Because I didn’t feel like chatting with Mrs. Rattle, I hied myself to my sewing room. Spike joined me. Pa decided to sit in the living room and read. He’d probably nod off, which would be good for him.
I’d already made my pair of gym bloomers, so I tidied up the room and looked through the box containing patterns. Golly, I had a lot of patterns! Would that stop me from buying more of them? Of course, not. I wasn’t a spendthrift—well, not much of one—but I loved to sew. Kind of like Vi loved to cook.
Blast! I didn’t want to think about Vi.
Suddenly Spike began barking like a mad dog and leaping at the sewing-room door. He must have ears like…well, like a dog…because I heard a knock at the door shortly after his yapping commenced. I said, “Spike, sit.”
Spike sat. He was such a good boy!
Opening the door to the sewing room, I said, “Spike, heel.”
Spike heeled. With some trepidation—I don’t know why—I slowly walked Spike to the living room. Mrs. Rattle had already opened the door, and darned if she and Pa weren’t standing there greeting Flossie Buckingham! I was so relieved, although I don’t know why. Guess I wanted a partner in misery or something. I told spike, “Okay!” and he raced to greet Flossie, who laughed and bent to pet him.
“Flossie!” I cried joining everyone at the door. “I’m so glad you’re here! We can go to that lousy class together.”
Laughing, Flossie stood and gave me a hug in greeting. “Sam asked if I could come over before the class because he said you were nervous,” she said. Then she grimaced, as if she wished she hadn’t said what she’d said.
But Sam had been correct. I was as nervous as a gazelle being chased by a cheetah. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I repeated, ignoring her statement. “Come into the sewing room with me, and let me show you what I’m working on.”
“You girls have fun,” said Pa. “Think I’ll lie down for a bit.”
“I’ll have lunch ready in about an hour,” said Mrs. Rattle. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Buckingham.”
“It’s lovely to see you again, too, Mrs. Rattle,” said Flossie, gracious as ever. “You were ever so much help when poor Daisy was laid up earlier in the year.”
“Pish,” said Mrs. Rattle, blushing and pleased. She bustled off to the kitchen.
“See you two at lunch,” said Pa, and headed through the living room and dining room, into the hall, and to the first room on the left, where he entered and shut the door behind himself.
Taking Flossie by the arm, I followed Pa up the hall, past his and Ma’s bedroom and to the second door on the left, which was my sewing room. “Oh, Flossie, I’m so nervous, I can hardly stand it!”
“I know. Sam said you were. He said you were about to jump out of your skin. That’s why he asked me to come over.”
“How’d he know how nervous I was?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Daisy,” said Flossie gently, smiling her sweet smile at me. “He adores you. He knows you well.”
Her words did me in. I sank onto the ottoman in which I stored odd bits of fabric, and said, “Oh, Flossie! I’m sorry! I don’t know why I’m as jumpy as a cat, but I am.”
Scooching me over a bit so she could join me on the ottoman, Flossie put her arm around me and said, “Piffle. You’re worried about your aunt, and you have nothing to apologize for.” As I tried to get my nerves under control, Flossie thought for a bit and then said, “This year has been really mean to you, hasn’t it? First you got hit by a car, and then everybody tried to kill you, and then you got involved with that interesting woman down the street and her problems.”
“Interesting? She’s a…Never mind.”
Flossie gave me a shoulder hug. “Yes, I know. I used to be one of those, too.”
“No! You were never like her!” I cried.
“You’re right,” Flossie said, her voice returning to its usual practical sweetness. “She was a whole lot smarter than I ever was.”
“That’s not true. Anyhow, even if it is, you’re nicer than she is.”
“Nonsense. I have some information Sam wants you to know before we go to the class.”
I sat up straight on the ottoman, nearly bumping Flossie off. Seeing her scramble to keep her footing, I said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.” I thought of something else. “And Sam said you’re pregnant! I’m such a selfish pig. Oh, Flossie, I’m sorry!”
“Nonsense. And if you don’t stop apologizing, I’m going to have to speak to you by hand.”
My father used that expression on my siblings and me, and Flossie’s use of it made me smile.
Flossie continued, “Yes, I’m pregnant, and Johnny and I are thrilled, but now we need to get your aunt back from those horrible gangsters, so stop being fidgety and pay attention.”
She sounded so much like I imagine a general might sound when addressing recalcitrant privates, I sat up and stopped fidgeting. Then I saluted. “Yes, ma’am! Boy, you’ve really taken to the army part of the Salvation Army, haven’t you?”
We both whooped with laughter. I swear, that whole day felt like a roller-coaster. However, after we calmed down, I said, “So what is it Sam wants me to know?” I still occupied the ottoman, and Flossie sat in the chair in front of the sewing machine.
“First of all, you know Albert Costello was found shot to death, right?” she said, getting down to business with a bang. So to speak.
“Yes, Sam told me last evening, and Pa read about a dead policeman in the morning’s Star News.”
“Right. Well, Sam’s also managed to find out where Vi’s being held.”
“He what?” I shrieked.
My mouth was open to bellow some more, when Flossie held up her own hand and said ferociously, “Quiet!”
Whoops. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, but don’t make a lot of noise. Your father is trying to nap.”
