A double doorway from the white-tiled kitchen opened to a decent-sized living room. There were a few antiques. Not many, but the pieces he had were nice, like the grandfather clock in the corner and a mahogany cabinet holding some Minton bone china. A recliner covered with a crocheted brown, orange, and yellow afghan was angled in front of the television.
The place was spare, but clean and neat. That first door to the trailer must have been his office. I was right—he did live here in this place, on this deserted dead-end road, all by himself.
“Were ya born in a barn?” he barked. “Put the wood in t’hole.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He gestured to the door behind me.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” I turned and shut it.
“Cuppa tea?” He glared at me as he asked the question.
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“You already did. And as I can see you aren’t leaving until you get what you came for, you may as well park yerself.”
“Fine.” I glared back and sat down at the kitchen table. A square Limoges plate held the remains of his breakfast—some scrambled eggs and a corner of a piece of toast. He’d been working on a crossword puzzle in the newspaper.
While he busied himself getting a mug out of a kitchen cabinet, I took a surreptitious glance at the puzzle. It was mainly filled in with his wavering capital letters, except for one long twelve-letter word with a c as the third letter and a t at the end. The clue was “defies authority.” I knew I drove Sarah and Joe crazy whenever we watched Wheel of Fortune. I could solve it with only one letter showing, or sometimes none at all.
Cyril handed me a mug and I took a sip of the tea. It was strong and sweet. “Thank you. Just the way I like it.”
Not that he’d bothered to ask if I took milk and sugar.
He sat down opposite me and bit into one of Martha’s cookies. “Now then, was there summat you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat, and took another mouthful of the delicious brew. “The thing is, Angus doesn’t seem to be able to remember much about that night at the pub with Jimmy. You were there. I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation. I mean, were they really that drunk? Did you notice anything unusual?”
“Well, Jimmy was sloshed. As per usual.” He dunked the rest of the cookie in his tea. “Angus was goin’ sideways, too, but believe it or not, I’ve seen him worse. Although lately he don’t seem to know whether it’s Tuesday or Christmas, the poor bugger.”
I blew out a breath. “I know. Now, were he and Jimmy getting along?”
“Aye, fair t’middlin. Jimmy was buying drinks like there was no tomorrow.”
But as it turned out, there wasn’t one. For him.
“Do you know who else could have wanted to murder Jimmy? Because we both know Angus didn’t do it. Did he have any enemies? Was he in any kind of trouble?”
He shrugged. “Not that I know of. Although Jimmy weren’t no prince, neither.”
“Any strangers in the bar? Like a tall, black-haired woman?” I didn’t mention the estate company yet. I wanted to be careful with the trust Reenie had placed in me.
Cyril stared out the window at the rain, which was coming down harder and making long, wet strikes against the glass.
I racked my mind for other good detective-type questions. Damn it. The police should be dealing with this cantankerous old man. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
I finished my tea. The slogan on the outside of my mug read, NOT A POT TO PISS IN. I set it carefully down on the table.
There was silence between us for a few more moments.
Cyril glanced at me. His eyes were hazel, almost greenish in this light. I’d never noticed the color before. His gray hair straggled out from under his cap, his clothes were a mess, but his eyes were positively beautiful. Almost hypnotic.
“Ah don’t remember much about math in school,” he said quietly, “but if a equals b, it don’t necessarily equal c as well. Maybe Jimmy’s murder is nowt to do with Jimmy or the pens. Angus had some enemies, you know.”
“Like who?”
“Well, the Perkins family in Sheepville, for one. A year or so ago, Angus bought their grandmother’s estate as a whole house buyout.”
I nodded. Angus sometimes paid a flat fee for entire estate contents, instead of taking items on consignment.
“Turns out the merchandise were worth a damn sight more when it was auctioned off individually. The two grandsons are especially brassed off.”
“You mean angry?”
“Aye. And those lads were in the pub that night. They could have realized this was the perfect opportunity to get their own back.”