Chapter 23.

Rehearsal Tuesday evening was sparsely populated. Sam wouldn't tell me if Gloria remained in the hospital, but if she'd been released, I guess either she or her voice wasn't up to the rigors of rehearsal. Perhaps both. Whatever the problem, if there was one, she wasn't at rehearsal.

"I think you're being mean, Sam Rotondo. It's not as though I'd tell anyone if you let on how your investigation is going. I think I deserve to know if you expect me to help you by holding a seance. I know darned good and well you don't believe I can talk to spirits."

"Nuts. I'm doing my job. You can do your job by singing tonight, Thursday and Saturday, and holding that seance on Saturday night."

During this conversation we were walking from his Hudson to the door to the church sanctuary. When I glanced at him, I noticed a distinctly smug expression on his face. Darn it all! He was up to something! If he expected me to help him with it, he really should let me in on the details. After all, I'd helped him before a good deal. I'd never blab. He should have known that by then.

When we entered the sanctuary, the lights were on for once, so we could see the entire large room. I was amazed and delighted to look at the chancel and spy Flossie Buckingham, a dear friend whom I'd met during a... Hmm. Well, I'd met Flossie during a raid on a speakeasy, but I hadn't been there to carouse. I'd gone there as a favor to Mrs. Pinkerton. Flossie had been there because she was attached in an illicit manner to a vicious gangster named Jinx Jenkins. But Johnny Buckingham, a captain in the Salvation Army, and I had saved both her life and, I guess, her soul, because they'd been married for a couple of years by that time and were, as far as I knew, blissfully happy.

Therefore, I called out, "Flossie! How good to see you here!" I ran the last few yards down the center aisle of the church and bounded up onto the chancel. Not precisely churchlike behavior on my part, but the church was being used as an opera house at the moment, so I don't believe I should be censured for my exuberance, even though Mr. Hostetter did frown at me. He was such a stuffy person!

"Daisy! I'm so happy you're here. Detective Rotondo asked if I could come here and help out this evening, since I guess one of the three little maids is sick."

"Sam? Sam asked you to come?" I whirled around and tried to find Sam in the sanctuary. Aha. There he was. Smiling like the Cheshire cat from a front pew. Puzzled, I turned back to Flossie.

"Yes. He came to our church yesterday, and he and Johnny talked for the longest time. Then it was actually Johnny who asked me to sing tonight. And Thursday, if that poor woman is still under the weather."

I dearly loved both Johnny, whom I'd known from childhood, and Flossie, who used to be a gangster's moll but who wasn't any longer. She also used to have a perfectly hideous New York accent, but she'd taken her release from the gangsters seriously, and now she spoke as though she might have visited New York once upon a time, but was really just one of our native Pasadenans. Sort of.

Her physical appearance had undergone even more of a change than her accent. To look at her, you'd never have guessed her background. She had a charming brown bob, as opposed to the violent blond locks of three years prior, and she wore demure, tasteful clothing, most of which she made herself. I tell you, until I met Flossie, I didn't know a person could change so much.

Except, of course, for my Billy, but the Kaiser had done him in. Flossie had perpetrated her redemption via her own efforts. Well, and those of Johnny, who loved her deeply. Flossie has always credited me with her salvation, but truth to tell, I'd been trying to get rid of her when I palmed her off onto Johnny.

That sounds terrible, and it isn't entirely true, but there's enough truth in the statement to make me feel guilty a whole lot. But I felt guilty all the time anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter.

"Well, I'm so glad you're here. I didn't know you could sing!"

"Oh, yeah. I used to sing in clubs when I was a kid."

I didn't ask her what kinds of clubs, since I thought I knew, and I shuddered inside. The poor woman had been born in one of New York's roughest, meanest neighborhoods, and had been on her own since she was a young adolescent. Small wonder she'd fallen into shady ways with shady characters. But not any longer. She made the perfect Salvation Army Captain's wife. What's more, she and Johnny had a little boy whom they named William, after my Billy.

"If you ladies don't mind," said Mr. Hostetter coldly. "We need to get this rehearsal under way. Mrs. Buckingham, thank you very much for filling in for Mrs. Lippincott, who is under the weather. Let me introduce you to the rest of the cast."

So he did, and I watched. I took particular notice of Max and Connie Van der Linden. Connie didn't look quite as sick today as she had on Saturday. Max still seemed to hover over her solicitously. I didn't know whether to brand him as a murdering maniac or applaud him for the tender care he extended to his wife. They were both nice to Flossie, so I decided to await events before making any judgments.

How kind of me, huh?

"And you read music, Mrs. Buckingham?" Max asked her.

