Bruised Spirits (A Daisy Gumm Majesty Mystery Book 10) Read online

  Bruised Spirits

  Daisy Gumm Majesty Mystery

  Book Ten

  by

  Alice Duncan

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-859-0

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2016 by Alice Duncan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Meet the Author

  Dedication

  For Nicky in Australia. She knows why, and I hope no other women ever have to learn the way she did.

  And, as ever, thanks to Lynne Welch and Sue Krekeler, my wonderful beta readers, who always tell me what I've done wrong and where to go. Wait. That didn't sound right. Oh, well...

  Chapter 1

  What's that feeling you get when you think you've been somewhere and experienced an incident before? It doesn't last long, but it's jarring. I think the alienists call it déjà vu or something like that.

  Whatever it's called, I had a distinct case of it when I opened the door to my family's tidy bungalow on South Marengo Avenue in the fair city of Pasadena, California, and beheld on my front porch Flossie Buckingham. Flossie, after a very difficult start in life as a poor girl in a dreadful slum in New York City, had moved to Pasadena with her then-lover, a gangster named Jinx Jenkins. She had once shown up at my door battered almost beyond recognition.

  That morning Flossie was fine. Her companion, however, looked very much as Flossie had looked that other morning a few years prior. I think she was in even worse shape than Flossie had been, because Flossie seemed to have to hold her up to keep her from collapsing onto the hard concrete of the porch.

  "Flossie!" I cried, bewildered, and slapping a hand to my chest, where I felt both the Voodoo juju given to me by a Voodoo mambo a year or so ago, and the gorgeous emerald engagement ring given to me by Detective Sam Rotondo the prior Christmas. More about that later.

  "Daisy, please let us come in," said Flossie in a soft voice, as if she didn't want others to overhear her. "This is Lily Bannister, and she desperately needs your help."

  My help? My help? The woman looked like she needed to be in the hospital, or at least under a doctor's care. I searched the curb next to our front lawn, where I espied Flossie and Johnny's Ford Model-T. "Where's Johnny?" I asked, sounding as befuddled as I felt.

  "Taking care of Billy," snapped Flossie, which was most unlike her. "Let us in, Daisy. Now."

  Billy, if you care, is the name of Flossie and Johnny's baby boy. They named him after my late, beloved husband, Billy Majesty. What was going on here?

  However, I trusted Flossie as I trusted few other people, so I stood back, making sure my family's black-and-tan dachshund, Spike, didn't jump on either Flossie or Mrs.—Miss?—Bannister.

  "Come in," I said, grateful the rest of my family was out. Ma and Aunt Vi were at their daily employment, and Pa had gone out to meet some friends and chat. My father is one of those folks for whom the expression "he never met a stranger" was invented. Great guy, my father.

  "Can you help me, Daisy?" Flossie asked, cocking her head for me to take Lily Bannister's other arm. So I did.

  Flossie and I carefully maneuvered the poor woman into the living room and over to the sofa, where we tried but failed to lower her gently. She sort of plopped onto the sofa with no other sound than a muffled groan and then a sob or two. I looked a question at Flossie, who appeared quite flustered, not a usual state for the gentle and loving Flossie Buckingham I'd come to know since she'd met and married my old childhood chum, Johnny Buckingham, a captain in the Salvation Army.

  "May we speak in private, Daisy?"

  My gaze was riveted on poor Lily Bannister, who sagged on the sofa. Both of her eyes were black and swollen, her lip was split, and she had bruises all over her face. I expected the rest of her body had been similarly bashed up. Then I transferred my gaze to Flossie. "Yes. I guess so. Come into the dining room."

  So she did and, with a worried backward glance at Flossie's battered companion, I joined her.

  "What the heck is going on, Flossie? Who is that woman, and why did you bring her here? I thought Johnny was the one who helped folks in distress. That's his business, for Pete's sake. I'm just a phony spiritualist."

  I guess I should enlarge upon that last remark, too, but I'll save an explanation until later.

  "That's just it, Daisy. Johnny can't help her. He wants to, but he can't."

  Huh? Last I heard, the Salvation Army took in all the strays and orphans and drunkards and drug fiends and poor folk and immigrants and so forth that no one else would touch with a barge pole. "But Flossie, Lily Bannister has clearly suffered a... a... Well, I don't know what happened to her, but she needs medical help. I'm not a doctor."

  "Daisy, just listen to me, please. Unless you know a doctor who is absolutely true to his oath of privacy, we may even have to forego medical help."

  "But why? She obviously needs it badly."

  "Her husband beat her to a pulp and then kicked her down the basement steps—concrete basement steps, Daisy—and she barely managed to escape with her life. Fortunately for her, Billy and I were out walking, and I spotted her nearly crawling down Fair Oaks Avenue, trying to get to Johnny's church."

