Angel's Flight (A Mercy Allcutt Mystery) (30 page)

      Father looked grim. “Good evening, Mercedes. Is your mother here?”

      “M-m-mother?”

      “Yes.” He frowned heavily down upon me.

      My father, like my mother, is an imposing presence. He’s tall—none of his offspring, even my obnoxious brother, had dared grow to his height—good-looking, and has steel-gray hair and a small moustache. I stared up at him, gaping and swallowing for I don’t know how long until he restored me to my wits by a censorious, “Mercedes, what is the matter with you?”

      I know I jumped. However, when I landed, I had come to what was left of my senses. “Yes! I mean, nothing is the matter with me. I was only surprised to see you.” For all his stature and grim visage, my father doesn’t frighten me nearly as much as my mother does, probably because he has shown himself to be human once or twice since I’d met him. Well, you know what I mean.

      In fact, as if to prove his humanity, he smiled at last. “You look well, Mercedes. And is that a pup I see in your arms?”

      “Yes. Yes, this is Buttercup, my toy poodle.” I made a leap backward. “But please come in, Father! I’m sorry. I forgot my manners because I was so—”

      “Yes,” he said dryly. “I can tell.”

      He walked into the entryway. I glanced behind him and saw no luggage. What did this mean? Darned if I knew. All I knew was that here standing before me was the instrument of my mother’s presence in Los Angeles, and I wanted to beg him to reform his wicked ways. In Boston, however, well-bred daughters of wealthy bankers didn’t do such things, so I merely tried to catch my breath.

      “Your mother is here?” he asked patiently.

      “Oh! Oh, yes. Yes, she is. Um . . .” I felt
so
stupid. “Do you want to . . . um, see her?”

      I knew he’d have rolled his eyes if he’d been a lesser man. He was Mr. Albert Monteith Allcutt, however, so he didn’t. “Yes.”

      Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I knew both of my parents were too stuffy to create a scene in Chloe’s living room, but I wasn’t looking forward to their meeting. Nevertheless, I knew where my duty lay. “Come right on this way, Father. I’ll lead you to her. There are some other . . . er, guests here, too.”

      “Hmm.”

      He didn’t seem particularly gratified to know that his reunion with his runaway spouse would take place in front of people who didn’t belong to the family. I, on the other hand, felt a measure of security from the same set of circumstances.

      I thought of something that might be nice. “Um, would you like to stay in the library while I fetch her? Perhaps you’d like to—”

      “That sounds like a sensible notion, Mercy.”

      I knew he’d forgiven me for whatever sins he might have been holding against me when he called me Mercy. I heaved an enormous internal sigh—I’d never dare sigh openly in front of either of my parents. “It’s right here, Father.”

      “Thank you, my dear.”

      “Sure.”

      After turning on the light and watching him walk into the room—a very nice room, by the way, with lots of books and a big, old desk where Harvey did a lot of work having to do with the studio—I hesitated at the door for a moment. “Um . . . have you been well, Father?”

      “Quite well, thank you.” He peered at me through narrowed eyes. I held my breath. “I must say that your new hairstyle suits you, my dear.”

      “It does? I mean, thank you!”

      “What have you been doing since you moved west, Mercy? Your mother and I were worried that you’d lose your way and begin to behave in the deplorably frivolous manner of so many people involved in the motion-picture business.”

      “Oh, I’m not at all frivolous, Father,” I assured him. “In fact, I have a really good job.” If you discounted an irritable employer who treated me as if I didn’t have a brain in my head. And maybe a few bruises and scratches. And if you ignored my being shot at several times in the past month or two. I heaved another internal sigh.

      “You have secured employment?”

      He didn’t sound nearly as disapproving as Mother had. I perked up minimally. “Yes, indeed. I’m confidential secretary to Mr. Ernest Templeton, who is a private investigator.”

      “Oh.”

      There it was. Now he disapproved of me.

      Before he could say so, I said brightly, “I’ll go get Mother.” And I hared it out of there with my darling Buttercup before he could even open his mouth again.

      “Oh, Lord, Buttercup, what’s going to happen now?” I squeezed her hard, but she didn’t seem to mind.

