High Spirits [Spirits 03] (32 page)

      
“Johnny? It’s Daisy.”

      
“Daisy? What’s up?” He sounded as if my name had brought him to instant attention. “Is something wrong? What’s the matter?”

      
“Well ...” Now that I had him on the phone, I wasn’t sure how to phrase my question.

      
“Is it Miss Mosser? What’s the matter? Damn, I knew I should have rescued her from that situation before now.”

      
He’d said
damn
. For a second, that one solitary fact drove everything else out of my head, which I guess is a pretty good indication of my state of mind.

      
“Daisy?
Answer
me!”

      
“I’m sorry, Johnny. Yes, it’s Flossie.”

      
He made a sound indicative of shock and dismay.

      
“No, no! She’s all right! She’s not hurt.”

      
A huge sigh nearly blew my eardrums out.

      
“But you see, there was a raid on the speakeasy tonight, and all the crooks were arrested, and now Flossie doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

      
“Yes she does.”

      
My heart, being too exhausted to leap, staggered to attention. “She does?”

      
“Absolutely. Is she at your place now?”

      
“Yes. She’s here.”

      
“I’ll be there as soon as I can get some clothes on and crank up the Ford.”

      
I guess captains in the Salvation Army don’t make a lot of money. I knew for a fact that Johnny drove an old Model-T Ford with a crank. As I’ve mentioned before, we used to have one of those until I got the Chevrolet with its lovely self-starter. Those cranks are ... well ... cranky.

      
This was good news, though. On the other hand, I really didn’t want to send Flossie into another situation where she’d be living in sin with a man—even such a man as Johnny Buckingham, who was a very good one. “Um, will she be staying with you, Johnny?”

      
“
Me?”
he cried, as if I’d asked if he could catch flies with his tongue like a frog. “Shoot, Daisy, I thought you knew me better than that.”

      
He sounded so hurt and reproachful, I hung my head. “Sorry, Johnny. It’s been a rough night.”

      
“I’ll get in touch with Sergeant Dabney. She’s in charge of housing accommodations for women who have to leave their homes unexpectedly for one reason or another.”

      
Principally drunken husbands threatening their lives, I supposed. How depressing. Only not in this instance. “Thanks, Johnny. You’re a great guy, you know that?”

      
“It’s God, Daisy, not me. If it were up to me, I’d probably be sleeping it off in a gutter somewhere.”

      
And on that lovely note, we disconnected.

      
I made a brief detour into Billy and my bedroom in order to shuck off my good shoes and slip into slippers. While I was there I grabbed a couple of clean handkerchiefs, thinking that you never knew when they might come in handy, especially during situations such as the one at present visited upon us.

      
Things hadn’t become lively in the living room during my absence, I noticed when I returned thereto. Even Spike was snoring peacefully on the sofa, his head on Flossie’s lap. She sat there, head bowed, stroking the pup, looking about as unhappy as a person could look. Billy, Pa and Sam spoke softly together, probably about gin rummy, since they were all gin rummy fiends, and Ma seemed to have sunk into a trance-like condition indicative of too little sleep.

      
They all looked at me when I entered the room. Except for Spike, who continued to doze. He saved his energy for important things, like people walking by on the sidewalk outside.

      
“It’s going to be all right,” I said before anyone could ask a question. “Johnny Buckingham will be here as soon as he gets his Ford cranked to life.” I went over and sat next to Spike, which was as close as I could get to Flossie. “He said one of his sergeants will be able to give you shelter until we can get this whole thing straightened out.”

      
She gulped audibly, and I laid a hand on her arm.

      
“Everything’s going to work out all right, Flossie. You’ll see. Johnny will make sure you never have to worry about the likes of Jinx Jenkins and Vicenzo Maggiori again.”

      
Although you’d think she didn’t have another tear in her, having cried pretty continuously since about nine o’clock the previous evening, Flossie began leaking again. “Oh, Daisy,” she whispered. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you. For everything.” She sniffled, and I handed her one of my clean hankies.

