Lie of the Needle(30)
Suddenly I gasped as I saw Ruth Bornstein walking along the other side of the street with an attractive man in his forties.
I skidded on a patch of slush, dropped the bag of ice melt, and grabbed hold of a lamppost for balance. Ruth was laughing up at the man, who had his arm around her. I peeked around the pole, wondering if they’d seen me, but they were too engrossed in each other.
According to Jewish custom, Ruth should be sitting shivah at home, at least for a week, shouldn’t she? Should I say anything to Detective Serrano about this merry widow?
I pulled out my cell phone and stood there for a few moments, wracked with indecision.
Come on, Daisy. Why don’t you mind your own business for once?
Time was ticking away and I didn’t want to be late, so I stuffed the phone in my pocket, threw the ice melt in the trunk of the station wagon, and headed up Sheepville Pike toward Backstead’s Auction House.
The auction building sat on three acres, with parking for a hundred cars, plus room for more on the surrounding fields. I pulled up in front of the low-slung corrugated metal structure and parked next to Angus’s Ford F-150 pickup truck.
“Hullo, Brat,” he greeted me as he strolled out of the double front doors, wearing his usual uniform of plaid shirt, jeans, and mountain boots. He handed me a coffee to go from the snack bar.
“Ah, a savior has come! Thank you, Angus.” I took a grateful slurp of the caffeine. “This is so exciting, isn’t it? It’s been a long time since I went house hunting.”
Angus grunted. “Yup. We just need to make sure that crazy gal doesn’t buy some ol’ money pit today.” He crossed his massive arms across his chest. “You know, Daisy, I still miss my Betty, but teaching Patsy the ropes around here is helping take my mind off things.”
A month or so ago, Angus’s wife had left him after twenty-five years of marriage, saying she wanted to “find” herself. Poor Angus didn’t really know what that meant and was utterly devastated, until Patsy, who had been a part-time auctioneer, quit waitressing and came to work for him full-time. With her no-nonsense practicality, she was pushing Angus to revamp his ancient business practices and distracting him from pining so much for his lost love.
At that moment, a gold-colored sedan that had seen better years zoomed along Sheepville Pike, clanged into the parking lot, and came to a stop in a cloud of smoke.
Claire, Patsy’s ten-year-old daughter, rushed out of the car and into my arms, reminding me of a galloping colt with her long limbs and shining dark hair. “This is so fun, isn’t it, Daisy?” she exclaimed, echoing my enthusiasm for the outing.
“You’re getting too tall and grown-up. You need to stop that right now.” I grinned at her as I hugged her back. I’d insisted she call me Daisy, instead of Mrs. Daly or Mrs. Buchanan or whatever else I could be.
Patsy got out of the car, too, but the unfortunate vehicle still sounded like it was running along the road until she thumped the hood a couple of times and it shuddered into silence. She had the same slim build as her daughter, and she wore jeans that encased her long legs, plus a red T-shirt under a leather jacket. “Yo, guys, wazzup?”
Angus glared at the beat-up contraption. “You need to get rid of that crappy car, missy.”
Patsy frowned. “What for? It runs fine.”
“Gimme a break. I can tell you’re coming a country mile away by the black clouds.”
“House first, and then maybe I’ll think about getting a new ride. My sister’s been awesome, but I think she’s really ready for us to get our own place.”
Patsy and Claire had been living with her sister in the same condo development as Serrano, and while they had the whole huge finished basement to themselves, there was nothing like owning your own home. At a recent auction, the antique doll collection on sale had blown the doors out with the sky-high price it fetched. In fact, it was the biggest auction that Backstead’s had ever seen, and Patsy’s share of the healthy commission was enough for a down payment on a house, and then some.