Hungry Spirits [Spirits 04] (7 page)

Just like my Billy. I’d have sighed again, but I didn’t want Flossie to think I was unhappy or brooding or anything.

“
I saw Miss Minneke in the library earlier today.”

“
Yes. We found her a position as a library page.”

“
Ah.”

“
The truth is that most of the women we sponsor, especially the war refugees like Hilda Schwartz and Maria Colbert, are almost embarrassingly grateful to us for our assistance.”

“
I can imagine. Where are Hilda and Maria from? And do you think you could make little paper name tents to put on their desks, so next week I’ll know who’s who?”

“
Wonderful idea!” Flossie beamed at me. It was nice to know at least one person in the world thought I was swell. “Hilda’s from Switzerland originally. She came to the USA from Belgium, where her family was killed during the war. She was totally destitute, and she’s grabbed onto this program of the Salvation Army’s like a lifeline.”

I grimaced. “How horrid. What a terrible war.” Darned Germans.

“
Yes. It sure was. Well, you know that better than anyone.” Flossie gave me such a sympathetic smile that it almost made me cry. “Anyhow, Maria was originally from Italy, but she was living in France when the war started, because her husband was French. She came over here after the war ended because France was such a mess and her husband was dead. Killed in the war.”

“
Oh, my. So many people lost so much.” At least Billy hadn’t been killed, although I know he sometimes—perhaps often—wished he had been.

“
So true. I guess in many ways, we here in America are lucky. At least the war wasn’t fought on our soil. We lost too many men, but we didn’t suffer through bombing raids, and the famines and starvation that followed the conflict.”

“
You’re absolutely right, Flossie. Sometimes I get to feeling blue about Billy and what happened to him, but you’re right that we have much to be thankful for. At least our homes are intact and we have food and clothing.”

“
You know, Daisy, Johnny and I pray for you and Billy every day,” Flossie said. “Johnny’s told me more than once how brave you are and how terribly your Billy suffers. I remember when he was so sick earlier in the year. Johnny said he feared for his life, and I’m sure you did, too.”

This time, I
did
cry. Stupid emotions. But Flossie was a true pal, although we’d come to know each other in a somewhat odd manner, and I appreciated her for her goodness. Johnny, too, even though he had got me involved in this wretched cooking class.

My curiosity about Gertrude hadn’t abated, however, and I determined to find out more about all of my students during next Saturday’s class.

Chapter Five

Mrs. Bissell, the lady who’d given us Spike as a reward for cleansing her house of a ghost, called that evening just as I finished setting the table and Aunt Vi was about to call us all to dinner. Mrs. B. wanted me to conduct a séance at her big mansion on the corner of Foothill Boulevard and Maiden Lane in Altadena two weeks from that day. I enjoy conducting séances because it’s fun to put on my Rolly voice and pretend to commune with spirits.

“
Mrs. Roger Baskerville passed on recently, you see. Mrs. Baskerville was a champion dachshund breeder with whom I’ve been in communication for decades.”

Goodness gracious. Hounds of the Baskervilles, by gum! Only these hounds had little short legs and long bodies and would never even think about attacking and mauling anyone—unless it were a person bearing food. I said, “I see,” in my most spiritualistic voice.

“
I’m hoping that if you can get in touch with her, she’ll be able to advise me on what I need to do in order to get my dogs to Westminster.”

Oh? Curious, I asked, “Since you were in communication for so long, didn’t you ask her that before she crossed over the vale?” Naturally, I cloaked my question gently, in a soothing purr.

“
Oh, my, yes,” she said. “But I figure she knows more about life’s mysteries now, don’t you think? After all, she’s Over There now.”

Right. And I could truly commune with spirits. I only said, “I’ll be more than happy to do that for you, Mrs. Bissell.” And before the day came, I’d check a book out of the library on how to breed and show dogs. They probably had one. The library had everything, bless it.

“
Wonderful, dear. You can see my latest litter while you’re here.”

“
I’d love to do that, too.”

