Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] (8 page)

      
I smirked back. “Been reading
This Side of Paradise
, have you, Stacy?”

      
“Heh,” she said, lifting her nose as if something smelled bad. From this, I deduced that she didn’t like being reminded that she’d borrowed her going-to-hell-as-fast-as-
possible manners from F. Scott Fitzgerald. I felt as if I’d made my point and was rather proud of myself, although I didn’t let on.

      
I wanted to give her a hard whack on the fanny. According to my mother, a sharp smack delivered to the rear portion of the anatomy did wonders to clear up fuzzy thinking in the head portion of the same body. I thought Stacy deserved several years’ worth of smacks, and also thought it would be swell if every single one of them were to be imparted at one time.

      
“I was just leaving,” I murmured, smiling graciously. Another smile wasted.

      
“Ah,” said she, exhaling a thin stream of smoke in my direction, probably in the attempt to kill me via suffocation or smoke inhalation. She’d think it was funny.

      
“Stop being a pig, Stacy, and get rid of that stinking weed.” Harold snatched the cigarette, holder and all, from his sister’s hand and threw both into the fireplace. I decided I liked him even better than I thought I did.

      
The gracious smile I bestowed upon him wasn’t wasted. As Stacy turned purple and began spitting profanities at her brother, I beat a retreat. Without too many more minutes spent on taking my leave of Mrs. Kincaid and Mrs. Lilley, I managed to get the heck out of there.

      
The latter seemed to be in a strange mood, caught somewhere between ecstasy and puzzlement. No surprise there. Heck, anybody who believed she’d just received a message from a dead son deserved to be both of those things. She and Mrs. Kincaid showered praise and thanks upon my head, and I effected my escape feeling like the fraud I was, which wasn’t awfully comfortable. Ah, well. One does what one must.

      
I found Edie outside the swinging doors of the kitchen, leaning against the wall and wiping her eyes. Concerned, I rushed over to her before she could flee, which I could tell she wanted to do as soon as she saw me coming.

      
“Edie!”

      
She sniffled, although I could tell she didn’t want to, and brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hi, Daisy. How’d the séance go.”

      
“Fine, fine. But what’s the matter, Edie? Is something wrong with Eddie?” Eddie was Edie’s brother. He’d been hit hard by the influenza when it was going around. It had gone into meningitis, which had done awful things to his spine and affected his brain. I don’t think his wits will ever come back entirely.

      
“Eddie’s getting better.” She sniffled again. “There’s nothing the matter, Daisy. Honest.”

      
“Nuts.” I took her by the shoulder and turned her around. We went through the swinging doors leading into the pantry, walked through the pantry, and went into the kitchen.

      
I was familiar with the Kincaids’ kitchen, since my Aunt Vi had worked there for so many years. Putting a kettle on the fancy Jewel gas range with moderated heat, two ovens, and a built-in soup warmer, I let Edie collect herself as I made tea.

      
She sniffled a couple more times and sighed. “Thanks, Daisy. You really don’t need to make tea for me.”

      
“Nonsense. I don’t like to see my friends upset.” Carrying the teapot and two cups over to the table, I sat down next to her. “Will Featherstone bother us?”

      
She shook her head. “He’s waiting for the guests to leave. He’s got to get their wraps and bags and bow them out the door, you know.”

      
“Shoot, I didn’t know being rich was such a formal proposition.” That was another lie, and Edie knew it. Rich people were the only ones who could afford to be formal. I’d intended it as a little joke, poor person to poor person, but Edie didn’t crack a smile.

      
Worried in earnest, I took her hand. “Tell me what’s the matter, Edie. Is there anything I can do to help? Is anything wrong with Quincy?”

      
“What?”

      
Shoot. I’d forgotten I’d never been officially informed that the two of them were an item. Shrugging, I said, “Just wondered. He seemed fine to me.” In order to collect myself, I took a sip of tea. “There must be something I can do to help you, Edie. Please let me help.”

      
Shaking her head again, she said, “No,” in a sighing sort of voice. “Nobody can do anything.”

