Sam, Mr. Prophet and I went into a huddle on Thursday afternoon. Sam had chosen the back bedroom of his bungalow across the street from my parents’ house for our meeting. I loved his house and could hardly wait to move in. But never mind that.
When Sam told us how he aimed to use his fuddle-headed nephew, I gawped at him for a second before bursting out, “And you really trust him to tell you if he sees one of the gang? I wouldn’t trust the twerp to walk across the street if he said he would.”
“As a rule, I wouldn’t either, but I have a deterrent at hand if Frank disobeys my orders.” He patted Lou Prophet on the shoulder. “Told him Lou here would pump him full of lead with his gut-shredder if he didn’t do exactly what I told him to do.”
He turned to send an evil smile to his nephew, who sat in a chair, hands and feet manacled, a bandanna still wrapped over his mouth, and a stern-looking Officer Stephen Doan seated in a chair right next to him. Frank glowered back. To be fair, that’s about all he could do.
“Your gut-shredder?” I directed my question at Mr. Prophet.
“Yeah.” He reached to the floor on his left side—the one I couldn’t see—and lifted a shotgun.
At least I thought it was a shotgun, because I’d seen shotguns in the book Mr. Prophet and I had perused when we visited the Pasadena Public Library. But this one appeared weirdly proportioned to my innocent eyes.
“Um…That doesn’t look like any of the guns you showed me at the library,” I told him.
Caressing the firearm in a manner that made me want to duck under the table, he said, “That’s ’cause I sawed the barrel off short. Filled full of lead pellets, this sweet gal will drop a scarier feller than that sorry peckerwood.” He jerked his head at Frank.
“Oh,” I said, wishing vaguely he hadn’t shown us the shotgun. I guess seeing a bit of Mr. Prophet’s arsenal might have a salutatory effect on Frank, but I didn’t need a lesson on how to behave myself. My mother and father had taught me.
“I love this pretty little lady,” said Mr. Prophet in a reminiscent voice. “We been together for decades now.” He gave the shotgun one more caress and put it down again.
Thank God.
I turned to see if Mr. Prophet’s sawed-off shotgun had made an impression on Frank. His eyes bulged, so I guess it had. Good. I hope Mr. Prophet had to use it on the horrid creature.
Oh, dear. I beg your pardon yet once more. Then and there, I decided I’d begin reading my Bible every evening, so as not to become as evil and bloodthirsty as Frank Pagano himself. Or Lucky Luciano. Or even Cullen O’Hara. Raising money to send to Irish rebels, my foot. I’d bet anything he just wanted to feather his own nest.
There I go again. Bible tonight. Right after we got home from the séance with, I hoped, Vi in tow. Or at least a firm fix on where she was being held.
“So, who all is going to attend the séance?” I asked Sam. “I know you and I will be there. And Miss Betsy Powell.” I grimaced in spite of my biblical intentions. “And, of course, Mrs. Bissel.”
“Miss Powell’s gangster friend.”
“What I don’t understand is, if Albert Costello is dead, why is he still her boyfriend?”
“Must be the other brother. Probably swapped IDs on the corpse.”
“Oh.” Ew.
“Who wants me to conjure whom?”
Sam shrugged. “Not a clue. Mrs. Bissel’s son will be there, as well,” said Sam. “And Brian O’Hara. Lou here will be up on the roof. It’s flat and covers the whole massive house, so he’ll be able to see anybody either sneaking in or sneaking out.”
“All by himself?” I asked. “Not that I doubt Mr. Prophet’s usefulness, but…well…”
“I can’t get around awful well. Is that what you’re tryin’ to say, Miss Daisy?” Mr. Prophet crinkled his eyes at me.
“Well, yes. You shouldn’t have to run or anything.” He couldn’t run, is what I meant but didn’t say.
“We got us another couple of lookouts,” said Mr. Prophet with a grin that probably should have been outlawed.
“Oh,” I said. “Who?”
“Doan and Frank, for two,” said Sam.
“Sam, do you really trust him to tell you anything at all, much less if he recognizes anyone coming in or leaving the place? I wouldn’t trust him to tie his own shoelaces.”
“Doan will be with him. And we also have a person to sound an alarm if it becomes necessary,” said Sam with a secretive grin.
It took me a second, but not much longer. “Pudge Wilson. Sam, he’s just a boy! He shouldn’t be involved in a situation that might become dangerous. The people we’re dealing with…that is to say, the people we think we’re dealing with are vicious killers!”
“Pudge and his bugle will be safely up on the roof along with Steve, Lou, Johnny Buckingham—”
“Johnny?” I said, having been caught off-guard yet again. Blast Sam! He was entirely too full of secrets and surprises.
“Cripes,” said Mr. Prophet. “No need to screech. Buckingham might recognize one o’ them gangsters. He comes across a lot of Brunos in his line of work.”