  For the record, I don't believe Billy Buckingham could walk a whole lot yet. I suspect Flossie meant she'd been pushing him in his baby carriage.

  "Her husband did what?"

  "You heard me," Flossie said in a harder tone of voice than I'd ever heard issue from her gentle lips.

  "But... But isn't that a crime? Can't he be
prosecuted for nearly killing her?"

  "He can be prosecuted for murdering her, which he probably will do eventually, if she's forced to go back to him," said Flossie. "Until then, he's her husband in the eyes of the law and her church. And her parents." Her mouth pinched up. "She's a Roman Catholic, and she once made the mistake of asking her priest if he could intercede and help her get away from her husband. The priest said it was her duty to abide by her solemn marital oath, although he did speak to her husband and ask him to treat her more gently. Naturally, that infuriated the horrible man, and he beat her senseless for daring to expose 'family matters' to anyone outside the family."

  Flossie jumped up from the dining room chair in which she'd been sitting and commenced pacing. "Oh, it just makes me furious! I've been in that woman's position, you know. Well, of course you know." She whirled around and looked fiercely at me. "But I didn't face the obstacles Lily faces. I wasn't married to that awful Jenkins man. I wasn't married to anybody! If I'd gone to the law after he'd beaten me up, they'd probably have arrested Jinx. But the law won't arrest Mr. Bannister. He's her husband, and therefore, the law considers her his property. They'll send her back to him. So will her church! So will her parents, who believe she must have done something wrong to deserve being beaten. As if anyone deserves that. You have to help me help her, Daisy! You have to!"

  Boy, I'm glad my parents weren't like Mrs. Bannister's. Not that my darling Billy would ever have beaten me, but if he had, they'd have been on my side. I think. Oh, dear.

  "Can't Johnny do anything at all?" I asked in a small voice, wishing I knew what to do.

  "Johnny has to abide by the law, Daisy. If he hides her somewhere, he's liable to be arrested and prosecuted himself! Oh, it's all just so unfair!"

  "Yes. Yes, it is." However, that didn't negate the fact that I didn't have a clue what to do for poor Mrs. Bannister. "But... Oh, but Flossie, I can't keep her here. There's no room. And besides that, I don't think my parents would like it. They don't like breaking the law any more than Johnny does."

  Flossie glared at me and I held up a hand. "Honestly, Flossie, I don't mind breaking the law for a good cause, and Mrs. Bannister is definitely a good cause, but—"

  The telephone rang. I do believe it was the first time in years I'd been glad to hear it, primarily because anyone calling the house wanted to speak to me, usually to engage my services as a spurious spiritualist-medium. Not that my clients didn't think I was for real. But never mind that. I'd just been saved by the bell! At least for a moment or two.

  I walked into the kitchen followed by Spike, who loved the kitchen because it contained food. I lifted the receiver from the cradle of the wall-mounted 'phone, and spoke my typical greeting, "Gumm-Majesty residence, Mrs. Maj—"

  "Daisy!" cried a voice I recognized.

  Joy and hope bloomed in my heart. "Harold!"

  "Cripes, Daisy, don't yell at me. I think you just busted my eardrum."

  "I'm sorry, Harold, but I'm so glad you called."

  "I should hope so, because I'm going to take you out to lunch today and—"

  "Harold, come to my house right this minute. It's urgent. It might even be a matter of life and death."

  A pause on the other end of the wire preceded Harold's puzzled, "I beg your—"

  "Oh, please don't argue with me, Harold! I need you now."

  And Harold, bless his heart, said, "Be right there," and he hung up.

  Turning to Flossie, I actually managed a smile. "If anyone can help Mrs. Bannister and us, it's Harold Kincaid. I'll bet Harold even knows a discreet doctor he can call upon to tend to the poor woman."

  "I've met him, but I don't really know him," said Flossie doubtfully.

  "Harold is the most kindhearted, useful, dependable man in the universe, Flossie. He's one of my very best friends. I tell you, if he can't help Mrs. Bannister, nobody can." I thought about the wilted woman on the living room sofa and said, "We'd probably better go see how she's doing."

  "Yes. Yes. I'm sorry, Daisy. But when I heard what Lily told me, you were the only one I could think of who might be able to help her."

  Lucky me. "I hope your faith wasn't misplaced." I meant it.

  Mrs. Bannister had either succumbed to her injuries and passed out, or had fallen asleep. Or died, although I hoped not. I wasn't quite sure if it would be wise to wake her, but Flossie had no such compunction. She gently shook the woman's shoulder. "Lily, wake up. You probably have a concussion, and you shouldn't go to sleep yet."

  Mrs. Bannister uttered a pitiful groan. I still didn't know what to do, but I made an effort.

