Domesticated Spirits (A Daisy Gumm Majesty Mystery, Book 18) by Alice Duncan

Author:Alice Duncan [Duncan, Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!

18

By golly, the mission had a reception area! It looked quite modern, in fact. Sam opened the door for Mr. Prophet and me, and I entered first, as was proper. I was only slightly taken aback to see a fellow in a brown robe and a white tonsure sitting behind what I guessed was the reception desk. He smiled kindly at us when we entered. I was glad for his smile, thinking Franciscans should be friendly. After all, St. Francis of Assisi loved all the animals, didn’t he? And we were human animals, perhaps the least of them all, but still….

“Daisy,” Sam whispered in my ear as we approached the desk, “I forgot you’ll have to cover your head if we go into the church.”

“Isn’t my hat a good enough covering?” I asked, patting same. It wasn’t fancy, but it was a nice blue cloche that went well with my checked blue day dress. Naturally I’d made them both on my mother’s side-pedal White sewing machine. Which, as she never used it, I’d moved to Sam’s and my house.

“Huh. Maybe so. I’m used to my female Italian relations. All the women wear black hats and scarves and look like somebody they loved just died, but I guess if you’re not Italian, you can get away with wearing a blue hat.”

The priest at the reception desk chuckled. “Any head covering is allowed, and the lady looks charming in her blue hat.”

I know I blushed because I felt my neck and cheeks get hot. Being a redhead comes with some disadvantages, and blushing is only one of them. But were priests supposed to compliment women on their mode of dress? I thought they weren’t even supposed to notice women. I’d have to grill Sam about the Catholic Church, since I was woefully ignorant about it.

“Thank you,” Sam and I said together. We really did make a nice duet.

I heard Mr. Prophet snicker.

“Would you care to purchase one of our informational booklets?” asked the priest at the desk. Mind you, I’m only guessing he was a priest. Maybe Catholics had other people who wore brown robes and cut their hair in circles around a bald spot. I’d never understood that, either. I mean, I’d never understood the significance of that particular haircut. Maybe Sam could enlighten me later.

“Sure. Thank you,” said Sam, reaching into a pocket and pulling out his change purse. “We’re primarily interested in…well, I guess they’re the Tongva Indians who used to live and work here.”

“They still do,” said the priest, taking the dime Sam held out and handing him a pamphlet in return.

Mr. Prophet had moved closer to the desk. “Any of ’em talk English? My Spanish might be a little rusty, and I never learned no Tongva. Or Gabriel-whatever.”

“Gabrielino is the word you’re looking for,” said the priest, chuckling. “Most of our residents speak English. At least a little. What are you mainly interested in?”

Oh, dear. This might get tricky. And then I had one of my brilliant ideas and decided to butt in.

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