Lie of the Needle(33)
Patsy glared at him. I’d seen that same bullish expression on Angus’s face a thousand times before. If a person didn’t know otherwise, it would be easy to think that they were father and daughter. Of course, the fact that they were alike in lots of ways meant they butted heads all the time, but I knew Angus hoped Patsy could take over the business someday. He absolutely doted on Claire, too.
Patsy hitched her leather jacket back and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I can’t deal with pink-tiled bathrooms and psychedelic wallpaper, Angus. I don’t want to do a lot of rehab. I want something newer.”
“You’d have to do just as much work with this place. Look at all the damn holes in the walls!”
Claire held out her palm and Angus fished in his pockets, looking for a quarter as penance for his cuss word. Claire had done her best to clean up her mother’s language and was now working on Angus, twenty-five cents at a time.
He grunted as he pulled down the steps to the attic and one of the hinges swung loose. “Sloppy. No excuse. Cassell is banging these dumps up as fast as he can go. There’s no quality workmanship here.” Angus, who took his job as surrogate parent to Patsy very seriously, climbed the attic steps to inspect the roof construction.
The real estate agent shifted nervously as we watched his large frame disappear into the rafters. Patsy sighed.
“Don’t worry, dear,” the agent murmured as she laid a hand on Patsy’s sleeve. “You know, sometimes when parents are involved, they can be overly picky. It’s how they justify why they’ve been brought along.”
I gritted my teeth. I viewed Patsy and Claire as my family, too. I wasn’t about to let them make a mistake either.
A few moments later, Angus clambered back down. “Some of those rafters have been spray-foamed and some not. I’ve never seen such an uneven and unprofessional job in my life.” He let go of the attic steps, and they swung back into the roof with a clang.
“Nope, you gals are not buying this place. No way. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Come on, we’re leaving.”
The real estate agent pressed her lips together, probably wishing Patsy hadn’t brought her “dad” along.
Outside, as we headed toward Angus’s truck, Beau Cassell himself was getting out of a big pickup truck, a length of metal rebar in his hand. Patsy walked past him with her rangy stride that made men stop and take a second look when she walked by. Beau Cassell was no exception.
Angus took a step in front of her. “Hey, Cassell, congratulations, you did a real crap job on this place,” he said with a nod of his head toward the house we had just vacated.
“What the hell are you talking about, Backstead?” Cassell’s cheeks flushed.
“That spray foam in the attic? It’s not even finished, and it’s way too thick in some places, not enough in others. Your fricking building technique is for the birds.”
Cassell gripped the rebar so tightly, I could see the white on his knuckles. “The owner must have done it himself, because spray foam wasn’t an option when we built this section. I remember these homeowners. What a pair. They had a huge fight right in the model home.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “That son of a bitch! He must have been stealing my construction materials.”
“Or maybe some of your crew are doing work on the side and pocketing the cash?” Patsy suggested.
Cassell’s face turned a purplish-red, and he hurried toward the house with Angus hard on his heels, obviously eager to personally point out the rest of the builder’s failings to him.
“Oh, jeez,” I said. “Patsy, you stay here with Claire. I don’t want Angus getting into a fight.”