      I must have looked a little pale or something when I walked into the living room, because Ernie stood up. So did Mr. Easthope and Harvey, but they
always
stand upon a lady’s entry into a room. Ernie only stood up when females other than yours truly waltzed into his presence.

      “What’s the matter?” he demanded sharply.

      Chloe said, “Who was that at the door, Mercy?” She appeared a trifle concerned, too.

      I cleared my throat and looked at our mother. “Um . . . Mother?”

      She scowled at me. “What is it, Mercedes Louise? Mr. Templeton has regaled us with your outlandish activities of this afternoon, and I can’t believe even
you
would—”

      Darn her, anyhow! “It’s Father!” I spoke quite loudly in order to drown out her tirade. What’s more, my words shut her right up. Good for me.

      “
Father
?” Chloe’s eyes went as big around as pie plates.

      “Albert?” Mother, on the other hand, sounded weak for the first time ever. “Albert is
here
?”

      “He’s waiting for you in the library.”

      “I . . .” I saw Mother swallow. This evening she was clad in navy blue bombazine suitable for a dinner party in Boston, and totally inappropriate for a hot Los Angeles night among friends and family. “Very well. I shall go to the library.”

      She rose stiffly and just as stiffly made her way across the living room. We all watched her until she’d cleared the door, then Chloe and I exchanged a speaking glance. Chloe held her finger to her lips, but she needn’t have worried. I wasn’t about to say anything at all until I heard that library door close. To be on the safe side, I peeked. It was only when I saw for myself that Mother had entered the library that I dared speak again.

      “Chloe!” I whispered. “Father!”

      “Yes,” she said, sounding every bit as stricken as I felt.

      “Did we expect him?” Harvey asked pleasantly. Harvey was always pleasant. And his query wasn’t odd, either, since he left the running of the household in Chloe’s capable hands entirely and never knew who was going to show up when.

      “No,” said Chloe upon a difficult swallow. “No, we had no idea he’d be coming to Los Angeles.”

      “Oh,” said Harvey. “Well, I supposed you’d best have Mrs. Biddle set another place at the table.”

      “Yes.” Chloe rose and walked like an automaton toward the dining room.

      “My goodness,” said Mr. Easthope.

      “Is he anything like your ma?” That, naturally, was Ernie, who was probably the only person in the known universe who would dare refer to my mother as anybody’s “ma.”

      Harvey chuckled. “He’s a little bit like her.”

      “Not nearly so bad, though.” I was getting myself under control at last. The absence of my mother speeded up the calming process considerably. “He’s stuffy, I guess, but he’s more . . .” I couldn’t think of a word or expression to describe my father that wouldn’t make me sound like an undutiful daughter.

      Fortunately, Harvey took the problem out of my hands. “Human,” he said succinctly.

      I nodded, feeling rather forlorn.

      Ernie laughed. “Thank God for that.”

      “Yes. I fear your mother is a bit of a dragon, Miss Allcutt,” said Francis Easthope.

      “You have
no
idea,” said I, and was instantly stricken with pangs of conscience.

      Chloe rushed into the room just then. She, too, was over the initial shock of our father’s arrival. She scurried over, sat next to me on the sofa, and started frantically petting Buttercup. “Oh, Mercy, what does this mean?”

      I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

      “What did Father say?”

      “He only asked if Mother was here. And when I asked if he’d like to wait for her in the library, he said that was a good idea.” I gulped. “I was afraid of what might happen if I just hauled him in here, you see.”

      “Thank God!” Chloe’s gaze visited the ceiling for an instant. Then she left off patting Buttercup and clutched my arm. “Oh, Mercy, do you think he’s going to take her back home to Boston?” I could hear the fervent note of hope in her voice.

      “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

      “Oh, Lord. I guess he’s not as bad as she is, but . . . oh, Mercy, what if he wants to stay here with us, too? In this house?”

      Totally crestfallen, I could only whisper, “What an appalling thought.”

      Ernie, the rat, still chuckled. I glanced at him, but he didn’t seem to be affected by my repressive expression.

      “Oh, my,” said Mr. Easthope. “One’s parents can be so difficult, can’t they?”

      “They sure can,” said Chloe.

