Chapter Nine
Finally Cyril Mackey had evidently had enough. He marched over to Fiona and stood with his arms crossed, so close to her that she backed up a step.
“Ay up, that’s enough out o’ you,” he barked.
He handed Martha a piece of paper and a pen. “Write tha name and address down, lass.”
Martha instantly complied, and Cyril shoved it into Fiona’s hand.
“Send her t’ bill. She’ll pay you for them glad rags,” he said. “Now then, be off wi’ ye.”
Fiona glared at him, crushing the piece of paper between her long fingers, and even from this distance, I could see a green vein swelling on her high forehead. There was a moment when time seemed to stand still and everyone held their collective breath, before she spun on her heel and stalked out toward the lobby.
“Holy crap,” Patsy whispered down to me from the stage.
Luckily the dollhouse had been the last item up for bid, because the auction house was in complete pandemonium now. Released from the spell that had kept us frozen in place, everyone milled around, chattering excitedly. Joe and I rushed over to where Martha and Cyril stood.
Joe clapped him on the shoulder. “Cyril. Good job, my man.”
Cyril chuckled. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile before as he nodded toward the entrance where Fiona Adams had just marched out. “Good riddance t’bad rubbish.”
“Daisy, I see what you mean,” Martha gasped. “That woman is absolutely crazy.”
“Certifiable,” I agreed. “Now, was that really an accident with your pitcher?”
She winked at me. “I’ll never tell.”
Patsy jumped down from the stage, her curly dark hair damp from exertion and frizzing around her forehead. “Who was that insane chick? I’m so glad you got the dollhouse, Daisy. Wow! Tonight was incredible. Did you see how much stuff I sold?”
“Uh-oh.” I smiled at Betty and Sarah, who came over to join us. “I think she’s been bitten by the auction bug.”
“She did a real good job.” Betty’s face was smiling, free of the usual worried creases. “You all did.”
“Mom, you were awesome!” Claire rushed up and flung her arms around her mother’s waist.
“Thanks, sweet pea,” Patsy said, bending to wrap her in a hug. “How’d you make out in the snack bar?”
“It was so much fun! We sold out of all the popcorn and the ice cream. And I made seven dollars in tips.”
“Nice!” Patsy ruffled her hair. “Chip off the old block.”
“How about going back to my house for cocktails, everyone?” Martha called to the crowd. There was a chorus of cheers and high fives.
Sarah’s face lit up. “Sure!”
Joe looked at me inquiringly. “What do you say, Daisy? After moving all that stuff for days, a cold beer would really hit the spot.”
I nodded. “We’d love to.”
“Don’t worry, Eleanor,” Martha said. “I have the good gin on hand.”
“Then I’ll be there.” Eleanor twirled a wedding veil tiara around her finger.
Martha rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t do us any favors.”
Cyril was standing at the outer edge of the group, and he turned away as if he was about to leave. My heart constricted.
Martha hesitated for a second and then sniffed in his general direction. “You’re welcome to come, too, Mr. Mackey, if you’d like.”
Cyril smiled again, for the second time in years. “Aye, I would. I fancy a drink meself.”
“You’ll need to take that cap off before you enter my house, though.” Martha gestured to the tweed cap he always wore.
“Yes, missus.” Cyril whipped his cap off.
I was sure I was right about the fact that he’d been in the military at one time from the way he snapped to it when Martha gave an order. He recognized a commander-in-chief when he saw one.
I turned to Betty. “Are you coming? Would you like to ride with Joe and me?”
“No, thank you, Daisy. I’m tuckered out. I’m going to lock up here and go on home. You enjoy yourselves. Thank you again.” She gestured for Patsy to follow her to the office so she could pay her.
“Pick up your skirt, Henry,” Patsy called to a man I recognized as one of the diner regulars who was huffing as he helped maneuver the grandfather clock onto a dolly for transport. Joe, Sarah, and I made a couple of trips back and forth to the car with my loot, including the precious dollhouse.
Once back in Millbury, we parked the car outside our house, and walked a block off Main Street toward Hemlock Lane.
Martha’s house was a huge fanciful Victorian painted a deep rose, dusty pink, and cream. Red coral bells, oriental poppies, pink and red impatiens, and pale pink astilbe bloomed along the path that led up to the house. Near the porch, peonies nodded their heavy heads, almost done now for the season, and dianthus smelled like an open bottle of perfume in the still humidity of the evening.