Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) by Alice Duncan

badly.”
    That snapped me to attention. “I haven’t! I haven’t either let myself go, Harold Kincaid. Billy’s only been gone for a little more than a month, for heaven’s sake! Give a girl a break, can’t you? Shoot, Queen Victoria mourned her lost Albert for the remainder of her life!”
    “In case you haven’t noticed recently, you’re not Queen Victoria.”
    I gave him a sharp smack on the arm. “You know what I mean!”
    “Yeah, I know what you mean. But this discussion is getting us nowhere. Fetch your hat, and I’ll drive us to the Castleton Hotel. They’ve got a great lobster salad there that might tempt even you.”
    My stomach took that opportunity to heave in revolt at the thought, but I didn’t let on. Rather, I released Spike from his enforced seatfulness, went to get my hat, said good-bye to my father, gave Spike a farewell pat and left the house with Harold, Spike gazing mournfully after us. He’d be more than happy to eat a lobster salad, his big sad eyes seemed to say, and three more after that, along with all the dinner rolls anyone cared to toss him.
    Harold owned a bright red, shiny, snazzy, low-slung Stutz Bearcat, and it stood out like a peacock in a flock of sparrows on our staid, pepper-tree lined street. I was grateful he’d put the top up on the machine, because I didn’t fancy having my hat blown off or my hair messed up. Mind you, since I’d had my hair bobbed a year or so prior, it was a good deal easier to take care of than it had been when it was long, but I still didn’t want to be blown to bits.
    In spite of Harold’s eagle-eyed watchfulness, I couldn’t eat too much of my lobster salad, although I did manage several bites. I guess it was tasty, except that it made me want to throw up. The Castleton provided its diners with delicious rolls as an accompaniment to their salads, and I buttered my roll after I tore it into pieces, mainly so Harold couldn’t fuss at me anymore about my lack of appetite.
    He did anyway. “I know what you’re doing, Daisy, and I’m not going to let you get away with it. You’re moving the food about on your place. You’re supposed to stick it in your mouth, chew it and swallow it.”
    Feeling oppressed and beleaguered, I said, “I’m really sorry, Harold. But, honestly, I can’t seem to eat very much anymore. I’m sure I’ll get over this loss of appetite one day. But for some reason, ever—”
    “Yes, I know,” he said, cutting me off. “Do you know I even spoke with your pal Johnny Buckingham about you?”
    I felt my eyes go round as saucers. “You did what?”
    “I talked about you with Captain Buckingham. Mother asked me to speak to him about Stacy, even though she’d already done so, so I decided what the hell and told him you were turning into a wraith before everyone’s eyes and asked him what he thought might be done for you.”
    I pressed a hand to my forehead, aghast. “I can’t believe you did that, Harold! Johnny and Flossie are going to have their first child any week now, and they don’t need my problems heaped on their heads.”
    Giving an irritated shake of his head, Harold said, “Nuts to that. He volunteered to devote his life dealing with other people’s problems. And we came up with a great idea.”
    “You did?”
    “We did.”
    The expression of triumph on Harold’s face worried me. A lot.
     
     

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    “Harold wants to what?” Ma, fork held before her in shock, asked as we sat at the supper table that evening. When I glanced around the table, I saw that Pa and Vi were also staring at me, open-mouthed with astonishment.
    Oh, goody.
    After heaving a less-than-ecstatic sigh, I explained. “Harold wants to take me to Egypt to get me away from home. He—and he talked to Johnny Buckingham, who agreed with him—thinks that a change of scenery might be what I need to perk me up.” As if anything could perk up a grieving widow.
    “How nice of him,” Ma said at last, her voice