      “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t matter so much if we had more room,” said Harvey, who was one of the nicest people in the known universe. He and Chloe were such a special couple.

      Chloe and I chorused, “Yes, it would!”

      More chuckles from Ernie.

      Mr. Easthope sighed. “Perhaps we should find a place for our combined parents. They could stay together and make each other miserable and leave us alone.”

      I’d never heard him say anything that so clearly expressed his distress over his mother and her feckless ways.

      Chloe said, “Oh, Francis, I’m sorry. Is she still in thrall to those charlatans?”

      “Actually,” said he, “the O’Doyles are going back to Saint Louis, or wherever they came from, tomorrow. I think the atmosphere in Los Angeles was getting a little too hot for them.”

      “I think they were probably crooks,” I said. “Will they take that spooky man with them? What was his name? Fernandez?”

      “Yes, thank God, they’re going to take Fernandez with them.”

      “He gave me the creeps,” I admitted.

      “He gave
me
the creeps,” said Mr. Easthope.

      “Well, that’s one good thing, anyway. They’ll soon be out of your hair and your mother won’t be fleeced by them any longer.”

      “I suppose so. But now she’s convinced she was born to be a horticulturist. She’s pestering my gardener about planting peonies and rhododendrons and all sorts of things like that that don’t grow well in Los Angeles. My gardener just gave notice, and he kept the grounds looking wonderful.”

      “Hmm,” I said. “There’s a huge section on plants and gardening at the public library. Perhaps you can take her there and set her loose. Surely she could learn which plants grow well here and which plants don’t.”

      “I’m not so sure,” said Francis glumly. “She doesn’t take well to direction.”

      I think one of my teachers said something like that about me once, but I didn’t mention it—not with Ernie there. And anyhow, it wasn’t true. I just like to believe there’s some good reason for me to learn things, is all, and I never did understand a particular need to learn algebra. “Parents can be
such
a problem,” I said in deep sympathy.

      Ernie laughed harder. Blast the man. I turned on him. “Don’t you have any parents?”

      “Sure, I have parents. They’re in New Jersey, and they don’t bother me.”

      “Never?”

      He shook his head. “Nope. We get along great.”

      Chloe and I shared a glance, and Chloe said, “Mercy and I got along with our parents when they were in Boston and we were in Los Angeles.”

      “True,” I said.

      Chloe glanced at the cuckoo clock she and Harvey had picked up in Germany when they took their honeymoon in Europe. “I had Mrs. Biddle set dinner back a half hour. I hope to heaven the parents are finished talking by then, or Mrs. Biddle might give her own notice.”

      “She’d never do that!” I cried, shocked. Mrs. Biddle seemed as much a part of the Nash household as did Chloe and Harvey.

      “I don’t know. You really scared her last month when you went in to ask her if you could help wash windows.”

      “I never did that! I only asked her what she recommended for cleaning windows so I could spruce up Ernie’s office!”

      Chloe grinned. “I guess you didn’t tell her that part. She was worried for a while.”

      “Phooey. I only borrowed the Bon Ami for a day, and then I brought it right back again.”

      We didn’t have time to pursue my habits of cleanliness, because Mother and Father entered the room. As if we were gathered for a royal visitation, we all rose to our feet. Even Buttercup stood to attention.

      They didn’t look as if they were still mad at each other. Chloe and I swapped yet another glance, this one questioning.

      Mother and Father stood under the archway leading to the living room, and I noticed that Mother had her arm tucked under his. Was that a good sign? Who knew?

      It was Father who broke the ice. “Well, well, well, I see you have some guests, Clovilla. Won’t you please introduce them to me?”

      Chloe jerked as if he’d pinched her, and then quickly made introductions. I noticed that Father’s gaze remained on Ernie longer than it did anyone else. I held my breath.

      “So you’re the young man who’s employing my daughter Mercedes?”

      “Yes, sir,” said Ernie, shaking Father’s hand. He actually comported himself with propriety and dignity for once in his life. Well, I don’t know if that’s the
only
time he’s ever been polite, but it sure seemed like it to me.

      “I trust she’s pulling her weight in the business.”

      Ernie shot me a look, and I gave him a quick, meaningful scowl. “Yes, sir. She’s a pistol all right.”