I knew a Bruno to be a tough guy, but I hadn’t known Mr. Prophet did. Maybe he actually did write down modern slang expressions when he heard them and hadn’t been just been feeding me a line of boloney. So to speak.
“And,” Sam went on. “Oversloot will be on the roof, too.”
“I remember him,” I said because I did.
“Harold Kincaid will be at the séance, and if he sees anyone suspicious, he can let us know.”
“How?” I asked.
“He can tell me,” said Sam, as if I’d just asked the silliest question he’d ever heard.
“You mean, you’ll attend the séance, too?”
“Not the séance. I’ll be at Mrs. Bissel’s house, and I’ll mingle with the other folks before the séance starts. Mrs. Bissel told me she always has people gather in her living room before the séance attendees retire to the…whatever room she uses for séances.”
“She uses the breakfast room.” I gave an involuntary shudder as I recalled the ghost of Eddie Hastings, who had appeared at a séance in Mrs. Bissel’s breakfast room during one of my séances.
“Yeah, well, that’s where you’ll be going, but some of us will remain in the living room, and we can scour the downstairs and the upstairs while the folks on the roof keep a lookout.”
“All right,” I said meekly. Then I thought of something else. “What about the basement? There’s a door to the outside from her basement.”
Nodding, Sam said, “Two other offices will be stationed there, one inside and one outside. And a man will be stationed on that balcony above the front porch.”
“Sounds as if you have everything covered,” I said, although my voice dripped with doubt.
But Sam knew what he was doing. He was smart. He did this sort of thing for a living, even though he didn’t have to. Nothing could go wrong. Could it?
“If Pudge Wilson gets hurt, I’ll never forgive you, Sam Rotondo.”
“Neither will I,” said Sam. “But I’ve talked to Pudge and his parents, and he’s eager to be of service.”
“I’ll just bet he is.” We sat there, silent, for a few heartbeats. “And his mother doesn’t mind? If any child of mine was ever used as part of a plot to capture gangsters, I be miffed as heck.”
“Mr. Wilson will be there with him,” said Sam.
I let out a relieved breath. “You keep throwing more people at me, darn you.”
“Lou and I have worked out this plan carefully, Daisy. We know what we’re doing.”
“You and Mr. Prophet cooked up this scheme? I don’t know why that doesn’t ease my jitters, but it doesn’t.”
“Aw, hell, Miss Daisy, I been trackin’ curly wolves and owlhoots my whole life long, and Sam’s had more experience than just about anybody I ever met ’sides me. We know what we’re doing.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do.” My mind remained uneasy, however. I turned my head to glare at Frank Pagano, who glared back at me. “This is all your fault! You’re about the most worthless collection of human skin and bone I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
Frank Pagano huffed as well as he could through his bandanna.
“And don’t you huff at me! I feel sorry for your parents. You must be a sore humiliation to them. If any son of mine behaved the way you do, I’d disown him!”
Another muffled huff came from the corner.
“I think that’s why Frank Senior is on the train to Pasadena right this minute, actually,” said Sam, gazing without fondness at his nephew.
An interesting phenomenon then occurred. Frank turned puce from his neck to under his bandanna and up to his scalp. As his complexion, like his uncle’s, was sort of olive-ish, the resulting color was unappealing. His eyes bugged, he strained at his bindings, and he looked frightened.
“Interesting reaction,” I mused. “Maybe you should have called his father in sooner.”
“Renata thought she could deal with him,” said Sam. “Since she couldn’t, Frank said he’d come out here and set his son to rights.” Tilting his head slightly and staring at his no-account nephew, Sam had a little smile on his face when he added, “I have a feeling setting little Frankie to rights will involve some pain to little Frankie.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” I said.
“And I can always shoot him with my gut-shredder if his pa don’t turn the peckerwood’s life around.”
“That’s an even better idea,” I told Mr. Prophet.
“Mwaaaaaah!” came from Frank Pagano. Officer Doan tapped him on the head with his clenched fist. Frank’s eyes crinkled shut and he said, “Aaaahhh!”
Satisfactory, by golly.
Except I still didn’t know whom I’d be conjuring, why, or for whom. Bother. There’s always something.
Clad in perky green seersucker housedress, I considered my overstuffed closet later in the day. Spike sat on the floor next to me and considered along with me.
“What do you think, Spike? I always feel more confident when I know my costume fits the occasion. Unfortunately, I don’t know precisely why this séance is taking place.”
Spike uttered a sympathetic whuffle.
“Yes, I know we’re hoping to catch the people who kidnapped Vi, but I can’t figure out why we need a séance to do that. Usually, when I perform séances, it’s because someone wants me to speak to a dead loved one, and nobody’s told me who it might be yet.”
Glancing down at my dog, I saw him glancing up at me, a faint hint of disapproval in his soulful eyes.
