"I hope Spike didn't wake up Ma," I said, feeling guilty that I hadn't taught my dog better manners. Heck, if I could teach him arithmetic, I could surely teach him not to carry on so loudly when a family member came home from an evening out.

"You mother sleeps like a rock," said Pa. "And it's not that late. Heck, your aunt isn't even home yet."

"Good Lord, do you mean to tell me she's still working at the Pinkertons'? I thought they'd have had someone bring her home before now. The poor woman must have worked herself to death today!" I felt guilty, mainly because I should have asked Vi if she wanted to ride home with Sam and me.

"Don't work yourself into a lather, Daisy," said Pa. "Vi called about forty-five minute ago and said that Harold was going to drive her home soon."

Bless Harold's heart! "Oh, that's so nice of him!"

"He's a nice fellow," said Pa, who either didn't know or didn't care about Harold's... what would you call it? Eccentricity? Well, that's as good a word as any, I suppose.

Sam didn't have time to grunt a rebuttal, because Spike tore off to the front door again and began his "I'm so happy you're home" routine. I walked to the door, told Spike to hush, Spike hushed, and I opened the door. Vi all but fell into the house. Harold, who had accompanied her, winked at me and stepped into the house, too.

"Thank you again, Mrs. Gumm," said Harold as he walked Vi into the dining room, Spike cavorting at their heels.

"Stop thanking me, Harold Kincaid. You know I love putting on shindigs."

"Yes, but I'm afraid Mother about worked you to death over this one."

"It was for Daisy and Sam, and that made it all worthwhile," said my delightful aunt. Naturally her words made me feel even guiltier.

"Delicious meal, Mrs. Gumm," said Sam, who had stood when she came into the room, almost as if he were a real gentleman.

"My brother knew a good thing when he found it," said Pa, smiling fondly at Vi.

"Get along with you, Joe," said Vi, flapping a hand at my father. "I'm going to get myself a glass of water, and then I'm going to climb those stairs and might never wake up again."

"You'd better wake up again," I told her. "How would the family survive without you?"

"Well, that's the truth," said Vi. "Neither you nor your mother can cook a lick."

"Oh, I forgot!" Harold cried. And darned if he didn't dash to the front door, fling it open and hurry on outside.

"Don't worry," said Vi, taking note of our various startled expressions. "He's just going to carry in the box of leftovers I brought home. We can eat them for lunch and dinner tomorrow."

I know it's stupid-I was positively stuffed to the gills-but my mouth began to water. "Oh, Vi, thank you! I'm so glad!"

She laughed and marched to the kitchen. "I know you are, Daisy, but you really should thank the Pinkertons. They're the ones who paid for all of it. There's plenty, so we'll all eat well tomorrow. Mrs. Pinkerton gave me the day off."

Harold, huffing slightly as he carried in a large cardboard box from which emanated enticing aromas, said, "As well she should have. You worked like a slave for my mother, Mrs. Gumm. And for days and days, not just today."

"Your mother is a special woman, Harold. I enjoy my job, and I try to give satisfaction."

"You more than give satisfaction. You've helped my mother through almost as many rough patches as Daisy has."

With a chuckle, Vi appeared at the door between the kitchen and the dining room holding a glass of water. "I doubt that. Daisy has a special touch with hyst-er... with your mother."

"With hysterical women, you mean," said Harold with a knowing grin. "And indeed she does. She's going to be singing in light opera soon, too."

"Harold!" I frowned ferociously at him.

"I heard about that," said Vi.

I stared at her.

"Mrs. Pinkerton told me, sweetie. She said you'd be perfect for some part named after a cat."

"Katisha," said I, my voice sagging with doom.

"Strange name." Vi turned, took her glass to the sink, rinsed it out and set it on the counter. "Well, I'm off to bed. Sleep tight."

"Yeah," I said, feeling gloomy. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

"Daisy!" said my formerly wonderful aunt. "The things you say."

"Good night," came a chorus from Harold, Pa and Sam.

Silence reigned for a moment or two as we watched my aunt open the door to the hallway and shut it behind her. We heard her heavy tread going up the staircase. She must have been awfully tired.

For that matter, so was I. Yawning, I said, "Thanks for coming with me, Sam. Even if you are on Harold's side."

"I'm on Harold's side, too, if he wants you to sing in the play," said Pa.

"Don't worry, Daisy. You'll be a spectacular Katisha." Sam winked at my father.

