Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] (12 page)

      
“She was picked up in a raid on a speakeasy. Oh, it’s just awful!”

      
“Yes,” I said. “It certainly is.” The girl deserved to be horsewhipped, in point of fact. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Kincaid?” That sounded stupid after it popped out of my mouth. I mean, Mrs. Kincaid was as rich as Croesus, and I was only a Gumm. Still and all, the poor woman was in distress and I wanted to help if I could because even though she was rich, she’d always been kind to me.

      
“Oh, Daisy, I hate to impose, but I’m in such terrible distress.”

      
“I can tell.”

      
“Will you come over to the house? And bring your cards. We can use my Ouija board. I need to get some comfort out of this mess, and if you can only tell me that the future is going to be bright, I’m sure I can bear up under this dreadful crisis.”

      
Shoot. I wasn’t sure of anything of the sort. I mean, what if the cards foretold disaster? Not that I’d let on to Mrs. Kincaid if they did. But you never could tell about the cards. Or the Ouija board, either, for that matter, although the board was easier to manipulate than the cards. I was good at maneuvering my fortune-telling accouterments, but even I couldn’t predict which way the cards were going to shuffle themselves.

      
That had never stopped me before, and it didn’t stop me now. “Of course, Mrs. Kincaid. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

      
“Thank you.” She sobbed a few more times. “Oh, thank you so much, Daisy!”

      
“Any time.” I hung up and saw Billy glowering at me from his wheelchair.

      
“I thought you just got through meeting with that woman.”

      
Fiddle. I’d sort of fudged on the detail that it had been Harold I’d met at Kress’s. When Billy had assumed it was Harold’s mother who’d arranged for her son’s séance, I hadn’t felt the need to correct his false impression. No matter how hard I tried to protect Billy—or myself, if truth be known—I always got caught somehow. “Um, no. Actually, it was Harold I met.”

      
“I see. In other words, you lied to me.”

      
“I didn’t lie, Billy. If I’d told you I’d gone to meet Harold, you’d have been even angrier than you were when I told you about the séance he wanted.”

      
His lips curled in a bitter smile. I hated when they did that. “Sins of omission are no less deadly than sins of commission, Daisy.”

      
I heaved a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t a sin, Billy. He’s a faggot, remember?”

      
“You didn’t know that when you met him.”

      
He had me there. “Maybe, but I knew good and well he wasn’t interested in anything but my job.”

      
“Huh.”

      
“Anyhow, that’s not the point. The point is that Mrs. Kincaid has asked me to go to her house, because she’s in terrible distress and she thinks I can help her.”

      
“You could help me if you’d stick around more.”

      
There was no good answer for that one, I supposed. “Well, I’m sorry you don’t think I’m a good wife, Billy, but Stacy Kincaid has just been arrested, and Mrs. Kincaid is in an awful state. She needs me more than you do at the moment.” I didn’t know that for a fact, but hoped Billy would go for it.

      
“Arrested? Good God, Daisy, what sort of people do you work for, anyhow?”

      
Good question. “Mrs. Kincaid is a very generous and considerate lady. Her son is a nice man. Her daughter is a stinker. She got picked up in a raid on a speakeasy.”

      
“Huh. Fine set of people you hang out with.” And with that last snipe, he wheeled himself out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. I decided I didn’t have to change clothes again, mainly because I didn’t fancy changing clothes with my husband glaring at me as if he hated me. Maybe by the time I got home from the Kincaids’, Billy would be over his sulk.

      
It was still too early for Pudge to be out of school, so I had to fight the Model T by myself again. When the weather was warm, as it was on that day, the thing started pretty easily. I drove slowly so as not to disarrange my hair and hat, and by the time I got to the Kincaids’ mansion, the gate already stood open. Either Jackson had anticipated my arrival, or the entire household was in too much of an uproar to follow normal rules.

      
Although this could probably be considered an emergency, I didn’t pull up in front of the huge porch, but drove around to the stable area, mainly because I wanted to say hello to Quincy Applewood and Aunt Vi.

      
Quincy ran to open the door for me, which was polite of him, although I’d have rather he hadn’t. The Model T didn’t have a driver’s side door, and it was kind of awkward sliding across the seat to get out on the right-hand side of the car when one wore a skirt. When someone stood there holding the door, it could also be downright indelicate. I managed to keep my skirt from bunching up, however. Billy would have been happy with me. Actually, he probably wouldn’t have been, because he’d have resented my being there in the first place. Nuts. I couldn’t win.

      
“Did you hear?” Quincy asked as I shook out the wrinkles from my skirt.

      
“That’s why I’m here. Mrs. Kincaid asked me to come and bring my Tarot cards.”

      
He rolled his eyes. I didn’t take offense. Quincy and I were in the same boat; we both did what we had to do to get by. I took his expression to mean what I felt: I wish I had enough money to enable me to believe in Tarot cards. When you’re struggling to make a living, you tended to focus on tangible things and leave the spirits to take care of themselves.

      
The back door of the house opened, and Edie Marsh hurried outside. I knew it was Edie even before I turned around to look, because the expression on Quincy’s face softened to one of imbecilic adoration. “Hey, Edie!” I said, friendly.

      
“Oh, Daisy, have you heard?”

      
It seemed to me that everyone had heard. “Yup. That’s why I’m here. Mrs. Kincaid asked me to come.”

      
“Oh, Lord, it’s just awful.” Edie’s eyes sparkled. I got the impression she was about as fond of Stacy Kincaid as I was. “Poor Mrs. Kincaid is so upset.”

