She followed John into the dining room, where he put the arrangement in the middle of a gleaming oval mahogany table loaded with trays of food.
It was the most elegant room Kerry had ever seen, with wallpaper in a rich green-and-gold damask. Silk curtains puddled on the hardwood floor. A chandelier dripping with crystals illuminated the room, and a mahogany Hepplewhite sideboard held dozens of glowing candles set in silver candlesticks. The wall opposite the sideboard held a huge gilt-framed oil portrait of an elegant woman in a gauzy aqua ’50s-era evening gown.
John noticed her staring at the painting. “My great-grandmother,” he said. “GeeGee. She was quite a dame. Made her debut with Jackie Kennedy, slept with two cabinet members in the Johnson administration. This apartment and a lot of the furniture in here was hers.”
He looked over Kerry’s head and waved. “I just realized you haven’t met Thomas yet. He’s been on the road with a touring production of Annie and just got home yesterday.”
John’s partner Thomas had the bluest eyes Kerry had ever seen, and a neatly trimmed graying beard.
“Babe? This is my friend Kerry that I’ve been telling you about. She’s Murphy’s sister, but more importantly, she created the wreath hanging on your grandmother’s secretary and that divine centerpiece.”
Thomas’s eyes widened in appreciation. He took her hand in both of his. “Kerry, it’s so nice to meet you. We both love your work.”
“Thanks,” she said. “So you’ve been on the road with a show? Are you an actor?”
“God no,” the two men drawled in unison.
“I’m a theatrical producer,” Thomas explained.
“And John’s a writer. He’ll never tell you this himself, but he’s a New York Times bestseller,” Thomas said proudly. “His books terrify me. How does a gay man write such seriously spooky stuff?”
“You’re gay?” John lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ve been sleeping with you for twenty-five years, and now you tell me?”
“Funny, honey,” Thomas said. “Okay, enough about us. This lady has been here for at least ten minutes and she doesn’t even have a drink in her hand.”
“What’ll you have?” John asked. “Wine? Martini? Champagne? Or some of Thomas’s infamous Christmas punch?”
“The punch sounds delicious but dangerous, so maybe just a glass of champagne.”
* * *
She sipped from a delicate crystal flute and wandered into the living room, where Taryn Kaplan spotted her and began introducing her to some of the other partygoers. Kerry felt a tug at the sleeve of her jacket.
Austin beamed up at her. He looked especially natty, wearing a red-and-white-striped dress shirt, red plaid vest, and a necklace of winking plastic Christmas tree lights.
“Hey, Kerry!” the boy said, his voice pitched with excitement.
“Austin, hi,” Kerry said. “Where’s your dad tonight?”
“He’s at his place. It’s my mom’s turn to stay with me. You look real pretty,” Austin said. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an iced sugar cookie and took a bite. “Did you get any of the cookies? I helped make ’em.”
“I didn’t, but I’ll certainly get one, now that I know you baked them.”
“Get the ones with the silver sprinkles,” he advised.
“Austin?” A woman, slender with hair worn in a sleek dark bob, approached and pointed to the cookie the boy was munching on. Kerry recognized her from their brief encounter at the tree stand. “How many of those have you eaten tonight?”
“Not that many. Only five.”
“Austin?” She brushed away the cookie crumbs cascading down his vest.
“Maybe it was six? I forget.”
“Okay, no more cookies for you,” the woman said sternly. She favored Kerry with a lukewarm smile.
“Hi there. I’m Gretchen McCaleb. Austin’s mom.”
“And I’m Kerry. My brother and I run the Christmas tree stand. Austin’s been a big help this week.”
“Really? How so?”
“My brother was sleeping and I had to run an errand, so Patrick and Austin very generously offered to mind the stand. It was barely an hour,” Kerry explained.
“But then the police came, and somebody called a tow truck and they were gonna hook Spammy up to the truck and take her away. But Murphy yelled at the guy and made him go away,” the boy continued.
“The police?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” Kerry assured her.
Gretchen nodded. “You’re the artist, right? Austin has been telling me all about the story you two have been writing and illustrating together.”
“Mr. Heinz has been helping too. He draws really good. You should see the picture he drew of me and Kerry.”
“Are you talking about that batty old homeless guy in the dusty coat, Austin? I’m not sure you should be hanging around with him. There’s something off about that man. Always wandering the street, day and night, muttering to himself.”
“He seems harmless to me,” Kerry said.
Gretchen gave her an impassive stare.
“You’ve been here, what? A week? I’ve been seeing him around the neighborhood for years. He scowls every time he sees me.” She put a protective hand on Austin’s shoulder. “I saw him take his cane and beat the hood of a cab last year when it honked at him for jaywalking. He could be a dangerous kook. I’d really rather that man not spend any time with my child.”
“What’s all this about?”
Patrick had eased, unannounced, into their little circle.
Austin’s face brightened. “Dad! You came.”
Patrick high-fived his son. “Of course I came. Can’t miss the best Christmas party of the year.”
“I thought you had dinner with a client tonight,” Gretchen said.
“More like drinks and appetizers. And the restaurant was only a few blocks away.”
“How nice,” Gretchen murmured. Kerry almost laughed. She could tell the woman was totally pissed to see her ex.
Gretchen took a sip of her martini. “I was just telling Kerry that I don’t like our son spending time around that homeless man. He seems deranged.”
“Oh, I don’t think Heinz is deranged. And look, it’s not like Austin has ever been alone with him.”
Austin tugged at the hem of Patrick’s Harris tweed sport coat. “Dad, there’s Murphy. And he brought his banjo.”
Claudia had Murphy by the arm, dragging him toward the living room fireplace, where a chair had been set up in front of a roaring fire.
“Everyone!” she announced. “We’ve got a treat tonight. Murphy Tolliver has volunteered to get us in the Christmas spirit by playing his dobro.”
Guests drifted in from the dining room, glasses and plates in hand, and formed a semicircle around him. The room grew silent as all eyes were trained on the musician.
Finally, Murphy looked up and cleared his throat. “Uh, what d’ya’ll want to hear?”
“Play ‘Frosty the Snowman,’” Austin piped up.
Laughter rippled through the crowd and the awkward silence was broken.
chapter 17