"Thanks. She's nasty, mean old witch."

"Perfect part for you," said Sam.

"Absolutely," said my father.

"Nuts to both of you. I'm going to bed." I stomped off to my room amid a chorus of masculine chuckles. Spike trotted at my feet. I could tell he was offended on my behalf. Well, I pretended he was, anyway.

I slept late on Wednesday morning, not rising from my warm and comfy bed until almost eight o'clock. When I grabbed a robe, shoved my feet into my tattered old slippers, and stumbled into the kitchen, I saw that Aunt Vi had also slept in. She stood at the stove in her own bathrobe, and had just lit a burner under the coffee pot. She glanced at me.

"Good morning, Daisy."

I wasn't ready to agree to anything yet, so I merely said, "Hi, Vi," and plunked myself on a chair at the kitchen table. A bowl of oranges sat perkily on the table, and I resented it. Why should those oranges be perky when I could barely open my eyes?

"Coffee will be ready soon. Would you like some eggs and toast?"

"You don't need to cook anything today, Vi. I can survive with some toast. I don't even burn it any longer, now that we have that keen electrical toaster."

"Nonsense. I like to cook. I guess your father and mother rose early. I'm sure Peggy's on her way to work, and I suppose Joe's taken Spike for a walk."

Startled, I glanced around the kitchen. Sure enough, no Spike wagged at me. "Shoot. I didn't even feel him jump off the bed."

"You were tired."

"Not nearly as tired as you."

"Pooh. I'm used to cooking for armies."

"Hmm."

I'd probably have thought of something more cogent to say to my excellent aunt, but at that moment the telephone on the kitchen wall started ringing. I turned my head and scowled at the instrument of torture. The ring belonged to our household. In those days, telephone rings were doled out individually. Ours was two long rings and a short one. Nuts. That stupid 'phone never rang in the morning unless Mrs. Pinkerton was on the other end of the wire-and I'd just left her house last night! Surely she couldn't have encountered a crisis this early on the day after her very own dinner party. Could she?

Thinking back over my long acquaintanceship with Mrs. Pinkerton, I knew it was entirely possible for a crisis to have arisen in her life overnight. She attracted crises like flowers attract bees. With a grunt, I shoved myself up onto my slippered feet and trudged to the 'phone.

It took a great effort of will to assume my low, soothing spiritualist's voice when I lifted the ear piece, stuck it to my ear, and said into the receiver, "Gumm-Majesty residence. Mrs. Majesty speaking."

"Daisy!"

I closed my eyes and prayed for patience. "Good morning, Mrs. Pinkerton. I'm surprised you're up and about so early this morning after that swell party you put on last night."

"Well, I'm just so excited, you see!" She was all but burbling. Generally when she called me, she wailed with distress. This sounded like a burble of pleasure. Instantly, I suspected The Mikado.

"Oh, but Harold told me you've agreed to play the part of Katisha, and I'm so thrilled!"

Darn and heck, I'd done no such thing! Feeling pressured and aggrieved, I yet held onto my spiritualist's voice. "I agreed to try out for the part," I said soothingly. Not that she needed soothing. I was the one with the ruffled feathers.

"Nonsense, dear. I know you'll be a perfect Katisha."

I paused for a couple of seconds, afraid that if I spoke, I'd shriek. After I knew I had myself under control, I purred mildly, "We'll see."

"Mr. Hostetter will tell you all about it at your choir rehearsal tomorrow night. I'm so excited about this!"

She even knew when I had choir rehearsal? Maybe I should change my name and move somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away from Mrs. Pinkerton. I'd liked Turkey. Maybe I should move to Constantinople. I could probably learn the language pretty easily, and Turkey was a pretty nice place. I'd visited it once, with Harold. Except for being sick and pursued by villains, I'd kind of enjoyed myself. The food there was really good.

But no. Mrs. Pinkerton had been my best client ever since I began my spiritualist career. Besides, I couldn't leave my family. "I'll be interested to get all the details from him tomorrow, then," said I.

"This is going to be so exciting!" And she rang off.

I carefully replaced the receiver and turned to find my aunt looking upon me with trepidation.

"Daisy..."

"Don't worry, Vi. I'm not going to holler or throw anything."

"Mrs. Pinkerton can be a trial sometimes."

"Sometimes!" Very well, so I'd just lied to my aunt and hollered. "That blasted woman is determined to ruin my life!"