  "Um... does she have any open wounds or anything? I can get iodine and bandages from the bathroom."

  "I think some of her ribs might be cracked or broken. If we can't get a reliable doctor to treat her, one of them might puncture a lung or something."

  I grimaced, although I didn't mean to.

  "Her ribs should probably be bound, at the very least." Flossie chewed on her lower lip. "But I hate to bind her ribs when I don't know precisely what's wrong."

  Made sense to me. "Under the circumstances, and I know this sounds idiotic, but would some aspirin tablets help, do you think?" Clearly, the woman needed more than aspirin, but aspirin was great for easing one's aches and pains.

  "Good idea. Can't hurt. Thank you, Daisy."

  Little did Flossie know. I was so glad to get out of that room holding the brutalized woman, I practically ran to the bathroom. There I regret to say I dawdled, not because I didn't want to help Mrs. Bannister, but because I didn't want to have to see her awful injuries again. You'd think that, after nursing my husband through his last years—he was shot and gassed by the cursed Germans in the Great War—I'd have become accustomed to tending to sick people. But Billy hadn't been battered, as had Mrs. Bannister. At least, by the time he got home to me, his flesh wounds had been tended to and only scars remained. His lungs were ruined, he couldn't walk, and he was in constant pain, but he had no open wounds.

  Oh, Lord. I didn't want to think about Billy.

  I carried the package of aspirin tablets into the kitchen, thinking the next time I bought aspirin tablets, I'd get a bottle of them instead of packets. It's easier to shake tablets out of a bottle than to rip open a packet or three to get at the pills. In the kitchen I poured a glass of water, and carried both the water and the aspirin to the living room.

  Flossie had tried to make Mrs. Bannister more comfortable with sofa cushions, but her efforts went for naught. The poor woman needed more help than sofa cushions could provide.

  "Here," I said, holding out the aspirin packets and the glass of water to Flossie.

  "Can you please give me... I don't know... three aspirin tablets, Daisy? I don't want to let go of Mrs. Bannister's shoulder in order to open the packet, because she might fall over."

  See what I mean? From then on, it would be bottles for the Gumms and the one remaining Majesty in our household.

  Oh, God. I hoped to heaven Harold had called from nearby, because I really needed him.

  "Certainly. Here you go." I ripped open the packets and gave Flossie three aspirin tablets and the glass of water, stuffing the empty paper packets into my apron pocket as I did so. Before Flossie arrived with her burden, I'd been dusting; hence, the apron.

  "Can you prop her up so she doesn't fall over, Daisy? I'm so afraid that if she has any broken ribs, one of them might puncture her lung if she moves around too much, so it's best if we can keep her as still as possible."

  "Right. Will do." And I did. Hating every second of it. I don't believe I'm a natural-born care-giver, if you know what I mean. I'd had to nurse my husband, but I'd loved him all my life. Even then, I hadn't enjoyed the experience. I'd never even heard of Lily Bannister until a few minutes earlier. I suppose that doesn't speak highly of my character, but it's the truth.

  Mrs. Bannister groaned miserably as Flossie told her to open her mouth. I winced when the woman obeyed. Her mouth was a mess: swollen,
bloody, both of her lips were split, and when she finally got her mouth open wide enough to accept the aspirin tablets—one at a time—I saw that her ghastly husband had broken a couple of her teeth. Probably the insides of her cheeks were minced meat. But she gamely accepted the tablets and swallowed some water, her eyes tearing up with the effort.

  Where, oh where, was Harold?

  "There. Maybe that will help you feel better, Lily," said Flossie in a soothing voice. Flossie, unlike yours truly, was definitely a natural care-giver. That was why she and Johnny made such a perfect couple. Heck, they'd even tended to someone with leprosy once.

  After Mrs. Bannister had swallowed the aspirin tablets, Flossie sat next to her on the sofa, put an arm around her shoulders, and held her upright. I stood before them, wringing my hands. Big help I was, huh?

  "Is there anything else I can do before Harold gets here, Flossie?" I asked because I thought I should.

  "I don't think so." Flossie gazed up at me, her big blue eyes appearing almost tragic. "I just hope your friend can help."

  "Me, too," said I. "Um... I'll go make some tea." I have no idea why, but folks seemed to like sweet, milky tea after catastrophes.

  "That sounds good."

  I think Flossie was humoring me. Nevertheless, I practically ran to the kitchen, where I took my time boiling water in the kettle, warming the teapot—my Aunt Vi, who is the best cook in the known universe, had taught me always to warm the pot—dumped some tea leaves into the warm pot, and filled said pot up with water. Aunt Vi claims tea isn't fit to drink until it's strong enough to walk out of the pot by itself, so I took a few more minutes, watching the tea brew and praying Harold would arrive. Now.