Free Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] by Alice Duncan Page A

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