Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) Read Free Page A

out to be a problem given the state of our relationship, which was rocky at best.
    “Who’s Margaret?” whispered Harold as Sam walked off.
    “His late wife. She died of tuberculosis shortly after they moved to Pasadena.”
    “I didn’t know he’d ever been married.” It sounded as though the notion of Sam having a wife came as a surprise to Harold. I couldn’t fault him for that. Sam didn’t go around spreading warmth and cozy feelings right and left.
    “Yes.” I sighed. “He’s not such a bad person, I guess.”
    “Hmm. Well, it’s nice that he’s trying to look out for you,” said Harold doubtfully. He and Sam weren’t best buddies, because Sam disapproved of Harold and Del.
    “I suppose,” said I, giving the matter no more thought. Heck, I didn’t have the energy to think. Enervated probably best describes my overall state of being.
    Mrs. Bissell, who had given me Spike after I’d performed an exorcism on her basement—a long story I won’t go in to here—came over just then and said, “I’m so terribly sorry, dear. I think the Kaiser should be tried and hanged for war crimes.”
    “I absolutely agree with you, Missus Bissell. Thank you for coming.”
    “Spike is looking well, dear. You’re doing a wonderful job with him.”
    That was nice to hear, and I was about to tell her so, when a honking voice spoke up at my right elbow. If I’d had the energy, I might have jumped. “She certainly is. Why, that dog of hers and Mister Majesty’s came in first at my last obedience training class.”
    This piece of information was delivered in her characteristic loud, hollow voice by Mrs. Pansy Hanratty, who had indeed instructed Billy and me in how to train our dog at the Pasanita Dog Obedience School. In fact, our last lesson, the one in which Spike had ended up at the head of his class, had been held only a week before Billy’s death. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and it hadn’t even been two weeks. Funny how time has a habit of speeding up and slowing down when you aren’t watching.
    “Excellent,” said Mrs. Bissell. I got the impression she and Mrs. Hanratty already knew each other, because they moseyed off together, leaving me with my friends. Both ladies were deeply involved with dogs. Mrs. Hanratty taught people how to make them obey. Mrs. Bissell bred dachshunds. Her major ambition in life was to show a dog at the American Kennel Club’s Westminster Dog Show one day.
    When you have enough money, I suppose your ambitions alter to suit your circumstances. Most of the Gumms and Majestys of the world were only concerned with making a living from one day to the next.
    Flossie appeared with my punch and Johnny, who eyed me with sympathetic understanding. “Any time you need a shoulder, Daisy, you know mine’s available,” he told me with a smile.
    “Thanks, Johnny. I’m surprised you can still hear out of those ears of yours, I’ve poured so much junk into them.”
    “Nonsense. That’s what I’m in this world for. If you need us for anything at all, Flossie and I will always be available for you.”
    He meant it, too. That’s what I mean about the Salvation Army. They don’t care if you’re rich or poor or considered “good” or “bad” by society at large; the Army loves you anyway, and will help you with anything from food and clothes to counseling. Great organization, in my opinion, which isn’t universally shared by my Methodist cohorts.
    “Thanks, guys. I couldn’t ask for better friends.” My tear-stained gaze encompassed Flossie, Johnny, Harold and Del . . . and Sam Rotondo, who had suddenly reappeared, my father at his elbow.
    Pa was clearly as upset as I. He had loved Billy like another son. My brother Walter was there that day with his wife Jeanette, as was my sister Daphne and her husband Daniel. Daphne and Daniel’s two daughters, Polly and Peggy, were staying with a friend for the day, since neither Daphne nor Daniel thought a funeral appropriate for children