The litter she was talking about, naturally, wasn’t technically hers, but that of one of her dogs. Dachshund puppies are probably more adorable than any other thing on earth, barring kittens. But kittens grow up to be cats and are, therefore, not as commendable as dogs, at least if you’re me. I know some people love cats. I don’t dislike them. I just don’t want one, if you know what I mean. Besides, Spike absolutely adored chasing the neighbor’s cat, and I wouldn’t want to risk having one in the house, lest he actually catch it. Anyhow, I was telling the truth when I said I’d love to see the new litter.

Dinner, as usual, was delicious, even though we had to use my leftover croquettes as a side dish. Everyone ate them and commented politely upon their tastiness, but I’m pretty sure the rest of the family was as sick of chicken croquettes as I by that time.

The following day, the telephone rang just as we were getting ready to leave for church. Since the ’phone was usually for me because of my profession, I answered it.

“
Gumm-Majesty residence. Mrs. Majesty speaking.” Naturally, I used my most soothing voice.

After a short hesitation, a low, silky voice on the other end of the wire said, “Desdemona Majesty?”

I believe I’ve explained about that Desdemona already. “Yes.”

“
Mrs. Majesty, this is Miss Emmaline Castleton.”

Wow! Mr. Henry Castleton’s daughter! I knew all about her. Well, I knew all about
him.
He was one of those railroad robber barons who made zillions of dollars building railroads across the country. He’d settled in Pasadena some years back and built a positively fabulous hotel on South Oak Knoll Avenue, which, naturally, he called the Hotel Castleton. I liked to go down there sometimes just to walk around. For the sake of my livelihood, I hid my excitement. I did, however, make sure my spiritualistic voice was in full throb.

“
Yes, Miss Castleton? What can I do for you?”

When you’re in a business like mine, you have to be careful. I definitely didn’t want Miss Emmaline Castleton, undoubtedly one of the richest people in the universe, to know what a thrill it was to have her call me. But the truth was that people I didn’t know never called me except when they wanted me to work for them. I regret to say that dollar signs began to dance in my head.

“
I understand you’re going to conduct a séance at Mrs. Bissell’s home in two weeks.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes, I am.”

Another pause ensued. Evidently, this woman was either timid or didn’t know what she wanted. At last she said, “I hope to meet you there, then.”

Oh? Well, hmm. Deflated, I said, “That would be very nice, Miss Castleton.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Ma standing there. I think she’d begun to hover impatiently, but when she heard the name Castleton, her mouth dropped open and she only stared at me.

“
Well,” Miss Castleton said, “I don’t merely want to meet you. I’m hoping that perhaps you can help me. In your capacity as a spiritualist, I mean.”

Whew! Feeling more confident, I slathered the spiritualistic charm into my next words. “I’d be more than happy to help you if I’m able to, Miss Castleton.”

I heard a soft sigh rustle through the telephone wire. “Thank you. Madeline Kincaid has told me so much about you. So has Mrs. Bissell.”

That was nice. I said, “Ah.”

“
Then we’ll meet in two weeks,” said she in her soft, low voice. She sounded sad, actually.

“
Yes,” I said, getting confused again.

She replaced the receiver on her end so softly, I didn’t even hear a click. I waited on the line just to see if any of our party-line neighbors had been listening, but I didn’t hear any other clicks, either. Nuts. I wouldn’t have minded if the nosy Mrs. Barlow had heard me speaking to Miss Emmaline Castleton.

As I pushed Billy’s wheelchair up the street to the First Methodist-Episcopal Church on the corner of Marengo and Colorado, as usual, and after I’d answered Ma’s eager questions about my call from an honest-to-God Castleton, I pondered that telephone call.

Everyone in Pasadena knew who the Castletons were, and most of us knew more than that about the family. For instance, I knew that Miss Emmaline Castleton, she of the recent telephone call, had been engaged to marry a young man who’d been killed in the war. I expected that was why she wanted me to work for her. I’d actually met her intended once, at a party I’d worked for Mrs. Bissell. Occasionally, you see, if the cause was good enough, I would read palms and so forth for charity events, and that event was one of those events, if you know what I mean. I think the cause had been to make money for crippled soldiers’ families, a cause I more than fully supported.