      
“I don’t blame her.” Quincy looked as if he thoroughly disapproved of young ladies getting caught in speakeasy raids.

      
I did, too, for that matter. “Neither do I.”

      
Edie and Quincy exchanged a speaking look, although they didn’t touch or kiss or even talk to each other. I guess they saved demonstrations of affection until after working hours, which was both prudent and sensible.

      
“Come on, Daisy. Mrs. Kincaid’s in the drawing room, walking in circles and wringing her hands. She asked me to keep an eye out for you.” She hooked a hand around my elbow and we walked to the house together.

      
“How about Mr. Kincaid?” I spoke softly, since I didn’t want Quincy to overhear anything either of us had to say about Mr. Kincaid.

      
Edie’s nose wrinkled and her mouth pruned up. “Who knows? He’s such a devil. I don’t think he cares about anyone in his family, if you want to know the truth.”

      
Made sense to me. “If he did, he wouldn’t do the things he does.”

      
“Absolutely.”

      
It came out as sort of a huff, and I wondered if Mr. Kincaid had cornered her again today. I didn’t ask, but it occurred to me that I might compare Mr. Kincaid to Harold for Billy’s sake. At once, I nixed the idea. If Billy thought Mr. Kincaid was the sort to trap stray females with his wheelchair, he’d never allow me to visit the Kincaid place again.

      
When we traipsed through the service porch into the kitchen, I saw Aunt Vi kneading dough. She glanced up, and I noticed that she looked worried, too. Aunt Vi was a light-hearted lady under normal circumstances, and she, too, was very kindly disposed toward Mrs. Kincaid, and this scandal had clearly rattled her. I hurried over and kissed her cheek. Aunt Vi was as plump as a Christmas pudding, which made sense. After all, who’d want a cook who didn’t like to eat her own food?

      
“Whatcha cookin’, Aunt Vi?” I smiled, hoping to make her feel better.

      
“Parker House rolls.” She didn’t stop kneading, but her glance was intense. “Do your best for the poor thing, Daisy. She’s in a terrible taking.”

      
“Yeah, she was crying over the phone.”

      
A tear dripped down Vi’s cheek, carving a pink path through the light dusting of flour on her cheek. I wiped it away for her, since her hands were occupied. “Try not to worry, Aunt Vi. I’ll do my best.”

      
“I know you will, Daisy. You’re a good girl.”

      
I supposed I’d always be a girl to Ma and Aunt Vi. That was okay with me. I gave her a cheeky grin and braced myself to meet with Mrs. Kincaid.

      
“I’m not going to go with you, Daisy, because I don’t want to see that awful man.”

      
By which, I presumed Edie meant Mr. Kincaid. That was okay with me, too, since I knew my way around the house. “Sure, Edie.”

      
I found the Kincaids in the drawing room. Mrs. Kincaid had a handkerchief pressed to her brow and sure enough, she was pacing in circles before the huge fireplace. Mr. Kincaid sat in his wheelchair glowering out a window overlooking a magnificent rose garden and vast acres of scythed green grass. I wouldn’t have guessed from Mr. Kincaid’s expression that he was looking at anything more interesting than mud. In short, he looked extremely irritable. He turned around when I entered the room and transferred his glower my way. I didn’t take it personally since I’d never seen him do anything else.

      
As soon as Mrs. Kincaid saw me, on the other hand, she wheeled around and dashed straight at me, her arms outstretched. I caught her in a hug. What the heck. Even rich people need someone to hug them every now and then, and I doubted that Mrs. Kincaid received many hugs from her husband—or if she even wanted them from that source. I did wonder where Featherstone was, but didn’t think too much about it. He was probably off doing something butlerish.

      
“Oh, Daisy! It’s so awful!”

      
As if to answer my unspoken question, Harold Kincaid and Featherstone entered the room. Harold had clearly been driving, because he hadn’t removed his goggles or scarf, and looked like some dangerous creature from under the sea. “I’m back,” he said unnecessarily, throwing his hat at Featherstone and going to work on the rest of his driving gear. Featherstone stood like a statue, as if he was accustomed to being used as a coat rack.

      
Mrs. Kincaid left off hugging me and veered over to her son. She threw herself into his arms next and cried, “Oh, Harold! What’s happening with her? Did you see her? Is Mr. Pearlman with her? Is she all right? Did they hurt her?”

      
Throwing his goggles atop the pile of clothes in Featherstone’s arms, Harold began patting his mother’s back. He tried to shrug, failed, and said, “Nobody’s hurt her, Mother. She was being interviewed by a policeman when I got to the station. Mr. Pearlman is there. Try not to worry. I’m sure it will turn out all right.”

      
I was impressed with Featherstone yet again. Although he must be dying to learn the dirt on the Stacy situation, he turned around and left the room, carting Harold’s stuff off. Now there was dedication for you. If it had been me, I’d have stood outside the door and listened, but I’ll bet anything that Featherstone didn’t. He was a pro at butlering, by gum.

      
“For the love of God,” grumbled Mr. Kincaid. “The child ought to be horsewhipped.”

      
Gee, I hated having anything in common with Mr. Kincaid. Too late now.

      
“Probably,” said Harold dryly.

      
“No, no!” cried Mrs. Kincaid. “Oh, no! The poor child! How can you say such a thing?”

      
Oh, brother. Fortunately for me, she didn’t expect an answer from the hired help. Harold muttered that he didn’t mean it, his tone belying his words. Mr. Kincaid only growled some more.