      
“It’s okay, Flossie. Johnny will be sure that you’re safe and have a place to stay and ...” My voice trailed off because I didn’t know what else to say. That Johnny’d help her get a job? That Johnny would find her a place to live? Well, I suppose he might do those things, but I didn’t know it for certain, so, recollecting that discretion is the better part of valor—although I don’t know what valor had to do with the current situation—I shut up. Mercifully, I might add.

      
“Thank you so much.”

      
“Sure.” I patted her arm some more. When I drew my hand away, I noticed I’d managed to make a handprint in the dust on her sleeve. Oh, boy, the two of us were truly a couple of messes. “Say, Flossie, would you like to wash up a little bit before Johnny gets here? We’re both pretty dusty.”

      
“Could I?”

      
She sounded so pathetic,
I
darned near started crying. “Sure. I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

      
I decided that after Flossie cleaned herself up as much as she could, Sam finally left for wherever
he
lived, and everybody in my family went to bed, I was going to treat myself to a long, hot bath with some of those sweet-smelling bubbling bath salts Billy had given me for Christmas.

      
And I did.

Chapter Eighteen
 

The next morning was Saturday and everybody except Ma got to sleep later than usual. Poor Ma, even though she’d stayed up until almost three in the morning, still had to go to her job at the Marengo Hotel. Fortunately, she only worked a half-day on Saturday.

      
Billy and I were silent as we dressed and I made the bed. The silence wasn’t fraught with any sort of emotion; we were both merely worn out. I didn’t even glance at Billy when he opened his dresser drawer, although my heart lurched a tiny bit when I heard the cork come out of his morphine solution. I told myself that morphine was simply a part of Billy’s life and that there was nothing anyone, least of all Billy, could do about it. My heart gave another brief ache, but it was too exhausted to ache for long.

      
When we were dressed, I staggered out to the kitchen and plopped myself on a chair while Billy went to the bathroom. It was around ten in the morning, hours later than we usually awoke and got moving.

      
“’Lo, Vi,” I said to my aunt, who was preparing breakfast as she always did. We were so lucky to have Vi living with us. “Where’s Pa?”

      
“He went for a walk.”

      
I glanced at the floor, where Spike sat, eagerly waiting for food to drop from heaven. Or me, which was a more likely scenario. “He didn’t take the dog.”

      
“He thought you needed the dog more than he did this morning.”

      
My darling father. “That was nice of him.” I
did
need Spike, especially that morning. “I guess Ma’s gone to work.”

      
“Yes.”

      
Short and snappy. I sensed my aunt wasn’t happy with me that morning. I guess Ma or Pa had filled her in on all the excitement. Oh, dear.

      
My suspicions were confirmed when Vi said sternly, “Your mother doesn’t need this grief.”

      
True, but neither did I. Sensing it would be unwise to say so, I aimed for a repentant tone when I said, “I know.” In truth, repentance was easy to achieve, since I felt so
very
guilty about worrying my family.

      
Aunt Vi only harrumphed. Then she placed a plate of waffles and bacon in front of me, along with a sliced orange—we had two orange trees in our backyard, and we had tons of oranges almost all year long—so I guess she wasn’t too mad at me.

      
“Thanks, Vi. This looks delicious.”

      
Billy rolled himself out of the bathroom along about then and came into the kitchen. Vi blessed him likewise. “Thanks, Vi. What’s the occasion?”

      
“According to Daisy’s father,” Vi said stiffly, “Daisy has helped to capture an entire gang of bootlegging crooks. That detective friend of yours telephoned early this morning.”

      
“Sam?” Billy looked up, surprised. “What did he have to say?”

      
“He wanted to talk to you or Daisy, but I said you both needed your sleep. So he said he’d come over around three this afternoon to give you some important information.”

