By the time Sam, Mr. Prophet, Doan and I returned to Oversloot and the two ladies in the sunroom, Hattie had joined the gathering. She nodded when told the dead gent in the orange grove was Mr. Frank Tucker, as if she weren’t surprised.
“I told you he’d come for Sally,” said she.
“Yes, you did. I’m sorry he confirmed your opinion,” said Angie. “I don’t know how Sally’s going to react to this.”
“Does she even need to know about it?” asked Hattie.
Chewing on her lower lip, a gesture that surprised me because Angie had always struck me as a woman who knew precisely what to do in any situation, she said, “I…I don’t know.”
“Might be better to wait and see how she gets along after a day or two,” suggested Li, who evidently didn’t suffer from Angie’s indecisiveness.
I wondered, not for the first time, precisely what Li’s role was in Angie’s life. She seemed to live here, at the Orange Acres house, but why? What did she do here? Ah, well. Those questions would just have to wait.
“Good idea,” said Angie, as if she were glad someone had made up her mind for her.
It was then I noticed Li take Mr. Prophet’s arm and lead him to a corner of the room. There she more or less pushed him into a wicker chair, while she sat in another one close to his. He scowled superbly for several minutes until gradually, as Li quietly talked to him, his expression softened. I wondered if he and she had…well…if they’d liked each other in the old days. He’d told me before the love of his life had been a woman named Louisa, who’d had a French last name I can’t recall it at the moment, but I also knew he’d been a roué and a cad, so maybe he’d had feelings for Li, too.
Heck, maybe she’d had feelings for him. She’d once upon a time given him a beautifully carved jade dragon, and he’d kept it. Maybe she’d loved him. From a lot of the books I’ve read over the years, I’ve concluded women often fall for bounders and womanizers, probably because they could be charming (the bounders and womanizers, I mean; not the women), although I had a difficult time picturing Mr. Lou Prophet ever having been charming. Perhaps the books were talking about men like Mr. Judah Bowman. I can see him charming the socks—and other garments—from susceptible females.
Thank goodness I wasn’t one of those women, although I’d produced enough other mistakes to make up for this one oversight on my part. Anyhow, Mr. Bowman seemed firmly affixed to Angie these days. I couldn’t imagine her putting up with a man who played around with other women.
Not that it matters, but I’ll never understand men for as long as I live. How can a man casually go from woman to woman and not feel anything? Especially if he claims to love a particular woman and then goes out and dallies with another, knowing as he does so he’ll break the first woman’s heart? Perhaps the men who do those things don’t care deeply for the women they’re cheating on? Maybe it’s because men don’t suffer the same consequences as some of the women men casually use and toss aside. Sam has told me more than once he’ll never understand women, but I personally think women are much easier to understand than men. At least women talk about stuff. Men keep everything bottled up inside.
Also, never forget, men can’t get pregnant. It’s the women who become “with child.” Trust me when I tell you if a woman gets pregnant, she knows it, even if the man who got her that way is long gone. There. I said it. Shocking? Perhaps. Chastise me if you will, but it’s the truth, and you know it as well as I.
Or maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Wouldn’t be the first time.
As I pondered the differences between men and women—and the list of differences seemed to grow daily—Sam questioned Angie, Li, Hattie and Cyrus about Sally and Frank Tucker.
“Before Li brought her here, Sally was working in a parlor house in Tombstone,” said Angie. “Li continues to takes trips to Tombstone periodically, attempting to help women leave the life if they want to. Most of them do.”
I heard a grunt from across the room, but when I turned to look at him, Mr. Prophet wore an innocent expression. I frowned at him but didn’t say anything.
Sam continued, “So Sally was one of the women you tried to help leave the parlor-house life behind and learn how to…What? Earn a living?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Angie said, “Sally has…other problems that need to be addressed before she can be trained for another kind of job. The perfectly ghastly man who owned the saloon in which she worked had managed to get her addicted to…well, to drugs.”
“Which drugs?” asked Sam.
With a sigh, Angie said, “Mostly laudanum. Chloral hydrate is another one. When Li found her, she’d begun using heroin, which is—”
“Yeah, I know what heroin is. We’re seeing more and more of it these days.”
This was true. Even I knew what heroin was, although I’d led a sheltered life (as opposed to the lives Angie, Sally, Flossie and many other poor woman had lived) because heroin had been used by a couple of evil men to murder a nice young Pasadena man a year or two earlier.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Angie with feeling. “At any rate, with Sally, we’re trying to deal with the drug issue first. She’s not a strong woman, and she’d formed a…I don’t know what to call it. She’d formed a relationship, if you can call it that, with Frank Tucker.”
“Was he her manager?” asked Sam. Gee, “manager” sounded like such an innocuous word for so pernicious a job.
“No,” said Angie. “That honor goes to Mister Adolph Grant, who wants to murder me, too. Tucker was one of his hired guns, and he decided he wanted Sally for his own.”