Interesting. Now I could hardly wait for Mrs. Bissell’s séance! I resolved, on my next trip to the library, to look up articles about the Castletons and Miss Castleton’s late fiancé, as well as books on dog breeding and showing. But by that time, we’d reached the church, so I had to stop thinking.

Billy always sat in the congregation with my parents and Aunt Vi while I donned my choir robe and took my place in the alto section. I was in the choir room donning said robe when the choir director, Mr. Floy Hostetter, broke into my musings, which weren’t very interesting anyway.

“
Mrs. Majesty?”

I looked up. “Yes, Mr. Hostetter?”

Mr. Hostetter referred to a notebook in his hands. “Would you and Lucille Spinks like to sing a duet next week?”

Would I? Why not? I liked performing. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be a spiritualist. “Sure. What song do you have in mind?”

“
Since Thanksgiving is approaching, I’d like for the two of you to sing ‘This Is My Father’s World.’ ”

“
Oh, I like that one. Have you asked Miss Spinks yet?”

“
I’m going to do that right this minute.” Mr. Hostetter bustled off, presumably to find Lucy. I didn’t doubt that she’d agree to the plan. Lucy and I sang duets quite often and our voices blended well together. Plus, we liked each other, a definite asset when we had to sing together. She was the soprano and always got the melody, but I didn’t mind since I never had too much trouble learning my part. Next life, I want to come back as a soprano, however. Sopranos have much less work to do than the rest of us, who have to learn parts and sing them in spite of what the melody is doing.

I’d just buttoned my robe when, sure enough, Lucy bustled up to me, smiling. She’s a performer, too. “Daisy, Mr. Hostetter told me he’d already asked you about singing a duet next week.”

“
He did. ‘This Is My Father’s World.’ That’s a nice one to begin the Thanksgiving season.”

“
I love the tune to it. We can practice on Thursday.” Thursdays were choir-practice days. “But we probably should plan another get-together or two before next Sunday.”

After mulling the matter over for approximately ten seconds, I said, “Why don’t you come over tonight after supper? We can practice then.”

“
Good idea. But won’t we need a piano?”

“
I can play our piano at home,” said I, feeling slightly superior even though I was an alto. “I’m sure Mr. Hostetter will let me take the music home.”

“
Oh, that’s right! I forgot you could play the piano. I’m so jealous. My mother made me take piano lessons when I was little, but I hated practicing. Now I wish I’d kept it up.”

“
I always enjoyed practicing, which probably means I’m strange, but it’s true.”

We laughed about that for a minute. Then I said, “And you can come over next Saturday evening, too. That way we’ll be fresh and ready on Sunday.”

“
That sounds wonderful.”

I had a brilliant idea—at least it seemed like one at the time. “I know! Why don’t you come to dinner on Saturday? Aunt Vi is a marvelous cook, and we can practice after dinner. I can take you home afterwards.” Lucy lived with her parents on Los Robles Avenue not too far away from our house—not that distance mattered, since I had our lovely new Chevrolet.

“
Thank you! I’d love to do that.”

We entered the choir loft that Sunday as happy as two tuneful clams.

The rest of that day was peaceful if not happy, and Billy and I took Spike for a walk after dinner, which we ate at noon on Sundays. I think everyone does, although I’m not sure why. Aunt Vi fixed fried chicken, carrots, mashed potatoes and gravy, and she’d baked an apple pie for dessert. We all ate too much. Therefore, it felt good to get out into the fresh air and walk off some of our overindulgence.

I was eager to chat with someone about Miss Emmaline Castleton and what she might hire me to do, but Billy held negative views about my work, so I held my tongue during our walk. While I pushed Billy in his wheelchair, he held Spike’s leash. Since his illness earlier in the year, he’d nearly stopped trying to walk. That worried me because I didn’t want him to give up on life completely. Yet I didn’t want to nag him, either. Billy didn’t take kindly to nagging. Still, I decided to hazard a question, believing that to try to do something and fail must be better than not to try to do anything at all.