      
I set my cup down with a clink. “Jeez Louise, this sounds serious.”

      
Shrugging, she said, “I don’t think it’s serious. It’s only . . . It’s only . . . Oh, nuts.” Another tear or three leaked from her eyes.

      
“Come on, Edie, spit it out.”

      
She sucked in a huge breath, then blurted, “It’s Mr. Kincaid.”

      
I cocked my head, wondering if I’d misunderstood her. Then I thought I understood, and my heart crunched. As much as I didn’t like the man, I didn’t want anything frightful to befall him. “Is Mr. Kincaid sick?” If he was, his wife was sure putting on a cool front. She hadn’t looked at him once when they’d been in the drawing room at the same time. On the other hand, if I were married to him, I wouldn’t want to look at him either.

      
“No. He . . .” Again she stopped speaking before revealing why Mr. Kincaid was causing her trouble.

      
Another thought, this one more horrible than the last, occurred to me. Shocked, I whispered, “Good Lord, Edie, don’t tell me he’s trying to—to—” I, too, stumbled verbally as I tried to think of a polite way to say it. I finally came up with a weak but time-honored euphemism. “Is he trying to take advantage of you?”

      
Her nod was so tiny I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been watching. I gasped. “Good Lord! That miserable, lousy skunk! What’s he done? Oh, Edie, this is ghastly!”

      
She sighed so hard into her teacup that tea splashed out into the saucer. “He traps me with that wretched wheelchair of his, and—and he touches me.”

      
My mouth pursed up and my nose wrinkled against my will. But . . . ew. Mr. Kincaid? “My Lord.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, I was so dumbstruck.

      
Now that she’d owned up to the source of her distress, Edie’s words practically tripped over themselves as they raced out of her mouth. “And not only that, Daisy, but he pinches me. On my rear end. And he tries to feel my—my—bosom when he wheels past me.”

      
The image of the despicable Mr. Kincaid playing fast and loose with my friend was so grotesque, it cleared up the roadblock in my head. I could think of lots of things to say now, and I wanted to say every single one of them to Mr. Kincaid. “The bounder!” I leaped to my feet and had taken several brisk steps toward the kitchen door before Edie grabbed me. I tried to get away, but she hooked her other arm around a column supporting a cupboard and dug in her heels. I couldn’t move.

      
“No, Daisy, don’t!”

      
“Darn it, Edie, I want to tell that buzzard what I think of him! He has no right to do that to you! I’ll bet his wife doesn’t know!” I tugged.

      
Edie tugged harder. “Daisy, will you quit it?”

      
“No! Somebody needs to tell him what’s what, and I’ll be more than happy to do it. The skunk! The stinker! The rat!”

      
“Darn it, I won’t let you talk to Mr. Kincaid!”

      
“Then I’ll talk to
Mrs
. Kincaid! She deserves to know what kind of hound dog her husband is!”

      
“If you tell Mrs. Kincaid, how do you think she’ll feel?”

      
I stopped tugging. I didn’t want to, but Edie was right. I liked Mrs. Kincaid and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Still, I fought on weakly, because the notion of Mr. Kincaid pawing Edie made me sick. “If she doesn’t know he’s a rat by this time, she’s stupider than I think she is,” I muttered. “She probably hates him already.”

      
“Maybe, but I sure don’t want to make her unhappy. I like Mrs. Kincaid. She’s a nice woman and treats me well. It’s not her fault her husband’s a creep.”

      
I gave it up and turned to go back to the kitchen. Edie was visibly relieved. She was also right about Mrs. Kincaid, although I didn’t think Mr. Kincaid should be let off the hook so easily. Still and all, it really wasn’t my place to butt into Edie’s business. Plunking myself back into the chair I’d just vacated, I grumbled, “I still think you ought to do something.”

      
“Yeah? What do you suggest?”

      
When my jaw started aching, I realized I’d been gritting my teeth. “For one thing, I think you ought to let me talk to Mr. Kincaid.” Boy, I’d love to tell that so-and-so what I thought of him.

