eleven

Barry smiled at the woman and said, “You do know how to make an entrance, Cecelia.”

“Well, I came to get you to make an exit,” she said. “I’m beat. I want to go home and get out of this hair shirt of a dress. Remind me never to allow myself to be talked into wearing a gown that has a built-in corset. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“I’ll be sure to make a note of that,” said Barry. “But first, I think you might be interested to meet the couple that found those tapes.” Gesturing toward us, he said, “Nicole and Nigel Martini, this is my wife, Cecelia.”

She blinked at us in surprise. I guessed her to be in her early fifties. Her long black hair was pulled back into a simple bun. Shrewd green eyes peered out of a face that had been allowed to tan and age. It wasn’t so much beautiful as it was noteworthy. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, “So, you’re the ones who bought my brother’s old house?” She threw a quick glance at Frank before continuing. “How do you like it? Is that garish statue of the well-endowed mermaid still in the backyard?”

I laughed. “Someone before us must have removed the mermaid statue,” I said.

“Thank God,” she said. “Damn thing was hideous.”

Frank protested loudly at this. “CeCe, you’re the one who gave it to me!” he argued.

She rolled her eyes. “As a joke! I never expected you to actually put the damn thing up.” Leaning toward me, she added in a low voice, “My brother has a perverse sense of taste.”

Barry raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Right. Just your brother.”

Cecelia pretended to ignore him and turned to Danielle. “And how are you holding up, Danny?” she asked as she inspected her face closely. “Still having fun?”

Danielle smiled happily and snuggled in a little closer to her father’s shoulder. “Oh, Aunt CeCe, I am having so much fun. I used to dream of coming to the Oscars with you all. And now that it’s finally happening, I don’t want it to end.”

Cecelia sighed. “Well, that’s youth for you. All I want to do is go home and get into bed. Speaking of which …” she turned questioning eyes toward Barry.

Barry nodded. “Okay. Just let me say good-bye to some people first,” he said, just as Nigel’s phone went off.

“Excuse me,” Nigel said, pulling the phone from his coat pocket. “It’s DeDee,” he muttered, frowning at the readout. He shoved the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said. His brows pulled together. “DeDee?” he asked. “What? I can barely hear you.” Sticking his finger in the opposite ear, he said, “Is everything all right?” Nigel paused; his face pulled into a frown of concentration “She used to be peppy? Who used to be peppy? Sorry, DeDee but you’ll have to talk louder, it’s really noisy in here.” He paused and closed his eyes. “Not peppy. Giuseppe? Who’s Giuseppe? Wait; is he that guy down the street that keeps complaining about Skippy? Listen, I don’t care what he says. Skippy is not the father. I don’t care how big they are. She’s not Skippy’s type,” Nigel’s frown deepened. He bent forward in his chair in an attempt to better hear. “Slow down, DeDee. I can’t understand you. Not Giuseppe. Okay. Sorry. Try again.” Nigel’s face was now squeezed shut in concentration.

“Nigel,” I said, tapping him on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take it outside?”

Nigel looked at me and nodded. “Hang on, DeDee. I’m moving to where it’s quieter. He walked away, one finger still stuck in his left ear. “Are you saying ‘used a pen’?” he shouted into the phone. “Who, Skippy? DeDee, then he’s just messing with you. He only thinks he can write.”

Nigel disappeared into the crowd still shouting into the phone. I turned back to the table, surprised to find them staring in silence back at me. “Is everything, all right?” asked Mandy. “Who’s DeDee?”

I reached for my glass of champagne and took a sip. “She works for Nigel’s company,” I explained. “She’s at our place tonight converting some of the videos we found. But it sounds like Skippy is being a nuisance.”

“Oh, is Skippy your son?” Christina asked me.

I choked on my drink. “God no!” I said. “He’s our dog. Although don’t tell him that. He’d be terribly offended. As it is, I’m pretty sure he thinks Nigel and I are the pets.”

Nigel returned just then and sat back down. “Everything okay?” I asked.

Nigel shrugged and reached for his glass. “I think so. I could barely hear her. She said she’d tell us when we got home.” He took a sip of his drink.

“Is Skippy attempting to write his memoirs?” I asked.

Nigel smiled. “Something like that, I guess. DeDee kept yelling about someone named Giuseppe using a pen.”

“Do we know anyone named Giuseppe?” I asked.

Nigel shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

“Well, in that case,” I said taking another sip. “I hope he returns our pen.”