I sighed. “Oh, I must have left my wine in the kitchen.”
“Now, Daisy. You don’t seem too cheerful. What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter? Everyone seems to have forgotten about Angus, that’s what’s the matter!” I realized my voice was rising and I took a deep breath.
Eleanor’s dark gray gaze zeroed in on me. “We haven’t forgotten, but what can we do?”
“Well, I don’t know what I can do either, but I’m still trying.” I set the platter down on a nearby table with shaking hands. “Oh hell, what makes me think I can solve a murder case? I’m not a real detective.”
“Yes, but you’re smart, and the thing is, you never give up. When you want something, you’re like a pit bull with a pork chop.”
I chuckled. In a way, she was right. I never gave up. Not even on the worst student.
Eleanor drained her glass and pointed it at me. “Remember when I needed those hand-carved mother-of-pearl buttons for that antique wedding dress? I’d searched everywhere. I was about to use a poor substitute in desperation. You wouldn’t stop searching until you found them for me.”
I nodded. “It needed to be authentic.”
“And you’re not afraid of confrontation. Well, except with Sarah . . .”
I grinned ruefully at Eleanor as my daughter came over to us, accompanied by Debby and Debby’s sister, Cecilia. Cee Cee was an ex-schoolteacher like me. She’d quit the profession because she was trying to get pregnant, and her husband, Tom, a doctor, suggested that the stress of teaching might be a factor. I could attest to that.
She had beautiful penmanship, and she’d recently started a calligraphy business from home for wedding and party invitations.
Thinking of penmanship reminded me of the pens again, and a new avenue I hadn’t explored. “Hey, does anyone know of any famous writers who live around here?” I asked the group.
Eleanor fished the last olive out of the bottom of her glass. “Abigail Weller is writing her memoirs, not that anyone will want to read them. She’s had a pretty boring life if you ask me.”
“Meow.” Sarah nudged Eleanor playfully. “Would you like a bowl of milk instead of that martini, E?”
“Speaking of ICBM’s, I need another one,” Eleanor announced.
“An intercontinental ballistic missile?” Cee Cee asked, confused.
“No, darling, an ice-cold Beefeater Martini.”
We followed her over to the bar as Debby chatted to Sarah about life in New York with stars in her eyes. Sometimes I wanted to put my arm around Debby and encourage her to look at the here and now and make that work. So many people spent their lives wishing them away.
“Are you staying for a while, Eleanor?” Martha asked, taking the empty glass.
“Until the gin runs out. Nice party, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
Eleanor drank the way she ate. Far be it from me to monitor anyone’s drinking, and none of us were driving anyway, but I guessed this had to be her fourth martini, and she showed no sign of it.
Cyril poured me a glass of chardonnay.
“I’m so glad you got the dollhouse, Daisy,” Cee Cee said. “I was worried that crazy woman would outbid you. Who is she anyway?”
“Her name’s Fiona Adams. She’s from New York. Supposedly it was her father’s fountain pens that were stolen on the night of Jimmy Kratz’s murder.”
“But why is she still here?”
“No idea. But I think I need to figure it out. All I know is that she’s someone right on the edge.”
“Of a nervous breakdown?”
“Of something.”
Debby and Sarah were making plans to see Robin Tague, a world-class violinist and composer who was visiting Philadelphia on tour.
“You know I’ve heard that musicians also cherish fountain pens as the perfect instrument for writing musical scores,” Cee Cee said to me.
“Really? That’s interesting.”
After I finally finished my glass of wine, Joe, Sarah, and I decided to call it a night.
When we got home, we discovered that Jasper had taken the magazines off the coffee table in the living room and reduced them to a pile of chewed-up damp pieces of paper.
Again, I reminded myself that he wasn’t my dog. He was Sarah’s responsibility, and I turned to her now. “Didn’t you put him in his crate before we went out?”
“I must not have latched it tight. It’s no big deal. I’ll buy you some new magazines, Mom. Don’t get all agitated.”
It had been a long day, she’d been a fantastic help with the auction, and so I let it go.
For now.