"Sort of. I know the music to The Mikado, because I sang one of the three little maids back in New York."

"Wonderful." Mr. Hostetter unbent enough to give her a warm smile.

"Thank you so much for helping us out," said Max, shaking Flossie's hand.

"Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Buckingham," said Connie, smiling her sweet smile at Flossie.

The schedule for that day was to go over the entire operetta scene by scene. The ultimate performances were scheduled for Friday and Saturday, December seventh and eighth; and Friday and Saturday, December fourteenth and fifteenth. That was cutting our Advent and Christmas schedules mighty short, but, as everyone kept telling everyone else, it was for a good cause.

Flossie had a lovely, rich soprano voice. Maybe it wasn't quite as great as Gloria's, but I suspect Gloria'd had vocal training. Poor Flossie had just struggled along on her own all her life until she met Johnny. It was sure more fun for me to be in the cast with Flossie than with Gloria. I do believe others felt the same way. Maybe not. Perhaps my own views on Gloria were coloring my perception.

George Finster, while not entirely recovered from his bout of laryngitis, was back and whispering his part as the Mikado. This left Sam free to peruse the cast, take notes and... talk to Johnny Buckingham.

Johnny Buckingham? I squinted into the sanctuary, where the lights had been dimmed. I guess Flossie saw me, because she moseyed over and said, "Johnny brought me. One of our dear ladies at the Salvation Army is taking care of Billy." She giggled. "It's kind of fun for the two of us to get away without the baby for once."

I think I goggled at Flossie, although I'm not sure. But... They'd left their baby alone with a congregant so they could come to a rehearsal of The Mikado? What kind of holiday was that?

On the other hand, what did I know about rearing children? Perhaps even an evening at a rehearsal was like a holiday for the fairly new parents.

"Do you know why Sam and Johnny are talking? They look mighty serious to me."

"Yes," said Flossie. "But you'll have to get Detective Rotondo to tell you about it. I've been sworn to secrecy."

"You've what?"

Another giggle. "Sorry, Daisy. I have to run now. The three little maids have their song coming up."

"But-"

But nothing. Flossie was off, joining Connie Van der Linden and Lucy Spinks. The trio sounded good together; at least as good as the trio featuring Gloria Lippincott. I had the no-doubt sinful wish that Gloria would be too sick to continue in her role as Pitti-Sing.

I was going to have a serious talk with Sam, however, as soon as ever I could, which wouldn't be until after rehearsal.

Immediately after rehearsal, however, I didn't get to interrogate the big brute because Flossie, Johnny, Sam, and I went to the soda fountain at the Rexall Drug Store on Colorado to get an ice-cream soda. On a freezing Tuesday evening in November. But never mind that.

"This is fun," said Flossie, her cheeks pink with pleasure and her hand in that of her husband, who was also cheerful as all get-out.

"It is," agreed Johnny. "We don't get to dine out often."

"I don't know if you can call this dining, exactly," I said, aching to get Sam to myself so I could pester him until he told me what he had planned. This was especially true since what he had planned clearly-at least it seemed clear to me-involved my own personal self and my own personal seance. Perhaps even my own personal safety.

"Our standards aren't as high as yours," said Johnny with a laugh. "We never get to have a meal-or even a dessert-out. Besides, this is where we met."

The loving glance he shared with Flossie would have made me blush if it hadn't made my eyes fill with tears instead. How silly of me. But I remembered being in love like that. It seemed like a long time ago now. But once upon a time Billy and I had been just as starry-eyed as Johnny and Flossie.

I glanced at Sam in the glare of the drug-store lights. He had declared his love for me a year or so earlier. We hadn't talked about it much since, although we'd grown closer in the ensuing months. Could I ever feel that same amazing love for Sam that I'd felt for Billy?

Actually, probably not. I wasn't a romantic seventeen-year-old girl any longer. I was a widow of twenty-three, and Sam was a widower of nearly thirty. We'd both been through the rapture of what we'd presumed would be deathless love. But both of our loves had died anyway, and in both cases, slowly and painfully.

Oh, well.

We had an enjoyable treat, I selecting hot chocolate over ice cream, and then Flossie and Johnny headed back to the Salvation Army, where they lived in a little house behind the church, and Sam and I got into his Hudson and headed north on Marengo to my house.

Sam had just got into the machine and shut his door when I started in on him. "Very well, Sam Rotondo, you'd better tell me what's going on and what it has to do with the seance on Saturday. And why have you involved Johnny and Flossie? It's not fair of you to keep secrets from me, especially since I'm involved. Heck, we're talking about a coldblooded murderer-or maybe even two of them-and I might be in danger!"