“Oh, Lord, I’m sorry.” If anything could make me feel smaller and guiltier than Flossie’s admonition, I don’t know what it was.
“Stop apologizing!” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “Just don’t talk for a minute, okay? I have quite a bit to tell you.”
“All right. I’m—” I caught the grim look in her eye and shut my mouth before I apologized again.
“Very well. It was actually Mr. Prophet who discovered where Vi is being held.”
“What?” Instantly, I slapped my hand over my mouth, although at least I hadn’t shrieked.
“Mr. Prophet has been working closely with Sam. You know how good at tracking he is.”
“I guess so,” I said. “I mean, yes, he is.”
“Sam took Mr. Prophet to Mrs. Pinkerton’s house. There Harold showed both men where the crooks had climbed over the wall, and Mr. Prophet took it from there.”
“Is she being held in the San Rafael area?” I asked, thinking about the Devil’s Gate Dam Spillway and its relative nearness to the San Rafael hills.
“No. She’s actually being held in a huge mansion about a mile or two up Lake Avenue from Mrs. Bissel’s house. That’s why Sam wants you to hold a séance there tomorrow night. Johnny, Mr. Prophet, Sam and Harold Kincaid will also be there, although I don’t think they’ll all participate in the séance.”
“Who’s the séance for?” I asked, thinking this was all too confusing for me.
“Sam didn’t say.”
“Darn him.”
“You’ll have to ask Sam what he wants the séance to be about. I’m sure he’ll think of a good reason. And maybe he’ll be able to sneak people onto the mansion’s property or something.”
“Golly, I wonder where the mansion is. A couple of miles up Lake from Foothill Boulevard is where the foothills start. That huge Cobb Estate is up there. I supposed there’s room for another millionaire or two to build estates there.”
With a laugh, Flossie said, “Probably.”
“Did Sam tell you his name? The man with the mansion, I mean.”
“Nope. I told you everything I know. I’m not even sure Mrs. Bissel knows why she’s hosting the séance, actually.”
“Well, she knows Vi is missing. I hope, if she does know, she’s a good actress and won’t give the game away.”
“I doubt your extremely smart fiancé would tell anyone he doesn’t trust implicitly anything that might compromise his investigation. In fact, Sam said Mrs. Bissel was the first one to suggest the notion of a séance. Between them, I’m sure Sam and Mrs. Bissel will know what to do and why.”
“Wish they’d tell me. I’m so confused.”
“I am, too, a little. But I trust your Sam. And I trust Mr. Prophet. I also trust Mrs. Bissel, come to that. I’m sure everything will go well.”
“I hope you’re right.”
A tap came at the door, and Mrs. Rattle said, “Lunch is served, ladies. It’s all set out in the dining room for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rattle,” I said brightly. To Flossie, I said, “Does it look like I’min a nervous twit?”
“Yes. Let me touch up your face.”
Flossie, who was an ex-floozy and knew a whole lot about makeup, opened her handbag, got out a compact with pressed powder in it, and worked on my face, especially around the eyes, for a minute. She asked, “Do you have any chalk?”
“Chalk? Yes. I use chalk to mark fabric sometimes. You need chalk?”
“You need chalk,” she said. “Where is it?”
“I’ll get it.” So I opened the sewing machine’s little bobbin drawer, got out an old piece of chalk and handed it to her.
“Sit down again,” she ordered.
I sat.
Flossie used the chalk under my eyes, muttering, “We need to lay a wet rag over your eyelids, but we don’t have time for that.” After she chalked my face and used some more powder, she stood back to observe her handiwork. “Hmmm. Well, I think you’ll pass inspection as long as nobody gets too close.”
“If anyone gets to close, I’ll whack ‘em.”
“There’s no need for violence,” Flossie said with a giggle.
“I guess you’re right. But I want to hit someone. If Miss Betsy Powell starts screaming for any reason whatsoever, I’m going to belt her into next week.”
“Take my hand, Daisy.”
“What?”
“Take my hand.”
So Flossie held out her own hand, I took it, and darned if she didn’t bow her head and say a little prayer for the day’s success.
“I probably should have thought of praying myself, huh?” I asked after we’d both said our amens.
“Wouldn’t have hurt,” said Flossie with another of her sweet smiles.
“I’m so glad we met!” I told her. Then I gave her a big hug and darned near burst into tears. With a monumental effort, I didn’t. Cry, I mean. I did hug her.
“So am I,” said Flossie. “If we hadn’t met, I’d probably be dead. And you introduced Johnny and me, and we have a darling little boy and another child on the way. And it’s all because of you.”
“Piffle,” I said, even though she was correct. And I’d never, ever, ever tell her I introduced her to Johnny because I was trying to relieve myself of her presence, which had felt like a heavy chain around my neck at the time. Now I was ashamed of myself for wanting to get rid of her.
But things had worked out in spite of my not-entirely-pure motives. Life can be like that sometimes. When it isn’t slapping you upside the head.
Pa was already at the table when Flossie and I entered the dining room. Mrs. Rattle had heated up what was left of Flossie’s delicious soup and grilled some cheese and tomato sandwiches for us.
All things considered, lunch was probably the best thing about the entire day.