“And Mister Grant didn’t object?”
“Of course, he objected, but Tucker was useful to him, so he more or less gave Sally to him.”
“But…but that’s slavery!” I cried. Then I slapped my hand over my mouth, which had gone and done it again. I said, “Sorry, Sam.”
Sam, naturally, said, “Huh.”
But bless Angie’s heart, she said, “Daisy’s right. Sally was no better than a slave when Li found her, but she claimed to want out of her way of life.”
“You sure she was telling the truth?” Sam asked.
With a nod, Angie said, “She still says she wants to better herself. She understands blind obedience and devotion, and her allegiances shift from day to day. Let’s just say I hope we can help her. We’ll have to think of some kind of training for her so she’ll be able to support herself after we take care of the drug issue. And the reliance-on-a-rat issue.”
“Good luck with that,” Sam said dryly.
“Thank you.” Angie’s voice was dry, too. Not unlike the Sahara Desert, in fact.
When he asked to talk to Sally herself, Angie said, “If you don’t mind, would you please question her in a day or so? She’s extremely fragile, and I worry about her mental state.”
“What’s the matter with her that makes her fragile? Her addiction?” Sam asked. Blunt and to-the-point, my Sam.
“Yes, and other things, including her so-called love for Frank Tucker. She’s been through some truly awful times, Detective Rotondo, and she…” Angie took a deep breath. “Well, we’re trying to deal with the drug issue first. Then, with a good deal of love and luck, we may be able to steer her in a new direction. I…I hope you won’t make her talk to you today.”
“She’s telling the truth, Sam,” I dared say. “Poor Sally looked as if a gentle breeze would blow her down. In fact, it kind of did, only Li caught her before she hit the dirt.”
“That’s so,” said Li, giving me an approving nod.
“Yeah,” said Lou Prophet as if he didn’t want to. “She’s tellin’ the truth.”
Li gave him an approving look, too, although he ignored her quite nicely.
Sam nodded as well, not so approvingly. “I’d rather speak to her today, but—”
“She didn’t see anything,” Li interrupted. “I was with her at the time of the shooting. We were walking in the orchard when we heard the gunfire. Sally nearly fainted. Although I tried to dissuade her, she insisted on seeing what had happened. Fortunately for all of us, Missus Majesty and Mister Prophet tried to hide the body from us, but she managed to catch a glimpse of it. I don’t think she knew it was Tucker.”
“So this Tucker character was really important to her?” asked Sam.
After giving a ghastly grimace, Li said, “Yes. She thought she loved him.”
“Thought?”
“Yes. He’s…he was a terrible man. He’s the one who began giving her laudanum and chloral.”
“Ah,” said Sam.
“Anyhow, Sally saw the body. Luckily, she didn’t know it was Tucker. There was a whole pile of orange blossoms on Tucker’s body. Not sure how they got there, but they disguised his face.”
“Mister Prophet shook the tree,” I told her. “He didn’t want anyone else to see the man lying there dead.”
“Did you really, Lou?” Li gazed at Mr. Prophet, plainly pleased with her former whatever-he’d-been-to-her’s effort at deception.
“Yeah. Didn’t think anybody else needed to know what’d happened.”
Li kissed him on the cheek. Mr. Prophet didn’t blush, so I did it for him. I know, how silly of me. Sometimes I can’t help being a sloppy sentimentalist. Too often, in fact.
Finally Sam agreed to question Sally later, if at all. From the way Angie spoke about both Sally and Mr. Tucker, I doubted Sam would learn much from Sally, whom I had already judged to be a too-tender twig upon which to rely. Unless, of course, I was wrong, and Sally was just a good actress. I didn’t think so, though.
“How’d Mr. Tucker know where to find Sally?” I asked somewhere in the midst of these proceedings.
A chorus of “I don’t know’s” answered my question, which was most unsatisfactory. However, I let the matter slide, knowing Sam would get mad if I butted in any more.
When it was time to leave, Angie said she, Hattie and Cyrus would stay at Orange Acres for a while, if it would be all right with Sam. By then, Li had a firm grip on Mr. Prophet’s arm and didn’t look as if she aimed to let it go.
Uncertain what was going on with the two of them or what, if anything, I should do about it, I said, “Um…Mister Prophet, would you like to ride back home with me? In the Chevrolet?”
He glanced down at Li, who glanced up at him, and a slow smile appeared on his face. “I reckon I’ll stay here for a bit, Miss Daisy. I’m sure Missus Mainwaring won’t mind hauling my sorry butt back to Marengo Avenue later on.”
“Not at all, Lou,” said Angie, who looked worn out and more than a little tired of the day that had begun so well. “I still have to pay you back. With interest.” From the way she spoke, it sounded as if she’d rather beat him to a bloody pulp.
“We can negotiate a bit on that,” said Prophet. “The interest part, I mean.”
