A Dollhouse to Die For(120)

            I bit my lip. After the first time we’d visited the Bucks County Correctional Facility, Betty had been too intimidated by the whole experience to face it again, not even for Angus’s sake. The visits had been left up to me from then on. In fact, sometimes I’d felt like I was the only person in the entire county who still believed in him.

            “She says she’s found her independence. Said I’m too domineering, whatever that means,” Angus mumbled.

            After a summer spent on her own, his formerly mousy wife had finally discovered she had a backbone.

            “Well . . .” My voice trailed off as I thought about how he had practically commandeered me away from my store for today’s adventure.

            “Hey! Whose side are you on, Brat?”

            I mustered a wan smile. “What about counseling?”

            “It’s too late for that. She’s already moved out.”

            “Wow. I’m so sorry, Angus.”

            “Yeah, well, I haven’t lost hope yet. Maybe if I let her spread her wings, she’ll come flying back one of these days.”

            I wasn’t so sure. His wife had done a radical transformation. A total three-sixty. Sometimes people who knew the “old” you could never reconcile themselves to the person you’d become. I’d be willing to bet she knew in her heart that Angus could never accept the new and improved Betty Backstead.

            “I’m going to hire Patsy full-time now to work at the auction house,” he said.

            Even as I silently cheered that Patsy Elliott would be able to quit the diner and work at something she loved, my heart went out to Angus. My boisterous, bossy, exasperating, but bighearted friend.

            “Well, I’m sure Pats will be a huge help,” I said. “She adores working with you. In fact, that last auction for Harriet’s dolls gave her enough money to hopefully afford a house for herself and Claire.”

            “Yeah, talk about irony. Betty said it’s that same damn auction that gave her the idea to leave me.”

            “What?”

            “She knew that night that I’d made enough money to buy her out of the house and the business, and that she was finally free to go.”

            “Jeez.” I shook my head at how one event could trigger so many others.

            How often did I take Joe for granted? It didn’t matter how old you were, nothing was ever permanent. People changed, and the marriage needed to keep up. It was a work in progress. Something to be cherished and protected and nurtured. Always.

            “Check this out, Daisy.” Angus, apparently done with the heart-to-heart, strolled over to a table that looked like it held the contents of an attic. He picked up an antique duck decoy. “These things are worth a fortune,” he whispered in my ear. “He’s asking $185, but that’s still cheap. I’m going to offer a buck and a half.”

            After a little haggling, Angus tucked it under his arm and winked at me.

            For my part, I couldn’t resist a vintage hand-sewn tea towel that said “Home Sweet Home Cooking” with a farmhouse that looked like so many of those around Sheepville, surrounded by various red-stitched chickens and other farm animals. It would sell in a second. If it ever made it out of my house, that is.

            I was drawn to another table with Victorian paper dolls, antique toile, and lace trim. A yellow Vaseline glass vase from around 1900 that sort of resembled a squid caught my eye. I knew it wasn’t anything to do with sewing notions, but it was so quirky and unusual, I had to have it for the store. I’d never not sold anything I’d picked up this way.