"So what the hell-"

"Stop swearing at me! I'm not through! After I hung up, Mrs. Barrow, our snoopy party-line neighbor 'phoned me. She said that while my receiver was hanging there, some guy entered Gloria's house, and he sounded menacing."

"Menacing?"

I could almost hear Sam rolling his eyes.

"That's what Mrs. Barrow said. And Gloria seemed awfully scared when she called, and especially when she hung up. If she hung up."

"What do you mean, if she hung up?"

"Well, maybe someone killed her and let the receiver dangle."

I heard Sam suck in a truckload of air. "If she didn't hang up, that other lady wouldn't have been able to get through to you."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

"Surprise, surprise."

"Don't be unpleasant, Sam Rotondo. What if someone is at Gloria's house right now, trying to murder her?"

"I thought she was the one doing the murdering."

I huffed. "I thought so, too, but now she claims to be sick. Maybe whoever's poisoning Connie is poisoning her, too."

"Back to poison again, are you?"

"Oh, bother you, Sam Rotondo! Gloria asked me to go to her house, and I'm going to do it right this minute! If you don't want to know what's going on, I do!"

"Oh, no you don't!"

"Oh, yes I will!"

"Damnation, Daisy Majesty, stay right where you are. I'll pick you up, and we'll both drive to the Lippincott place."

How sweet! I'd never in a million years tell him so. With barely a sniff, I said, "Thank you, Sam. That's kind of you."

"Huh."

And, for the third time that day, someone hung up on me. This time I didn't mind even more than I didn't mind when Mrs. Barrow hung up on me. Bless Sam's crabby little heart, he was going to take me to Gloria's! It crossed my mind to wonder if he knew where she lived, but then I recalled he'd questioned the woman before with regard to the police investigation of her husband's death, so he must know her address.

"What's going on out here?" My mother appeared in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Guess she'd taken a nap after that gigantic meal Vi had fed us.

"Sam's going to pick me up in a minute or two," I told her. "We're going to be visiting one of the Mikado cast members."

"Didn't I hear the telephone ring a couple of times?"

"Yes. The first time it was Gloria Lippincott calling, and the second time it was Mrs. Barrow."

Ma stared at me. "Mrs. Barrow? Did she call to yell at you or something?"

I grinned as I headed to my bedroom to get my hat, gloves and coat. "Oddly enough, no. She called because she'd listened in on my conversation with Mrs. Lippincott-"

"The nosy old thing!" cried my mother, bless her.

"Yes, she is. But she might have overheard something important, and she telephoned to tell me about it. That was nice of her."

"If you say so," Ma said. She headed toward the refrigerator, so I guess her nap had helped her digest that mammoth meal. But she only reached for the milk and poured herself a glass. "Why is Sam taking you to that woman's house?"

Hmm. How should I explain this excursion to my mother without worrying her? "Mrs. Barrow said she thought she heard someone threatening Gloria." That wasn't much of a fib. "And I called Sam to tell him about it, and he said he'd pick me up, and we could go over to Mrs. Lippincott's house together. She asked me to visit her, but I didn't want to go alone. I'm not sure I trust her."

Shaking her head, Ma said, "I don't know about those theater people, Daisy. I've always heard they're a rum lot. Maybe the rumors are true."

"Maybe. But Harold works in the pictures, and he's a great guy."

"But he's not an actor."

"He is in The Mikado. He's got a huge role."

"But he's not an actor by trade. I think most of them-the actors, I mean-are crazy. Well, they must be if they want to parade themselves all over the screen for the whole world to see. And you're forever reading about them killing themselves with drugs and alcohol and things like that. And then there's' that awful Fatty Arbuckle who killed that woman."

"He was found not guilty," I said for the heck of it. "In fact, in three trials, two voted primarily for acquittal, and the last one actually wrote him an apology."

"Hmph. He was guilty of lewd behavior at the very least. And that poor murdered William Desmond Taylor. You don't hear about people in our circle getting murdered. It's always those picture people. Most unsavory." Ma frowned.

Interesting perspective, and one I'd heard before. Or at least read about. "You may well be right. Connie and Max Van der Linden seem nice, but Gloria Lippincott is another kettle of fish entirely. A kind of stinky one."

"Daisy!"

"You started it."

"Don't be childish," advised my mother.

"You're right. Sorry, Ma."

Ma said no more, but drank her milk, rinsed out her glass, and retired to the living room. After I'd put on my coat, hat and gloves, I walked to the living room, too, and saw she was all snug on the sofa, Spike reclining beside her, and she was reading The Man Who Knew Too Much, by Mr. G. K. Chesterton. I still hadn't figured out why so many British authors only used their initials. Not that it matters.

