I couldn’t deal with this right now. I didn’t want to pass out like I almost did in Ramsbottom’s office. I held up a hand. “Angus, stop. Please.”
“Okay.” He lapsed into silence.
I blew out a breath. A minute passed and then my curiosity got the better of me.
“Oh, hell. Just tell me—was the cat dead or not when all was said and done?”
Angus shook his head.
“Then give me the PG version.”
“They played what they called ‘Bowling with Kitty’ at their house with some friends. Set up a stack of pins at the end of the wooden hallway upstairs and threw the cat down the length of it, skidding head over arse along the varnished floor until it knocked over the pins. Finally, when they got tired of the game, they tossed it out of a second-floor window.”
I gasped. “But I thought you said the cat didn’t die.”
Angus chuckled. “He didn’t. He came back inside, went upstairs, and took a massive dump on the old lady’s bed.”
I snorted with laughter.
“That cat was never the same after that, though. Had a real attitude problem.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I can see why.”
“Finally bit and scratched one of the girl’s neighbors really bad. Enough to send them to the hospital. The parents had to put it down.”
“I thought you said the Perkins boys didn’t kill the cat!”
“They didn’t.”
I shook my head. Men could be so annoyingly literal at times.
The lights flickered. “Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, Angus. Keep the faith, okay?”
“You’re an amazing woman, Daisy Buchanan. I love you.”
I swallowed against the sting of tears in my eyes and gave him the biggest hug I could muster. “I love you, too. Don’t worry, Angus. Everything is going to be fine.”
In the prison parking lot afterward, I sat in my car for a while, leaning back in my seat, fighting a spirit-stealing wave of depression. Maybe the situation was hopeless after all.
When I got to Sheepville, the rain had eased, so I decided to stop at The Marmalade Cat, a wonderful independent bookstore in the middle of town. I’d look for a nice anniversary gift for Joe. If nothing else, being around books always cheered me up.
As I walked up the street, I saw Reenie coming toward me. She was wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans, her hair was shiny, and I smiled at the peach color in her cheeks, glad to see her looking so much better than the last time I’d seen her.
Amazing what losing an abusive husband can do for your appearance.
“Reenie! I’m so happy I ran into you. You look great.”
“Thanks.” She smiled back, a faint dimple appearing.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay. Me and the kids are fine. But one of the cows had milk fever. Second one this month. The vet came out, so same old story. Never enough money to go round. He said I could pay him off in eggs, though, which was nice.”
“Reenie, you’re not going to believe this. I have great news for you!” I was almost jumping up and down with excitement.
Her smile was quizzical, inquiring. “Yeah?”
“Yes. The ladies in Millbury are planning a country fair and flea market. On the Saturday before July Fourth. You don’t have to do a thing, but all the profits will go towards a fund for your kids. To pay for their college or whatever else they might need.”
Reenie stared at me for a few seconds. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
I grinned, feeling as if I’d just handed the lottery check to this week’s winner. Whatever it took to pull the event off, I’d do it ten times over to see that look of wonder on her face.
“Daisy, I can’t believe you’re doing this for us. It’s too much.”
“Shh. No, it’s not.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and then wiped at them roughly. “I guess you haven’t found out any more about what happened to Jimmy? Anything about that estate company?”
“I’m afraid not. That seems like a bit of a dead end.” I winced. Pardon the pun. “But don’t worry, Reenie, I won’t stop until I figure it out. And I’m going to make sure that you and your kids are well taken care of.”
She stared at me again, as if she could hardly comprehend what I was saying.
Suddenly she gave me a quick, hard hug. “I wish I’d had a mom like you growing up. Maybe things would have been different,” she whispered into my ear before she hurried off.
I stumbled into the bookstore, swallowing against the lump in my throat. It had been a watery morning, all things considered.
I almost lost track of time inside the tantalizing shop, but eventually I found a book on vintage bicycle restoration for Joe, the latest paranormal by Sarah’s favorite author, and for me, Sunday’s New York newspapers. They were a few days old, but I’d still enjoy reading them.