelled it, thank God.

However, I didn’t allow Eugene to spoil my evening. Dinner was delicious, and the flicker was funny, and we all had a very good time. Even Billy.

I don’t think Sam was elated at having to drive Lucy home all by himself, but I figured he was a big boy and could handle the job. Heck, he dealt with criminals all the time, didn’t he? How difficult could it be to deal with a nice young lady for one tiny little evening?

Before I climbed into bed, Billy said, “I don’t think your devious plot worked, Daisy. I got the feeling Sam was unimpressed with Lucy.”

“
I’m afraid you’re right,” I said upon a sigh. Maybe it was a yawn. “I did it as a favor to Lucy. She fancies Sam. Or thinks she does.”

“
Poor Lucy,” said Billy, snuggling under the blankets and getting as comfortable as it was possible for him to get.

“
Poor Lucy,” I agreed. “She was really hoping Sam was the fellow for her.”

I was asleep as soon my head hit the pillow.

* * * * *

Thanksgiving Day turned out to be perfect. My sister Daphne and her two little girls (and her husband Daniel) drove all the way from Arcadia, and Walter and his wife Jeanette made the trip from Los Angeles, which took them a long time. They aimed to spend the night, since it would take them so long to get home again after dinner. As his family virtually no longer existed, Billy had adopted mine as his, and he seemed to enjoy himself with my siblings and Polly and Peggy, my sister’s girls, who were five and seven respectively. Fortunately for Daphne, Daniel’s family lived in the state of Washington, so there was no quibbling about at whose house holidays were celebrated.

The dinner itself was, as you can well imagine, perfectly splendid. If there’s anything I like better than turkey, stuffing, potatoes, gravy and all the trimmings, I don’t know what it is. Well, except for the rest of the stuff Vi cooks. We were so very fortunate to have her living with us!

Naturally, Sam Rotondo had been invited to dine at our house. He arrived with a big bouquet of flowers for Ma and Aunt Vi, which even I had to admit was a nice gesture on his part. He got along like a house on fire with Walter, who had flown airplanes during the war. They traded stories, and Billy joined in, and so did Pa, and they laughed and laughed. I don’t have any idea what they found to laugh at about that hideous conflict, but they were men, and men are an odd lot.

I was in the kitchen with Ma, Daphne, Jeanette and Aunt Vi, madly whipping cream for the two pumpkin pies Vi had baked for dessert, when I heard a perfect uproar coming from the living room, where everyone had retired after eating too much turkey and so forth.

“
What on earth are they doing now?” asked Ma. She had an indulgent smile on her face, so I could tell she was glad the family was having an enjoyable holiday. I agreed. As far as I was concerned, laughter beat the other stuff hollow.

“
I don’t know,” said I truthfully.

And then Walter, laughing as if he were about to bust, staggered into the kitchen, holding his stomach, tears streaming from his eyes. We all looked at him in alarm.

“
Tell me it isn’t true!” said he, still hooting with revelry.

“
Tell you what isn’t true?” I asked, although I was getting a glimmer. And I aimed to pound whoever had told on me.

“
Tell me
you’re
not teaching a cooking class!”

He couldn’t contain his mirth and remain standing, so he flopped into one of the kitchen chairs, covered his face with his hands, and darned near howled with glee.

Still beating the heavy cream, I frowned one of the biggest frowns of my life at my once-adored brother. “It’s not funny,” I grumbled. I’m sure he couldn’t hear me.

“
You!
Good gravy, Daisy, I remember when you tried to make breakfast for me after I came back from the war!” Again, he collapsed in merriment.

“
At least I tried,” I said with whatever remnants of dignity I could summon.

“
Stop it, Walter. You’re being terribly unkind.”

I knew I liked Jeanette for a reason. I smiled at her to let her know I appreciated her support.

Walter threw out an arm and drew his wife onto his lap. “You don’t know Daisy’s history with the art of cooking,” he said, after he gained a modicum of control over his hilarity.

Darn it, I was tired of people laughing at me for teaching that stupid class! “So far,” I said, aiming a deadly glare at my brother, “the class has been quite successful. We haven’t ruined a single dish we’ve made. And
I’m
the teacher.” I felt like adding “So there” to my speech, but restrained myself.

“
That’s right, Walter. You’re being most unfair to Daisy. She’s trying very hard to make this class a success, both for herself and for her students, who are all ladies in need of a helping hand.”

Have I mentioned how much I love my aunt Vi? Well, I do.

I nodded.

Ma added some powdered sugar and a dash of vanilla to the cream, and I continued beating it. I’d rather have taken a baseball bat to my brother and beat him, so I was glad my hands were busy beating the cream.

“
Yes, Walter,” Ma said. “Daisy’s class has been very successful so far, and all the dishes she’s brought home have been more than tasty. They’ve been wonderful.”

I love my mother, too.

Jeanette, who was blushing rosily after such an overt display of affection from her husband, struggled to release herself from his grip. “Yes, Walter. You’re not being fair to Daisy. Even if she isn’t the world’s best cook, she’s trying awfully hard. Besides, she has so many other talents, you really shouldn’t tease her about cooking. Why, she sews like a master seamstress! Even you said that’s a beautiful gown she made for my birthday.”

I gave her another huge smile and said, “That’s right, Walter, you rat.” I probably should have left out the
rat
part.

Finally, his amusement spent, Walter released Jeanette, wiped his eyes, sucked in a huge breath and said, “Oh, my. I’m sorry, Daisy. But even you have to admit the notion of you teaching a cooking class is . . . funny.”

“
Huh,” said I. “I don’t think it’s the least bit funny. I didn’t think it was funny when Stacy Kincaid called and bullied me into doing it, and I don’t think it’s funny now.” In a burst of honesty, I added, “It’s a miracle that everything’s worked out all right so far.”