Because I didn't want to upset Spike by exciting him with Sam's arrival and then making him miserable because of Sam's departure, I decided to wait for Sam on the front porch. It was cold out there. I pulled my cloche down to cover my ears, crossed my arms over my chest, and stamped back and forth on the front porch in order to keep from freezing to the spot. I guess people get soft from living in California. I expect my Eastern relations would scoff at me for being a sissy as they shoveled snow off their sidewalks. Oh, well. It all boils down to what one is accustomed to when it comes to weather.

Sam didn't keep me waiting long. I saw his headlamps as he drove up Marengo Avenue, and I walked out to the street so he wouldn't have to park or anything. He parked anyway, and opened my door for me.

I said, "Thanks, Sam."

He said, "Huh."

"Do you know Gloria's address?"

"Yes."

"I hope she's all right."

"I bet you do."

"I do," I said, stung, although not a whole lot.

"Thought you hated the woman."

"I don't hate anybody. I don't much like her, but I don't want anyone to murder her, either."

"Right."

Very well. So much for conversation with the granite slab that was Detective Sam Rotondo when he was being difficult.

Gloria Lippincott's lavish California Boulevard home wasn't awfully far away from our more modest abode on Marengo Avenue. We passed groves and groves of orange trees on our way south to California, but since it was the beginning of autumn, no sweet-smelling orange-blossom scent kissed our nostrils. In truth, it was dark as pitch out there, and I couldn't see anything beyond the strip of road Sam's head lamps illuminated. It was kind of eerie.

After several silent minutes, Sam said, "Here it is. Eight forty-eight East California Boulevard." I guess he squinted into the darkness because he said, "Big place."

"All the houses down here are big."

"Yeah."

He pulled to a stop in front of a dense hedge of something or other. Couldn't tell what it was in the dark. "Don't park so close that I can't open my door," I told Sam.

"I didn't. You can get out."

"All right."

"Wait until I get my flashlight, so you don't fall and break your neck."

How kind and considerate of him. But he was in copper mode, so I guess he didn't feel particularly sentimental about being out with me after dark. This was especially true since I'd more or less forced him to take this trip with me.

By the light of Sam's big, policemanly flashlight, I discovered he was right about not being too close to the hedge. I opened my own door, and, thanks to Sam's light, recognized the hedge as a bunch of gardenia bushes. "Boy, I bet these smell swell during the summer months." We had a couple of gardenia bushes at home, but there must have been twenty or thirty of them in the Lippincotts' hedge.

"Yeah. You'll have to visit during the summer since you're such pals with Mrs. Lippincott."

"Why are you being so hateful tonight, Sam Rotondo?"

"No reason. I love being interrupted in the middle of doing paperwork in order to go on nutty errands with you."

"You didn't have to come. I said I'd come by myself," I reminded him.

"Right. Sure as anything, if you did that, something would be wrong here, and I'd have to come rescue you."

"I don't need rescuing!"

However, I truly was grateful that I hadn't made this trip by myself. Except for Sam's flashlight, there wasn't a single other light around at first. Once we found the drive, I could see that light emanated from the stately home, which sat a hundred yards or so from the street. "Hmm. She must still be awake, anyhow," I murmured.

"It's only around seven or seven-thirty," said Sam.

"Seems later than that."

"Because of the time change."

"I guess."

Sam took my arm, I guess so I wouldn't trip and fall over my own feet, since nothing else seemed to be in the way, and we walked up the drive together. About seventy-five yards of not much of anything but lawn and cement driveway, I saw a long white porch to the right of us. Lights blazed all over the place, and the door to the mansion stood slightly ajar. I squinted to make sure of that. I was definitely ajar.

"That doesn't seem right," I said.

"What doesn't seem right?"

"The door being left open like that."

"Well, let's go and see if the lady's been poisoned to death."

"Sam Rotondo-"

I didn't get any father into my lecture than that, because as soon as Sam pushed the already-slightly-open door a little bit more open, we saw a woman lying on the floor.

Chapter 20.

"Oh, my Lord!" I cried from the doorway, my hands at my frozen cheeks. "Is she dead?"

"I don't know. Stay there," Sam ordered.

I didn't stay there. I followed him to the figure on the floor. Gloria Lippincott. I could tell it was she by the white-blond waves of hair, although she was lying on her side facing away from us.

Sam leaned over Gloria, and felt for a pulse in her neck.

"Is she dead?" I asked again.

"No. She's alive, but her pulse feels weak."

"Does she have any injuries that you can see?"

"I don't know. Dammit, let me do my job, will you?"

"Sorry," I muttered, irked.

"See if you can find a telephone. Call an ambulance. I'll see what I can do for her here."

Familiar as I was with homes of rich people, I headed for the staircase straight ahead. Most of the rich folks I knew had a telephone closet underneath the staircase.