      
Billy and I looked at each other, and it seemed to me that Billy was as dismayed as I about this news. I think I whimpered. I know I said, “Oh, no. Now what?”

      
Billy patted my hand and forced a grin. “It’ll be all right, Daisy.”

      
“I doubt it.”

      
Although weary and sorry that I’d put my family at risk, I’d thus far during the approximately forty minutes I’d been awake that day, figured my problems, as regarded bootleggers at least, were at an end. Sam’s impending visit not only made me wonder about that, but it successfully killed my appetite. Boy,
that
doesn’t happen often. I ate my orange and shoved the bacon and waffles around on my plate for a few minutes.

      
“Daisy Gumm Majesty, you’re too old to be playing with your food,” Vi snapped.

      
I regret to say that I burst out crying and ran from the table, flinging, “I don’t
want
to do any more work for the police!” over my shoulder as I did so. Vi and Billy both probably thought I was crazy, although Billy finished his breakfast before he joined me in our bedroom. By that time I was face down on the bed, Spike at my side, wishing I were dead. Again.

      
“Hey, Daisy, it’ll be all right. Sam’s probably only going to tell you what they’ve done with the crooks.”

      
“Huh.”

      
He took the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Spike. “Come on, Daisy, get up and get dressed. It’s Saturday, and maybe we can take Spike for a walk. The weather’s not too cold, and it’s sunny out.”

      
Wiping my eyes, I pushed myself to a sitting position, beginning to feel guilty for being such a sissy. Billy was probably right, and Sam was probably going to do exactly what Billy expected him to do. My heart didn’t buy it, but I knew I owed it to my husband, the only man I’d ever loved and ever would love, to get control of my emotions.

      
“Sure,” I said, the word as thick as mud. “Yeah. You’re right.” Deciding to forego wallowing for another little while, I surveyed my spouse.

      
Poor Billy still hadn’t gained what little strength he’d had before his recent illness, but his color was better, and he seemed to be looking a little healthier every day. A walk sounded like a good idea.

      
“Let’s go for a walk!” I said it brightly so that Spike would understand.

      
He did, all right. At the word
walk
he bounded off the bed, ran around in a circle twice, and raced out to the service porch where his leash hung.

      
I sighed. “Just let me get my coat.”

      
“I’ll get my jacket,” said Billy.

      
The telephone rang just before Billy, Spike, and I got to the front door. I glanced back at Aunt Vi, indecisive.

      
Vi didn’t suffer from such wishy-washy sentimental claptrap. She waved us off imperiously and said, “I’ll tell whoever it is that you’re not home.” Then she added, “And that you
won’t
be home until Monday morning. In fact, I’ll tell everyone who calls that.”

      
An entire weekend free. Sounded like heaven to me. Provided, of course, that the telephone call was for me. As I opened the front door and pushed Billy’s chair through it, attempting to hold Spike at bay at the same time—he always lunged for the wide open spaces as soon as they were revealed unto him—I heard Vi say, “Mrs. Majesty is unavailable until Monday morning. Please telephone again then.”

      
Billy chuckled. “Saved by your aunt.”

      
“Thank God for aunts.”

      
Therefore, it was with a relatively light heart that I pushed Billy’s chair down the ramp on our front porch that fine morning in early March. Spring was just about to burst forth, and I no longer had to consort with bootleggers and gangsters. Sure, I still had an ill husband, a sick father, and a whole host of nutty clients—and Sam Rotondo—but I was used to dealing with those things. It was the criminal part of my life I was thrilled to be rid of.

      
“Oh, Daisy!”

      
The warbling cry came from across the street when I was not more than a house down from our bungalow. It was more difficult to convince Spike to stop than it was to halt the forward motion of Billy’s chair, particularly since we had one of those newfangled wheelchairs that Billy could operate himself via the oversized wheels. Therefore, I only had to struggle with Spike in order to see who had hailed me thus.