"Keep your socks on," he told me, sounding snarly. No surprise there.

"I'm not wearing socks."

"Keep your stockings on, then. I'll tell you all about it when we get to your house."

"Promise?"

He eyed me as if I were a crawly worm, which I don't think was fair. "Promise."

"Thank you." I sat back, if not satisfied, at least glad about Sam's promise of satisfaction to come.

Pa and Spike greeted us, Pa with the news that Ma and Vi had gone to bed. Spike was only glad to see the two of us. I love dogs. They don't allow themselves to become confused the way people do. They're loving and loyal, and they're always happy to greet their humans, even when their humans are grumpy or annoyed. In this case, Sam was grumpy and I was annoyed.

"How'd rehearsal go?" asked Pa as if he really wanted to know.

"It was swell," I said. "Flossie Buckingham is filling in for Gloria Lippincott while she's sick. Actually, I hope she fills in for her for the entire show."

"She probably will," said Sam, with something of a smirk.

"All right, Sam Rotondo," said I, taking off my warm woolen coat and tossing it on the piano bench in the living room. Then I sat on the bench, too, and crossed my arms over my chest. "Tell me right this minute what's going on."

Pa's eyebrows lifted. "Something's going on?"

"Yes. And Sam's using me to do it, but I swear to heaven, I won't perform that dratted seance until you tell me why I'm doing it, Detective." I gave Sam as steely a glare as I could come up with.

"All right, all right. I'll tell you."

"May I listen in?" asked Pa mildly. "Sounds interesting so far."

"As long as you don't tell anyone else," said Sam, making my short temper spike once more.

"My father, for your information, is not a blabbermouth!"

"Never said he was," said Sam, hanging his heavy overcoat on the coat tree beside the front door. He plopped his hat on another hook. "Just want to be clear. Nobody is to know about our machinations until the time comes."

"Machinations, eh? Now I'm really interested," said Pa, grinning and sitting in a chair next to the piano bench.

Sam came over and plunked himself on the sofa so that he was facing Pa and me. "Very well," said he. "It's like this."

And he told us everything.

Or so I thought.

Chapter 24.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, shocked out of my temper fit.

"Nope," said Sam, looking smug. "We did the background checks, and that's what we came up with. Michael Lippincott is the third of Gloria's husbands to come to a sticky end. We know she's behind whatever it is that's going on."

"She's been married three times?" Heck, one marriage had about done me in, although that wasn't my fault. Or Billy's. I still blame the Kaiser for our marital troubles.

"She has, indeed. And, as I said, all three of her husbands have died in mysterious automobile accidents. They've all had money, too. Michael Lippincott left her a small fortune."

"I'm pretty sure she told me he was in debt to gamblers."

"She lied." Sam shrugged.

I let that sit for a moment as I tried to digest it. "But if she's already got a fortune-"

"As of a week or so ago, she's got three of them," said Sam, interrupting me.

"Then if she doesn't need money, why does she keep marrying and bumping off her spouses?"

"Greedy, I reckon," said Sam.

"Extremely greedy, I'd say," said Pa.

"I guess so," I muttered, trying to imagine what kind of person would marry and then murder his or her spouses. Well, I guess all I had to do was look at Gloria to see what kind of person would do that. Still... It was difficult to imagine a woman committing those awful murders.

Sam went on, "She's worked her way from New York through Kansas City, and she ended up in Pasadena two and a half years ago. She married Michael Lippincott three years ago in KC, and then she wanted to move to California, so he brought her here."

"Goodness gracious. She told me she and her husband had been estranged. Was that a lie?"

"I doubt it," said Sam. "They weren't living together for some time. I think he wanted a divorce. I think she decided she'd make more money if she killed him than if she divorced him."

"But she couldn't have run him down," I pointed out. "You yourself told me she was at a blameless bridge party at the Hastings' mansion when the deed was done."

"She must have an accomplice," said Pa.

"That's what I've been saying all along," I agreed. "But who is it? Do you know that part yet, Sam?"

"Nope. That's what we're using the seance for."

Mouth agape, I stared at him, unable to find words in my brain that would string themselves together into a coherent sentence.

That was all right. Sam understood. "This is where your buddy, Captain Buckingham, comes in," he told Pa and me. "He's going to be the ghost of Michael Lippincott, and he'll appear at your seance. We figure whoever is aiding the Lippincott dame will cave when they see a real-well, a fake, but you know what I mean-ghost. Not too many people are as coldblooded as she is."

"I hope you're right. What if no one confesses?"

"Gloria will fold eventually."