Finally they brought us to a cramped room filled with round plastic tables and chairs. We were instructed that we could embrace Angus at the beginning and end, but apart from that, no physical contact was allowed. If we left our seats for any reason, the visit would be terminated.
A few minutes later, Angus shuffled in. His white hair was sticking up in places, and he still looked unnaturally pale. The jovial mountain of a man I cherished suddenly looked much older, and more than a little bewildered.
Betty clung to him, sobbing, and he patted her back awkwardly.
“Hush now, Betty. Don’t carry on so.”
He looked over his wife’s head at me. “Hullo, Brat.”
“Hi, Angus.” I summoned up a smile.
He always used to tease me that I was a fancy city girl because I’d lived in New York for most of my life. That I’d be afraid of some good old country dirt when we jumped into his truck and went off on our picking adventures together.
I just laughed. Heck, I’d taught in the city’s public school system, had been assigned to a teaching position in Harlem in the early days, and even stared down the barrel of a gun once. Dust, cobwebs, or even a spider or two wouldn’t be enough to put me off.
Angus and I found we were kindred spirits, bonded in the thrill of the hunt, as we chased down hidden treasures hoarded away in the barns, attics, closets, and basements of Eastern Pennsylvania. Joe, who preferred to stay home and putter in the garden or tinker with an old car, teased me that I had a new boyfriend. But the truth was Angus had become the protective big brother I’d never had.
Finally the guard motioned that the Backsteads needed to break apart, and we sat down on the hard seats.
“How are you doing, Angus?” I asked.
“Well, I’m stuck here in the slammer, but apart from that, I’m okay.” He smiled ruefully. “I do have a hell of a headache, though.”
I wanted to say, it’s probably from the gallon of whiskey you poured down your throat, but I didn’t. He must have drunk an awful lot to still be in bad shape this morning, some thirty-six hours later.
He leaned forward, eyes intent on me.
“I didn’t do it, Daisy. I didn’t kill Jimmy.”
“I know you didn’t. But what the heck happened on Friday night?”
“I don’t remember. I mean, I was there at the pub with him, knocking back a few, and next thing I knew, I woke up on our porch, feeling like the rear end of a camel. But the rest is a little fuzzy.”
It was hard to hear above the people at neighboring tables, all talking at once. The echoes of myriad conversations bounced around the confines of the crowded room.
Angus winced as he grabbed the seat to pull his chair closer.
“What’s the matter with your hands?”
He turned his massive palms up to me and I gasped. They were chock-full of splinters, some deeply embedded, and turning his work-roughened skin an angry red.
Chapter Two
“How did they get like this, Angus?” I asked, my heart racing.
He peered closer at his hands. “Damned if I know. I can’t see a thing without my reading glasses. They hurt like the devil, though.”
His faded blue eyes brightened. “Daisy, you should have seen those pens. They were beautiful. Really something else.”
Suddenly he started his familiar rapid-fire auctioneer chant. Loudly.
“One, one thousand, one, now two, two thousand, will you give me two, over in the corner, do I hear ten, ten thousand, yes, I have ten, now do I have—”
“Angus!” I fought back a moment of panic. What the hell was the matter with him? People were staring at us, some of them chuckling softly.
“Listen to me. Did you pick up a barn beam at Jimmy’s?” I held my breath while he frowned, staring off into space for what seemed like at least two minutes, and then his expression finally cleared.
“Well, yes, it was right in the doorway of the barn. I didn’t want anyone to trip over it.”
In spite of the dire situation, I had to smile. Even dead drunk, Angus was still thinking of the safety of others.
“Ah, now it’s coming back to me,” he said. “We stopped at his place before we came home. Went out to the barn for one last nightcap. Like I needed another one. Jimmy keeps a fridge full of beer out there.”
“Did you go back to Jimmy’s again the next morning when you noticed the pens missing?”
“No! I didn’t even realize they were stolen until the cops showed up. I assumed they were still locked up the way I left them on Friday. Right, Betty?”
Betty bit her lip, but didn’t answer.
“What?”
“Well, you have been a bit forgetful lately, Angus.”