The front door opened into an expansive foyer. In front of us, a wide staircase with dark oak steps and intricately carved banisters swept upstairs in a gorgeous arc. To the left, a hallway with an oriental runner led to the study, piano room, parlor, and powder room, and to the right was the grand living room, dining room, and finally the kitchen in the back with its French doors out to the garden.
Inside was cool blessed relief after the sweltering atmosphere of the auction building. Martha must have had the air-conditioning cranked up full blast. It had cost a fortune to retrofit into the old house with its steam-powered radiators, but to easily overheated Martha, it wasn’t an option, but a necessity.
People were already milling around and tropical salsa music was playing. We followed the sound of laughter and found Martha at one end of the long mahogany-paneled living room, struggling to open a bottle of Veuve Cliquot champagne.
Joe grinned as he surveyed the vast array of top-shelf liquors. “I swear, Martha, your bar is better stocked than the Bridgewater Inn. There’s anything you could want to drink here.”
“Except absinthe,” Eleanor said.
“What? What are you talking about?” Martha’s cheeks were still pink; she was obviously not quite cooled down, and therefore more than a tad irritable. “Who the hell drinks absinthe?”
“I do. But only when I’m entertaining special visitors at home.”
Martha and I looked at each other. Who was she entertaining with hallucinogenic alcohol?
Cyril smoothly extracted the champagne bottle out of Martha’s hands.
“Good God. My back is killing me,” she moaned, leaning against the bar and lifting one foot, like a voluptuous flamingo.
I glanced down at her high-heeled gold sandals. Not exactly typical chef’s footwear.
“And I’m starving. I had a small bowl of cereal this morning, and that’s all I’ve had to eat all day.” She gave an anxious look in the direction of the kitchen. “Oh, the appetizers! I almost forgot about them.”
“I can handle this,” Cyril said, gesturing to the bar. “Go see about yer food now.”
She fixed him with a hard stare. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“G’oer, lass. I know how to make a bloody drink.”
Joe and I sucked in a quiet breath at this show of insubordination, but Martha merely gave him one last pointed look and hobbled off to the kitchen.
“Personally I saw her consume two hot dogs, a glazed donut, and share a bowl of popcorn with Claire, but who’s counting?” Eleanor flipped an olive into her mouth.
Cyril opened the champagne with barely a hiss, served three people standing with champagne flutes at the ready, and quickly filled drink requests for a chardonnay for me, pinot grigio for Sarah, and a bottle of beer for Joe.
“Dry martini, darling,” Eleanor said to Cyril. “Gin. None of this vodka business. And just show it the vermouth.”
He made her drink and obediently waved the vermouth bottle near the V-shaped glass of chilled gin.
“Cheers.” Eleanor took a sip out of the brimming edge of her cocktail. “Well, I’m off to mingle.” She made a beeline for Chris Paxson and a group of his young friends.
Debby Millerton, the librarian, rushed over to take Sarah by the arm, while Cyril poured himself a shot of whiskey as he settled into a conversation with Joe about the latest Phillies game.
“Um, I think I’d better help Martha in the kitchen,” I said. Joe nodded absently as I drifted away.
Across the room, Chris Paxson and his friends were laughing at a story Eleanor was telling, and giving her appreciative looks. She had a drier sense of humor than her martini, and as I looked back at my dark horse of a friend, I wondered again how well we really knew anyone.
I made my way through the dining room to the expansive kitchen with its mahogany cabinets and granite countertops. The deep double sink was set into the pink and gray granite, and ornate gold faucets gleamed in the soft recessed lighting.
Martha was pulling a tray of hors d’oeuvres out of the oven as I walked in. I wondered how she’d had time to get them ready, until I spotted the telltale black and silver bags stuffed in the corner from Magic Plate Catering.
This party wasn’t as impromptu as she’d made it seem.
She followed my gaze and sighed. “You’ve found me out, Daisy. I was hoping people would come over after the auction, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. I haven’t had a get-together since Teddy died, and I didn’t know if I could pull it off by myself. I mean, what if no one came? That would be too embarrassing.”
“Martha, look at your house!” From the kitchen we could hear the laughter, music, and buzz of conversation. “It’s packed!”