After two more hours of watching the red digital numbers on the alarm clock tick away one by one, I finally dozed off again around 5 a.m. When the alarm went off at 7 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed feeling as though I’d been run over by that same police cruiser.
A long shower and several cups of coffee later, I was sitting in my car outside Martha’s house, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. The sweltering humidity was back and my hair was still slightly damp because I’d only been able to stand so much additional heat from the blow dryer in the already steamy bathroom. I leaned forward and ruffled it in front of the air-conditioning vent in the car.
Martha finally appeared, perfectly made up, wearing a lime green sundress, orange sandals, and a fantastic vintage necklace of tangerine ceramic flowers on a gold chain with wrapped orange glass pearls. We headed toward downtown Doylestown and the Bucks County Courthouse.
To my surprise, we found a parking spot right on the street. I hurried through one of the brick archways looping along the sidewalk and up onto the wide promenade in front of the imposing circular glass building. Martha followed, panting for breath, and I waited impatiently at the top of a set of shallow steps.
“Come on, Martha, I don’t want to miss anything.”
“If you don’t slow down, you’ll be missing me. Permanently.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on.” I grabbed her hand and half towed her into the building.
A small group of people had gathered outside the courtroom on the first floor where the hearing was scheduled to take place. There were a few older men who were auction regulars, a couple of Angus’s drinking buddies, and someone I barely recognized.
Cyril Mackey.
He looked years younger with the stylish haircut. He’d shaved, too, and the new clothes were a big improvement. He didn’t look half bad, come to think of it. The gray hair was cut to collar length, but now it was aging rock star rather than scruffy homeless person, and the tailored clothes enhanced what I was sure was an ex-military bearing.
He sensed my appraisal and smirked at me, his eyes a dark green in the muted light of the hallway. “Look right posh, don’t I?”
“Nice jacket.” I grinned at him.
Martha gave him a regal nod, her chest still rising and falling with her efforts to keep up with me.
“Mornin’,” Cyril muttered.
If I wasn’t so anxious about Angus, it would have been cute, the way these two pretended to be so indifferent to each other.
“Where is everybody?” I glanced at my watch. In spite of having to wait for Martha, it was still fifteen minutes before 9 a.m., the scheduled time for the hearing.
“I thought Angus had lots of friends,” I whispered to her.
Martha looked at me, her eyes full of compassion. “Oh, Daisy, you’re always so willing to believe the best in people.”
She twisted the flowers on her necklace for a moment before she spoke again. “You see, country folk are bred to accept the hard parts of life along with the good. The deaths of animals, the loss of a farm, they expect the worst and hope for the best. The reality of human nature doesn’t shock them as much. And for the ones who are old enough to remember the Hank Ramsbottom story . . . well, it’s the nail in the coffin for Angus.”
I blew out a breath. “But where’s Betty? I can’t believe she’s not here! And I can’t believe Ramsbottom isn’t here to gloat either.”
Cyril frowned as he looked around. “Summat’s wrong.”
I spied a clerk hurrying by and stepped in his way to halt him in his tracks.
“Excuse me, is this the right room for the hearing for Angus Backstead?”
He consulted a clipboard full of papers. “Backstead? Oh, it was canceled. His attorney waived the hearing.”
“What?” I barely restrained myself from grabbing the front of his shirt. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sorry, please excuse me.” He scurried off down the hallway as I struggled to suck in enough air.
Dimly I heard the murmurs of those behind me.
I blinked to clear the black spots in front of my eyes. “Damn it. I knew I should have found a good criminal attorney for Angus.” My throat was so constricted I could hardly grind the words out.
Cyril shook his head in dismay. “Aye up. Thought Angus were in trouble before. He’s really buggered now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mackey.” Martha glared at him. “Good God, man. There are ladies present.”
“Oh, Martha, he’s right!” I ran my hands through my hair. “Is Warren out of his tiny mind? What the hell was he thinking?”
She squeezed her fingers together in a choking motion. “Let’s go see that boll weevil and shake some sense into him.”