      
“If you did that, he’d fire me,” Edie pointed out with impeccable logic. “And he’d probably see to it that you never worked another séance in Pasadena, too.”

      
“Blast. You’re right.” I hated when that happened. “But you could quit, Edie. Why don’t you just quit this place and get another job? I know jobs aren’t as easy to come by as they were before the war, but still and all, you shouldn’t have to put up with that sort of thing.”

      
Edie’s fiery blush and obvious embarrassment astonished me. I stared at her hard. “What?” I asked. “What’s up, Edie?”

      
She didn’t speak for a couple of seconds. Then she laid a hand over mine. “Promise you won’t tell or say a word to anyone, Daisy. I won’t tell you unless you promise.”

      
I also hated to make a promise before I knew what I was supposed to keep secret. Then again, I suppose that was the whole point. “I promise.”

      
Her cheeks remained pink, but she looked happier. In fact, she sort of began to glow. The change was amazing. “It’s Quincy.”

      
I tried to look surprised. “Quincy Applewood? The stable boy?”

      
Her mouth twisted, and she gave me a look that told me what she thought about my show of disingenuity. “Come on, Daisy.”

      
I gave a sheepish gesture with my hands. “Okay, so I’d already figured it out.”

      
“And he’s a handler, Daisy, not a stable boy.” She made the word stable sound like something that smelled bad—which it probably did, come to think of it. The stable, not the word.

      
“Ah.”

      
“He’s brilliant with horses. Why, did you know he was a trick rider in the pictures before his injury?”

      
I knew he’d been in a movie. Once. Not wanting to burst Edie’s bubble, I didn’t mention the once part. “Er, yes, I knew that.”

      
“He claims he can’t ride like he used to, but I’ve never seen anyone do the things he can do with a horse. He’s no mere stable boy, Daisy. He’s working hard to get a job with the races.”

      
“My goodness. I thought horse racing was illegal in California.”

      
“It is, for the time being, but it won’t be for long. Believe me. People want the races back.” She sounded as if she were quoting somebody else. I suspected Quincy. “And there’s always the track in Caliente.”

      
Edie was willing to follow her love to Mexico? I was impressed—and a trifle appalled.

      
“I see. Er, isn’t he a little large to be a jockey? I thought they were supposed to be—”

      
Edie cut me off scornfully. “Not a jockey. He’s a trainer.”

      
“Oh.” I didn’t know a thing about horses, but I took her word for it that jockeys and trainers were different animals.

      
“Quincy and I want to keep working for the Kincaids until we’ve saved up enough money to get married.”

      
“Ah. I see. Of course.” My tone was as soft and squishy as a marshmallow. I was still a romantic at heart, in spite of my own unhappiness in marriage. I figured it was the War’s fault that Billy and I weren’t happy, and Edie and Quincy wouldn’t have to face that obstacle to their own marital success.

      
“These are the best jobs we can expect to get unless one of us moves to Los Angeles or something and works for a studio, and we don’t want to be separated.”

      
Aw. How sweet. “I guess I can understand that. Does Quincy know about Mr. Kincaid?”

      
Her cheeks quit blooming. “No! And don’t you dare tell him, either!”

      
“Why not, for heaven’s sake?”

      
“Because he might do something.”

      
“Isn’t that the whole point? Doesn’t he deserve to know?” I didn’t roll my eyes, which I think showed considerable restraint.

      
“Darn it, Daisy, I don’t want Quincy to lose his job, any more than I want to lose mine! I just
told
you that! Don’t you understand?”

      
“No.” I was beginning to feel as a person might feel if he was watching another person deliberately walk in front of a speeding train. “I don’t understand anything about this. Darn it, Edie! You won’t let me talk to Mr. or Mrs. Kincaid. You won’t tell Quincy. You won’t quit. How the heck do you expect to solve this problem if you don’t do anything about it?”

      
“I can take care of it myself.”

      
“Right. That’s why you were crying in the hall.” My voice held a degree of sourness I hadn’t intended.