Why would anyone choose to be hated and/or jailed by people who only judged them by their one little idiosyncrasy. If that's what it is. I don't know. All I know is that neither Harold nor Del could help being what they are. Don't even try to argue with me about this, because I remain adamant in my position.
So there you go.
"You probably don't have to go so far as to ask Sam," I told Harold. "Just ask Vi the next time you see her. Or, heck, I can ask her and give the recipe to you."
"Spaghetti Rotondo. I think I'll open a restaurant and feature it as a specialty dish."
"Don't even think about it," I told him. "If Sam didn't kill you for it, I would." Then I laughed.
"Oh, very well. But let me pick you up in about thirty minutes, and we'll tootle off to the Castleton."
"Sounds great to me. Thanks, Harold."
"Any time."
I only wished.
All right, so now I'll tell you about Miss Emmaline Castleton. She was the daughter of Mr. Henry Castleton, railroad magnate and robber baron, who retired and spent some of his ill-gotten gains on a perfectly fabulous home in San Marino, only a mile or two south of Pasadena. The grounds are vast, there's a sculpture garden, a Japanese garden, and all sorts of other gardens. Miss Castleton had been engaged to marry a young man named Stephen Allison, who was killed in the war. We had a lot in common, Emmaline Castleton and me, even if we did come from vastly separate stratospheres on the economic scale.
Mr. Castleton also was a founder of the Castleton Memorial Hospital and the magnificent Castleton Hotel on South Oak Knoll Avenue in Pasadena. The man was made of money, in other words.
Pa and Spike, who'd gone out for a walk together as I'd been tarot-ing with Mrs. Wright and talking to Flossie, came home before I had to leave. I was as delighted to see Spike as he was to see me. I love dogs in general, but Spike was special. I love Pa, too, in case you wondered.
Harold was right on time. Because I didn't want Spike to feel slighted, I slithered out the front door while he was occupied in drinking from his water bowl in the kitchen, and walked out to Harold's Stutz Bearcat. Loved that car, and luckily, probably because of the weather, he had the top up. Good thing, or we'd have been blown to bits.
Harold hopped out of the machine and rushed to open my door for me. He bowed as deeply as any butler. "Enter, your Majesty."
"Cut it out with the Majesty jokes, Harold." But I giggled.
Grinning like an imp, he shut my door and hurried to his side of the car. When he got inside, he said, "But you have such a perfect name. It goes so well with your line of work, too. Desdemona Majesty. What could be more perfect?"
"I dunno. Being born to money?" If Harold could throw applesauce at me, I could throw some back at him, by golly.
"Maybe. Hasn't helped my idiot sister any."
"Bet it has. If she'd been poor from birth, she'd have been locked up years ago, and nobody would have bothered bailing her out."
After considering this unflattering comment for a second or two, he said, "You're right. Having money's better than not having it."
"As if you'd know," said I.
"Ah, but I mingle with peasants like you, and you keep my feet on the ground."
"Pooh. Harold, you're pip. You know that, don't you?"
"Absolutely."
And with a smile as big and wide as his tummy, Harold drove us to the Castleton. I reasoned from this that Del and Emmaline were expected to arrive at Emmaline's father's hotel on their own.
I was right. Del stood outside in the cold, his topcoat and hat keeping him warm, looking like the southern gentleman he was. I didn't see Emmaline until we entered the grand hotel. By the way, Harold drove up to the entrance and a liveried fellow ran up to him, bowed, and opened my door while another liveried lackey opened Harold's door and then got into the machine. Harold took my arm, we greeted Del, and we waltzed into the hotel without giving the Bearcat another glance. From this I deduced that the