His voice trailed off and out of the corner of my eye I could tell he was still carefully watching my expression.
My heart rate sped up again.
Come on, Angus. How long was this going to take?
“Harriet and I had been living separate lives for a long time before she died, and long before I ever started a romantic relationship with Bettina.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I’m not quite sure how it happened, but my wife became an absolute bitch, through and through. Don’t think I’m an awful person, will you Daisy, but I can’t say I’m sorry Harriet’s gone. Maybe I’ll have a chance at some happiness now. Do you know what it’s like to live with someone who’s completely obsessed?”
I bit my lip as I remembered the other bedrooms and my near panic attack.
“She took great pleasure in telling me she would never give me a divorce. Deliberately stonewalling me and not letting me get on with my life.”
There was a moment of silence while he swallowed so hard I could see his Adam’s apple move in his throat. “Bettina is so different, so sweet. She’s pregnant. Did you know? Not quite what we’d planned, but I couldn’t be happier.”
If he’d killed Harriet, he seemed unusually open and willing to talk. He was obviously proud about the pregnancy, but in a quiet way.
Grudgingly, I felt my anger at his cheating fade somewhat and I looked at him for the first time that evening. “Will Bettina be okay? I mean, being pregnant with diabetes? Isn’t that a risk?”
He swallowed again. “She’ll be all right. She deals with her condition very well, and we’ll monitor her carefully.”
“I’m sure she’s in good hands,” I murmured.
Wait a minute. Diabetes. “Did you know Sophie Rosenthal?”
“Yes, Sophie was my patient.” He slid his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m still upset that I didn’t realize how depressed she was. Perhaps I could have helped her more.”
“Could it have been an accidental overdose?”
“Suppose so, but it’s doubtful. Sophie was a type 1 diabetic, and had been for most of her life. She was very familiar with how to administer insulin correctly.” He slipped his glasses back on and blinked a few times. “Would you excuse me?” He gestured toward a row of wax dolls. “I’ve never liked those. Something funeral-ish about them. I’ll meet you guys downstairs, okay?”
After he disappeared, Angus and I made our way to the last guest room, which was full of nothing but bisques.
“Angus, these are Bru dolls. There’s about fifty of them at a quick count. They can go anywhere from a couple of thousand each to twenty, thirty, or more, depending.”
Angus scratched his head. “I’m running out of zeros on my calculator.”
I felt an overwhelming sadness. This type of manic spending was a sickness, even as beautiful as this vast collection was. “I have to get out of here soon, Angus.”
“Me, too. If I were still drinking, I’d go have a shot and a beer after this.”
There were four bedrooms upstairs, and two and a half baths. Much too big for one person, unless, like Harriet, they had enough merchandise to fill a chain of retail stores.
We found Birch Kunes downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, staring morosely at the pretty lilac dollhouse.
Angus explained that he could give Birch a more exact presale estimate once everything was back at the auction house and he could go through the items from the garage.