All at once I knew precisely how Prophet expected to receive at least partial payment in return for the funds Angie had stolen from him.
I felt my face flame again when Sam walked me out to the Chevrolet. When I glanced up at him, he had a smirk on his face, so I knew he knew, too.
Ah, well, they (whoever “they” are) say prostitution is the world’s oldest profession. But I’d thought Angie had left that despicable life behind her. On the other hand, from the way Li hung on to his arm, I doubted she aimed to charge for her services to the old reprobate. Lou Prophet, I mean.
When we got to my motorcar, Sam opened the driver’s side door for me. “Would you like Steve Doan to ride with you, Daisy? I have to get back to the department, and I know you’ve been through a frightening experience.”
“Thanks, Sam, but I’m all right.” Then I burst out, “But Mister Prophet is staying here! Sam, he and Li are—”
With a laugh, he interrupted me. “Yes, they are, aren’t they? Don’t worry about Lou. I think he’ll be just fine.” I’d opened my mouth to ask about Li, when Sam said, “And Miss Li seems to be doing just fine on her own.”
“Well…” Since I didn’t know what more to say, I remained silent. Doesn’t happen often with me, but this was embarrassing ground upon which to tread, if you were me. Heck, Sam and I sometimes did what I expected Mr. Prophet and Li would be doing—and shortly—but Sam and I were going to be married as soon as we could be! Mr. Prophet and Li were…
Nertz.
“It’s all right, Daisy. Both Lou and Miss Li are grown-ups. Besides, Lou is Lou, and you’ll never change him.”
“I…I guess you’re right, but what about Li?”
“Miss Li doesn’t seem to me to be a shy and retiring lady. I have a feeling she won’t do anything she doesn’t damned well want to do.”
I heaved a deep sigh. “You’re probably right. But…Well, I…I guess I know from books and stuff that people acted like that, but…well, I’m not used to seeing it in person.”
“I’ll show you how it’s done if you like, although I thought you already—”
“Sam! You know what I meant! It’s not the same at all. With us, I mean.”
With a wicked grin, Sam said, “Stuff like what’s going to go on in Mrs. Mainwaring’s house probably happens all the time in Tombstone.”
“According to Mister Prophet, even Tombstone is becoming civilized. He doesn’t seem to appreciate it, either.”
This won a laugh from Sam. “I’m sure he hates civilization. Face it, Daisy, Lou will never become a reformed character. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I don’t want him to reform. He’s more fun the way he is.”
“Fun?” Had Sam just called Lou Prophet fun?
By golly, he had. And, also by golly, he was right!
“You’re right, Sam. He’s a curious character for Pasadena, but I’m glad he ended up here, even if he is kind of a misfit.”
“Kind of?”
“Very well. He’s a big one.”
Mr. Prophet hadn’t returned from Mrs. Mainwaring’s Orange Acres by the time Vi had dinner ready for us. I’d set the table, and it was just my family (including Sam) who dined on Vi’s spectacular chicken and dumplings that evening.
“Where’s Mister Prophet?” asked Ma, who seemed determined to take Mr. Lou Prophet, of all unlikely—and probably undeserving—people, under her wing.
“I’m not sure, Ma,” I said, glancing at Sam.
Drat the man, he didn’t say a word, so I had to come up with an excuse for the old sinner by myself.
“Um…He met an old friend at Missus Mainwaring’s orange orchard. He decided to stay there and…catch up on old times.”
There. That was almost the truth. When I again peered at Sam, he had a big grin on his face, the rat.
“Oh, I thought he didn’t know Missus Mainwaring,” said Ma, who liked things to be clear in her mind.
“It was another…person there whom he knew,” I said. Very well, so I stretched the truth a bit on that one.
“My goodness. I had no idea there were people in Pasadena a man like Mister Prophet might know.” When she heard what she’s said, Ma flushed. “I mean, I didn’t think he knew anybody in Pasadena but us.”
“He’d met this person before,” I told her. “In Tombstone. You remember Missus Mainwaring used to live in Tombstone, too, although she and Mister Prophet didn’t know each other there.” Leastways, they’d not wanted to admit their acquaintanceship. “The person he wanted to chat with is someone else.”
My mother is entirely too smart to allow such enigmatic commentary to pass without remarking on it.
“You keep saying ‘this person,’ Daisy, and I think you’re equivocating unnecessarily. Do you mean she’s an old female acquaintance of his? An old flame, perhaps?” Ma smiled and looked demure. She liked a good love story as well as anyone. Even if Lou and Li’s wasn’t one. A love story, I mean. At least I kind of doubted it was.
“Exactly,” I said. “They were happy to re-meet. Or whatever you call it. Get reacquainted, I guess.”
I noticed Sam chewing quietly, his shoulders shaking as he tried to suppress his guffaws, and I wished we were already married and in our own home. If we were, I’d throw a dumpling at him. Only I couldn’t make a dumpling any more than I could make magic.
Sometimes life is really annoying.