Vi opened her mouth, thought better of speaking, shut her mouth again, and turned back to the stove.

I plunked myself down at the kitchen table once more and buried my head in my arms. Only when Vi placed a plate filled with bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me, did I decide I might as well bow to the inevitable.

"Thanks, Vi."

Boy, was I ever going to tell Mr. Hostetter what I thought of people planning my life for me tomorrow night!

Chapter 5.

But I didn't get the chance.

As soon as I walked through the door to the choir room at church on Thursday evening at seven, Mr. Hostetter rushed over to me, all atwitter. Mr. Hostetter isn't generally a twitterer.

"Mrs. Majesty!" he cried, sounding extremely happy. "I understand you've agreed to play the role of Katisha. May I say I'm absolutely thrilled. Thrilled that you'll be performing in the operetta. I've been wanting to use you as a soloist for the longest time, but I wasn't sure you were ready."

"I'm not," I said.

He didn't seem to notice.

"The Van der Lindens are here this evening, and after rehearsal, you and I can speak with them. There may be other choir members who'd like to try out for parts. I know George Finster has taken a bass role."

He didn't seem to be listening to me, but I spoke anyway, "How about Lucy Spinks?"

His rather small eyes went round. "Miss Spinks? Why, certainly! She has a... nice soprano voice. Perhaps she could be one of the schoolgirls."

"Yes, that's what I thought." The song, "Three Little Maids from School," was one of the perkiest ones in the whole operetta. While I didn't resent perkiness that evening as much as I had the morning before, it still irked me. Worse, "Three Little Maids from School" was one of the songs I liked best in The Mikado. I'd sung it at home to my own accompaniment on the piano and had rued my fate to exist in this life as an alto and not a soprano. Now I was sorry I could sing at all.

"Well, come along. Let's rehearse quickly, and then we'll discuss the operetta," said Mr. Hostetter, all but rubbing his hands with glee.

Shoot, I hadn't known the First Methodist-Episcopal Church (North) in Pasadena, California, harbored a repressed actor in our choir director until that very moment. Nevertheless, I followed him to the choir's nook behind the pulpit on the chancel and looked into the sanctuary. Sure enough, there sat Mr. and Mrs. Van der Linden, Harold, and... good Lord. Was that Mrs. Lippincott? I squinted a little harder-the main sanctuary lights weren't on-and saw that it was, indeed, Mrs. Lippincott, and she appeared as bored and languid as the last time I'd seen her. Oh, joy.

I walked back to my own personal chair, the one reserved for me among the altos, and sat, feeling peevish. Not Mr. Hostetter. He looked as if his butt had landed in the butter tub. That's one of Aunt Vi's expressions. Not quite sure what it means, but I can speculate.

He tapped his baton on his music stand and cleared his throat. Loudly. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to have a rather short rehearsal this evening. We've sung our Sunday's anthem before, and we've worked on next week's for a couple of weeks now, so we don't need to practice too much. There's something else I need to discuss with you after rehearsal." He smiled broadly at his choir.

So we only went through our anthem, "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," twice. That's one of my most favorite hymns, even though it was written by a German. He was long-ago German, however, and had had nothing whatsoever to do with Kaiser Bill. Then we sang our next week's anthem, "It is Well with My Soul," only once. That's another goodie, but we aren't here to talk about hymns. Darn it.

After Mr. Hostetter had rushed us through those two hymns, he told us to look up Sunday's hymns in our hymnals so that we'd be prepared when we gathered on the Sabbath. Then he said, "And now, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Max Van der Linden, who will explain why he and his group are here with us tonight."

So he did, and Mr. Van der Linden did, and all heck broke loose in our choir alcove. Actually, by that time we'd spread out onto the chancel. I decided to heck with it, and went into the sanctuary to sit with Harold. Mrs. Lippincott sat next to him on his other side and gave me a languorous smile.

"Good evening, Mrs. Majesty," said she.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lippincott," said I.

Then I turned to Harold. "You know, Harold Kincaid, I think it's mighty rotten of you to go behind my back, to my own choir director, for Pete's sake, and drag me into singing in an operetta I don't want to sing in." I sat back on the pew and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Nuts. You'll be great. Anyhow, Hostetter is beside himself with glee. Look at him." Harold gestured to the chancel, and I saw he was right. I'd never seen Mr. Hostetter look so happy.