Free Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) by Alice Duncan

Chevrolet.
    Boy, you just never knew, did you?
     
     

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    I never got the chance to thank Sam properly for rescuing me that night, because by the time I felt well enough to rejoin my family, it was bedtime. Then, of course, I felt guilty and decided maybe I should visit him at the police department the following day. He’d hate that. I’d visited him there before, and he always took umbrage. But that day, I’d be there to thank him, and that was different, wasn’t it?
    The telephone rang as I sat at the breakfast table with Pa, mulling over the problem of Sam and pretending to eat the delicious egg-and-potato casserole Aunt Vi had created for our delectation. She was already at work at Mrs. Pinkerton’s house, and Ma had gone to her job, so it was only Pa and me. And Spike, of course. There had been hundreds of time during the last five years when Billy, Pa and I had carried on lively conversations at the breakfast table.
    That morning, Pa read one section of the newspaper and I pretended to read another one as I secretly fed portions of my eggs and potatoes to Spike. I took a sideways glance at him and noticed the indentation in his sides where his waist used to nip in didn’t nip as much as it used to. Shoot. If only for Spike’s sake, I simply had to stop feeling sick at the thought of food.
    Rescued by the telephone—although I feared it meant another call to Mrs. Pinkerton’s house—I got up to answer it, saying lightly, “It’s got to be for me.” Our telephone hung on the kitchen wall, so it wasn’t a long walk.
    Pa chuckled. “I’m sure it is. Good luck.” He knew what a pain in the neck Mrs. Pinkerton was.
    I was surprised to hear Harold Kincaid’s voice on the other end of the wire. “Daisy Majesty, you were supposed to call me after you left Mother’s, but I’m not calling to scold you. You performed a miracle yesterday!” he said without even a “good morning” to start off the conversation.
    “I did?”
    “You did. Mother has refused to bail Stacy out, and she’s not going to appear in court when Stacy’s arraigned this morning, either. What’s more, she’s visiting the Salvation Army Church today to have a chat with your friend Mister Buckingham.”
    “Good gracious.”
    “You could say that. What’s more, according to your pal Sam—”
    “He’s not my pal,” I said instantly, interrupting Harold.
    “I don’t know why not. He’s not such a bad man. You could do worse.”
    Speechless, I held the receiver away from my ear and stared at it for a second or two until I heard Harold’s sharp, “Daisy! Are you listening to me?”
    Snapped back to attention, I lifted the receiver to my ear again. “I’m sorry, Harold. I . . . dropped the receiver.” Lie, lie, lie. Sometimes it seemed all I did back then was lie to the people I loved.
    “I said Detective Rotondo told me Stacy’s probably going to get three months for her antics this time.”
    “Three months? You mean three months in jail?”
    “Right-o. Three months in the Pasadena City Jail. It’s right there behind the police department. I’m so proud of Mother, I’m taking you to lunch today, because it was you who made her stand up to my rotten sister.”
    “Um . . .” Oh, God. More food I couldn’t eat.
    “Lunch,” said Harold firmly. “I’ll pick you up at one.”
    Hmm. Maybe by one, since I couldn’t eat my breakfast, I’d be hungry. Based on the experience of the past month or so, I doubted it, but at least if I went out to dine with Harold, I wouldn’t be contributing to turning my formerly slim and trim dachshund into a tugboat.
    So I said, “Thanks, Harold. It’ll be good to see you under circumstances more pleasant than yesterday’s were.”
    “You betcha, kid.”
    “Got a date for lunch?” Pa said after I’d replaced the receiver. He knew what Harold was—that is to say, he knew there was no romantic link between us and never would be—but Pa, unlike Billy and Sam,