“Oh Louie. It’ll swallow me whole.”
I glanced sideways at him as he brought a lit match up to his cigarette. He never caught his mustache on fire, though it glistened with the same oil he used to tame his wavy black hair. He grinned, and his dark eyes softened with relief as the smoke curled from his flared nostrils.
The grin was not meant to reassure.
“Louie,” I chided softly.
“What do you think, my love?” Mr. Deal dropped the match on the sidewalk and stepped on it. “It’s likely run-down at the heels.” He cleared his throat. “But the bones in these big houses are built for generations.”
A tremor at the tip of the cigarette in his fingers was the only proof I had that he was as apprehensive as myself, but I was not about to point that out. I sighed and slipped a gloved hand into the crook of his arm and obediently regarded the old place with something between hope and trepidation.
It was not a house. It was a castle. A big city mansion on a wide city street that went forever in both directions. An asphalt street lined with sprawling homes with sprawling emerald lawns and miles of short wrought-iron fencing around them.
We stood at the front gate, and Louie kept his eyes on the man piling our luggage at the ornate doors. Avoiding the view that he wanted me to admire.
It was an elegant three-story asymmetric Queen Anne on the corner of Washington Boulevard and Figueroa Street, facing north for pedestrians and west for incoming vehicles down the Figueroa side. Painted a rich velvety brown with crisp white trim, it was covered with whimsical arches and bas-reliefs in a beige that leaned slightly pink and blended with the steep brown roof shingles.
My husband remained silent beside me as I counted windows. Twenty on the west side alone.
Topped with turrets and chimneys, bay windows and gables, it cast a dramatic silhouette against the bright Los Angeles sunshine. Supported by spindle-work columns and decorated with architectural filigree, a sweeping veranda flowed along the south side, while a huge, exotic-looking pine towered between us and the lavish white-granite front steps.
There wasn’t a straight line in the place.
“I think it’s beautiful,” I insisted with a squeeze on his arm. “You told me it was big, but you didn’t say it was something out of a fairy tale. I feel like a princess. About to be eaten by a house.”
That earned me a dry chuckle.
“We’re gutting it,” he said. “The house is about to have severe indigestion. But the exterior will remain as it is. The decorations are fairly whimsical, I suppose.” He guided me down the path, eyes firmly on the luggage.
A glimmer of light winked at me from a second-story window. Dropping his arm and squinting, I said, “Someone’s home after all. I wondered where our welcome committee was.”
“The staff always have Sundays off,” he said, tipping the perspiring jitney driver. “Hence, the timing of our arrival in peace.” The man gave him a bob of the head and scuttled back to his auto.
“Didn’t you say some of them lived on the property?”
He glanced up and down the empty boulevard. “Even the few who might still be living in the attic or stables would be gone today. Why would they linger? With no work and no residents, they may already be gone for good.”
Louie seemed pleased with the idea.
He paused at the stairs and dug into his trouser pocket to bring up a key. “I instructed the manager to keep his office hours until our arrival. To finish any outstanding business, then wait for us. Didn’t want the place to be entirely vacant.” He cleared his throat again. “Whoever’s left needn’t stay a day longer once I’ve shown you about.”
I was about to mention the person upstairs when he turned to me and stroked a knuckle over my cheek.
“Don’t let anything worry you while I’m away, Hattie. You can send them all packing any time you please, or leave them to serve your every whim until I get back from this job.” He took a last drag on the Pall Mall and flicked it onto the lush green lawn. “It will only be a week or two. Lots of time for you to explore and decide where you’d like things to go.”
I hoped I never saw the day I didn’t grow warm and breathless when he looked at me like that.
“We’ve got it all planned out, Louie. Don’t you fidget over me.” I took a fistful of my hobble skirt and stepped onto the stairs. This brought us eye level with each other, and I imagined my freckled face was as bright red as my hair, but I didn’t care. “We’re going to be outrageously happy here.”
The closer we’d come to Los Angeles, the less Louie had wanted to talk about it. For him, this place carried the twisted ghosts of his childhood. Ghosts that had driven him away for fourteen long years and occasionally, I’d discovered the hard way, gave him night terrors.
It had nothing to do with the fact that a mortuary operated on the ground floor and everything to do with the relatives who’d run it.
The fact that he was going to override his revulsion to pave the way for our future endeared him to me like nothing else could. Louie was a slight man and easily overlooked in a crowd, but, as he demonstrated by scooping me unceremoniously into his arms, much stronger than people assumed.
There was no doubt in my mind that he could do whatever he set his mind to.
“Mrs. Deal,” he said under his breath, “your ankles are simply ravishing. Kindly put them away.”
“As you wish, Mr. Deal.”
“I’m going to give you everything you deserve.” His voice was low in my ear, and I tightened my grip around his neck. “A home. A family. An auto.”
This time, I laughed, and he carried me up the stairs onto the shaded veranda.
“Louie, an auto? Might we at least think about supper first?” He bypassed the luggage and the front door and walked steadily down the side of the house until we reached an entrance off the covered porte cochere.
“Coming right up,” he said, standing me up at the door. He slid the key into the lock and swung the door open to reveal a dining room. “Welcome home, Mrs. Deal.”
