Six Cats A Slayin'

I laughed. “I do, although if the three of us stand around together at the party, the other guests are liable to think we’re undertakers.”

Haskell laughed, but Stewart shook a finger at me. “Don’t even bring up any subject related to death,” Stewart said. “No need to put those vibes into the ether.”

“I didn’t realize you were superstitious,” Helen Louise said. “You can’t taint the atmosphere by simply mentioning a subject.”

“I’m not, particularly,” Stewart said. “Superstitious, that is. I simply don’t want the notion planted in my brain. I’ll have to flirt outrageously with all the attractive men and good-looking women at the party now to dislodge it.”

Haskell snorted. “As if you needed an excuse.”

Stewart ignored that sally. “Shall we saunter over? It’s two minutes to seven.”

“Do you want us to be the first ones there?” Helen Louise asked. “Isn’t that a bit uncouth?” Her lips twitched.

“What if it is?” Stewart said. “I want to be able to watch as everyone else arrives.”

“Whatever for?” I asked.

Haskell rolled his eyes. “So he can act like he’s a reporter on the red carpet and comment on what they all look like in their party clothes.”

Helen Louise linked her arm with Stewart’s. “You can be Alice Roosevelt, and I’ll be your best girlfriend.”

Haskell looked puzzled, and I explained the reference. Alice Roosevelt was once supposed to have said that if you knew anything bad about someone, you should come sit next to her and share the dirt. He rolled his eyes again when I finished my explanation.

After a brief check on the kittens, we stopped in the hallway for Helen Louise to retrieve her coat. Haskell opened the door, and out we went. I had looked out the living room window earlier to see whether Gerry’s decorations were back in place. They were. Alight, they looked as obnoxious as I anticipated. I wouldn’t get the full effect, I was sure, until I was standing right in front of them.

Two cars occupied space in front of Gerry’s house. Some neighbors would no doubt walk to the party. Two children, girls around nine or ten, stood on the sidewalk gawking. They squealed in excitement and pointed at various parts of the display as we walked past them and up the walk.

Gerry’s assistant, Jincy—whose last name I had forgotten already—opened the door to us. She recognized me and nodded, and I quickly introduced the others. She stood aside and waved us in. “Down the hall and on the right at the back is the den,” she said to Helen Louise. “You can leave your coat there.”

Helen Louise thanked her, and I walked with her to deposit the coat on one of the chairs we found in the room. At least, I thought it was a chair. It looked horribly uncomfortable to me, an object shaped like the number five, but without the bar at the top.

Helen Louise and I looked at each other and shrugged. We walked back down the hall to rejoin Stewart and Haskell. The former, I noted, had placed himself beside the door to the living room. He faced the front door, so evidently Haskell hadn’t been completely joking when he mentioned the red-carpet routine.

Haskell stood with Jincy near the front door, engaged in conversation with her. Helen Louise and I approached Stewart.

“Any arrivals while we were putting away my coat?” Helen Louise asked.

Stewart shook his head. “Shouldn’t be long now, though.”

There was still no sign of our hostess. I wondered about that, and then it dawned on me that she was probably either in the kitchen dealing with the catering staff or upstairs waiting until more people arrived. Then she would sweep down the stairs the way Loretta Young used to in her television show, smile benignly upon her suitably appreciative guests, and deign to converse with us.

Good grief

. I’m starting to sound like Stewart. I had to suppress a chuckle at the thought. Later on, I would have to share that with him.

Helen Louise, Stewart, and I chatted while we waited for our hostess to put in an appearance and for more guests to arrive. Waiters came by with champagne and indicated that food awaited us in both the living and dining rooms. We each accepted a glass of champagne. I didn’t have a refined enough palate to discern one champagne from another. After a sip—it went down smoothly—I looked to Helen Louise, who did have a refined palate.

“Bollinger,” she said appreciatively. “Evidently our hostess has expensive tastes, or else she’s out to impress.”

“Provided,” Stewart said with a grin, “that anyone else besides you tonight can tell Bollinger from the bargain bubbly most people serve at parties like this.”

Helen Louise grinned and gestured toward the door. “Here comes someone who can tell.”

Surprised, I glanced at the door to see Milton and Tammy Harville pause to talk to Jincy while Haskell moved to join us.

“Milton?” I said. “Or Tammy?”