“Yes, I know I lie to people for a living. The people who hire me want to be lied to. It’s the truth, Spike. My chief aim is to help people. It always has been.” As this was a blatant untruth, I amended my statement. “It has been ever since I became old enough to understand human pain and suffering, anyway. Since then, I’ve tried to help people. When I was a kid, I just wanted to make some money.”
Spike didn’t buy it. I could tell.
“Confound it, Spike! The money I made as a spiritualist-medium helped my family buy this house. Not to mention the self-starting Chevrolet sitting in the drive. I can’t tell you how many times I almost broke my arm cranking that stupid Model-T.”
Still peering up at me with what I took to be a critical expression, I said, “Darn it, Spike! If I hadn’t rid Mrs. Bissel of that ghost, you wouldn’t have come to live with us!”
Spike yawned as he took my comment into consideration. He still appeared vaguely disparaging. “Oh, very well, so it wasn’t a ghost. It was Marianne Grenville, but even you have to agree the poor thing needed to be rescued. Anyway, you love us, don’t you? Aren’t you glad you came to live with us? I know you helped Billy during his last year or so.”
Finally, Spike wagged his tail, and I felt so much better. Therefore, I knelt to give him a hug and a thorough belly-rub. “I knew you’d see it my way eventually,” I cooed at my dog.
“But that doesn’t tell me what to wear to this evening’s séance.” Heaving a gusty sigh, I regained my feet and resumed my perusal of the closet. My muscles twanged a bit when I stood and I muttered, “Blasted exercise class.”
Spike gave a whine of sympathy.
“It needs to be fashionable but comfortable. I don’t know what the evening will hold, so I want to be able to move fast if I have to.” Giving Spike another peek, I said, “I sure hope I won’t. I’m sore from that class, and I don’t have the muscles I used to have when I was helping Billy get around.”
At Billy’s name, Spike gave another poignant whine and I swallowed a tear. Sentimental fools, both of us.
I’m not sure how long Spike and I stood there looking into my packed closet, but eventually I hauled out a newish creation of mine. I call it a creation of mine, but I’d actually altered a pattern to look like a Dior gown I’d fallen in love with while perusing the latest Fashion Service Magazine at the Pasadena Public Library. This was a dress I’d been saving for Sam’s and my honeymoon, but since our wedding never seemed to get here, I decided I might as well wear it to the séance that night for good luck.
I don’t believe in good luck any more than I believe in ghosts. And I don’t care what anyone says about my Voodoo juju. In fact, I pressed my hand against it, again hoping it would send me some of the good luck I didn’t believe in.
All human beings are complicated creatures, and I’m a human being. I don’t think I was actually crazy. Yet. You never knew about these things, especially when dealing with crooks who kidnap cooks.
Ahem.
The gown was sleeveless and had a rounded neck made of deep blue georgette with an overlay of black net embroidered at the top and bottom. I’d sewed black sequins in a swirly pattern at its neck. The center and side panels also shimmered with iridescent sequins whose swirls overlapped, and the sidebands dipped below the hemline. In short, the gown was gorgeous. I kind of hated to break it out now because I’d hoped to impress Sam with its loveliness after we’d taken the train to New York City. The blue matched my eyes.
“Oh, well, Spike, I’ll feel good in this, and maybe feeling good will make me not so scared of any gangsters who might show up for the séance.”
When I peered down at Spike, I could swear he rolled his eyes at me! Why did all the men in my life do that?
Never mind.
However, now that I’d come to the momentous decision of what to wear, I grabbed my bathrobe and took myself off to the bathroom. There I soaked for a long time in warm water scented with the gardenia bath foam Harold had given me recently. He was always giving me nice things, bless him. And don’t tell me it’s improper for a gentleman to give a lady bath foam unless the two of them were married. You know as well as I do that Harold had no underhanded intentions regarding me.
As I soaked, I tried to relieve my mind of worries. It wouldn’t be relieved. Always before when I’d conducted a séance, I’d known precisely whom I’d be conjuring. This evening’s plans were nebulous at best, and the untidiness of not having complete understanding made my nerves jump.
Therefore, I even washed my hair in order to look particularly spiffy. Since I’d had it bobbed at the barbershop, it was much easier for me to manage than it had been when it was long. I aimed to wear it smoothed down that night and wear a sequined bandeau that went spectacularly well with my sequined dress. That’s because I’d used the same blue georgette and the same packet of black sequins with which to make it.
When I figured I’d wasted enough time in the bath and it was time to climb out, towel off, fix my hair and face the music, I felt a little, if not much, calmer. I still looked forward to the evening ahead with something akin to dread, even though Sam, Mr. Prophet, Harold and Johnny had all assured me things would go without a hitch.
Recalling Sam’s asinine nephew, I had my doubts. Ah, well. Onward, ever onward, into the great unknown and all that.