Six Cats A Slayin'

“Milton,” Helen Louise responded. “He’s quite knowledgeable. We often talk about wines when he comes by the bistro. When Tammy isn’t with him, of course.” She sipped her champagne. “When they’re together Milton hardly says a word, particularly not to me or any of my female staff.”

“I didn’t realize it was as bad as that,” I said.

“That’s why he tries to keep her out of the drugstore,” Stewart said. “The woman is obsessed. He can hardly do his job when she’s there because she dogs him like you wouldn’t believe.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen it a few times, and it ain’t pretty.”

I looked at Tammy, glowering at Jincy while Milton conversed with her. A peroxide blonde, Tammy had a hard look about her. She seemed permanently disgruntled whenever I had the misfortune to run into her. Milton served as the target for all her discontent. He couldn’t seem to measure up to what she required, no matter how he tried. She ran him down all the time, even right in front of him. I wondered why he didn’t seek a divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty.

We continued to watch the trio near the door. From what I could tell, Milton was making an effort to end the conversation with Jincy. He kept darting sideways glances at his wife. Tammy continued to glower. Finally, she seemed to have reached her boiling point. She grabbed Milton’s arm and towed him away from the door, leaving Jincy open-mouthed and Milton beet red.

Tammy pulled her husband into the living room without any acknowledgment of the four of us by the door. Milton glanced at us, his expression a sad mixture of apology and shame.

Stewart sighed. “Did you see what Tammy was wearing? I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman with a knack for always picking out the most unflattering outfit she can find.”

I hadn’t paid any particular attention to what Tammy was wearing myself. I had been too busy watching her face. Helen Louise had noted the outfit, however. “Can’t argue with you, Stewart,” she said. “Her skin looks like leather from all those hours in the tanning bed. Wearing gray with blonde hair and a complexion like that makes her look so much older than she really is.”

I had to agree, now that I took a more critical look at Tammy, that the combination of gray dress, bleached hair, and tanned skin made her look way older than Milton.

“Enough of that. I don’t know about y’all,” Helen Louise said, “but I’m ready to sample the food. I’m curious to find out who did the catering.”

“I’m ready, too,” I said. “Excuse us, guys, unless you want to join us.”

Stewart shook his head, his gaze intent on the front door as new guests continued to arrive. Haskell sighed. “I’m coming with you. I’ve had enough red carpet for one night.”

The three of us stepped around Stewart and into the living room. As I gazed around the space, I noted that some pieces had been shifted to accommodate two tables full of food. The holiday decorations were on the minimalist side, as they had been in the hall, I now realized. I wondered why Gerry hadn’t attempted to make the rooms more festive when she had gone overboard in decorating the exterior of the house. Anything in the holiday mode that might jibe with the industrial feel of the room, however, was hard to imagine.

I followed Helen Louise and Haskell to the end of one of the tables. They picked up plates, napkins, and forks and began to move down either side. I could tell from my partner’s expression that what she saw laid out did not impress her. I had to agree. Given the money Gerry had spent on the champagne, I somehow thought the food would be more than what one could get at the local discount warehouse. Mini-quiches, a variety of cheeses and crackers, sliced apples and grapes, and sliced ham and turkey—all no doubt tasty enough, but nothing out of the ordinary. We loaded our plates and moved on.

The second table replicated the first, we discovered. “Perhaps the dessert-type items are in the dining room,” I said.

Helen Louise shrugged and cut a mini-quiche in half. “Probably those little cheesecake squares and chocolate-covered cherries.” She chewed the piece of quiche. “Not bad,” she said when she finished it. “Not great, but not bad.” She ate the other half.

“Not near as good as your food,” Haskell said. “But I’m not going to turn it down.”

I finished a cracker with mozzarella and a couple of red grapes. I loved cheese, and the mozzarella tasted fine. I might have to go back for more of it, I decided.

We moved out of the way of other guests who had drifted toward the tables, and found a corner across the room from the one currently occupied by Milton and the still-haranguing Tammy. While we ate, I couldn’t stop watching the unhappy couple. Milton looked like he wished the floor would swallow him, but other than simply walking out on his wife, I doubted there was any way he could cut off the flood of vituperation. I couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was obvious, even fifteen or more feet away.