I had no time to admire it. Louie carried me over the threshold and tipped the door closed behind us with his heel. We moved directly forward and through a butler’s pantry into a spacious and well-appointed kitchen where I was dumped before a large porcelain sink.
“I assume you know how to operate one of these contraptions?” he asked with a smirk.
“Oh, it’s lovely! Truly!” I bounced on my toes, taking in a black and white checkerboard tiled floor and spotless countertops. “Tell me you aren’t going to rip this apart!”
“You aren’t a maid anymore.” He took my shoulders and rested his forehead gently on mine. “You’ve been assessing every hotel we’ve stayed in. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’re the lady of the house now. A wealthy woman with maids of her own, should you choose.”
My new husband’s voice was something I could recognize among hundreds, I was certain. It held wistfulness tinged with a pride that glowed in his eyes when he looked into mine. But it went raspy when he grew anxious and, for a Pinkerton detective, tells could be dangerous. I considered it his only flaw.
I blamed the cigarettes. My attempts to break him of smoking amused him no end.
My arms went around his waist. “And if I should not choose? You aren’t going to pick me up again, are you? I’m hungry.”
He kissed my forehead and released me. “Very well. I am yours to command. Let me light the lamps,” he said, glancing around in sudden concern, and I realized it was very possible he’d never loitered in the kitchen.
I stepped to the wall and clicked on the electric lights. The kitchen gleamed.
Louie blinked. “Electricity? The old lady would never.” He peered through doorways into spaces growing darker by the minute as the sun set. “Aunt Minerva was a penny-pinching, change-loathing, black-hearted…” He trailed off as his eyes finally adjusted to the view.
I’d already begun exploring. “Don’t be silly. There’s an electricity pole right on the street corner outside. Let me find a kettle. And check in the icebox. We’ll rustle up a little something in two tics.”
I stifled a yawn as the idea of toast and tea and slippers lured me on. The long journey had finally caught up with me. I removed my gloves, a hatpin, and my hat before filling a kettle at the sink.
Louie disappeared and returned a minute later, shaking his head. “Modern plumbing. What came over her? Not even Uncle Hiram was an advocate. Said the chamber pot was as convenient as anything that would ever be invented.”
“Mr. Deal.”
“Right. My apologies.” He opened the icebox and pulled out a fat sausage.
“Perfect,” I said, reaching for the kettle. “A bag of mystery meat. We’ll slice it up and add some cheese on the side.”
He set it on the counter, saying, “I’ll take the luggage upstairs. Don’t wander. It’s tricky to find the guest room. Especially since we never had guests.”
I paused and raised an eyebrow.
“The guest room,” he said carefully, “is where we’ll stay until renovations are complete.” His lips thinned. “The other bedrooms… None are suitable for you. I’ll be back in time to set the table.”
He vanished through a doorway, and a moment later I heard a door open and heavy steps going upward. I itched to follow him, but the bare necessities called. I was nothing if not practical. Finding a knife and a cutting board, my hands moved of their own accord as my mind spun through the facts.
Louie’s great aunt had passed a month ago and named him as her sole heir. He’d written immediately to pop the question. It was the inheritance of this property that had suddenly allowed us to be together after ages of correspondence. Thinking of the bundle of letters in my handbag made me smile. Their contents were a lovely mix of endearments and mere snippets of his work as a Pinkerton. But I didn’t need to know the details of his cases. I knew the man himself to be honest and kind. Courageous and clever.
And proud. He’d taken a bullet to the leg on the occasion we met. We weren’t allowed to mention his limp.
I shook my head and rummaged through a cupboard for tea. Now that he was called away on a job, I’d have time to modify my entire trousseau and the outfits I’d sewn or purchased for the wedding trip for day-to-day living.
Based on the size of our new home, I would need something fit to scrub floors in, not just the fashionable gowns my best girlfriends had delighted in choosing with me before the wedding.
The steps faded away, and the house fell silent. I glanced over a shoulder at the darkened rooms beyond.
Louie was worried I’d walk into the parlor and find a casket. Or worse.
He needn’t have fussed. Death was no more than the next step in a life well-lived and, if anything, the idea of a funeral home felt like a respectful way to acknowledge it.
I didn’t believe in ghosts.
“Louie?” I called. “Come eat.”
It was fully dark outside, and I didn’t have the energy to pry behind the lace curtains for more views. The front yard was enough for me to start on. White roses along the fence line would soften the approach, and the sign was coming down first thing in the morning.
“The Real Deal Mortuary,” I muttered, setting two plates on a small side table. “Why would they name the place that way? I can scarcely take it seriously.” And it was a vulgar turn of phrase with my married name, to boot.
“Aha!” I’d found the teacups.
A shriek ripped through the kitchen, and I spun reflexively, flinging the saucer at its source. It hit the wall and shattered into a million little shards.
A pair of arms came around me from behind, and I struggled before slamming a heel into my assailant’s foot. “Louie!” I cried as I was slammed up against the sink.
“Stop there, or I’ll shoot!” This came from a deep, booming voice in the opposite direction.
The room went deathly quiet.