I was about to ask about her husband, but then I spotted him sitting in his worn and faded armchair.
“Mr. Nagy!” I exclaimed. “You’re home!”
“And it’s so good to be here,” he said with a smile.
“So the police finally realized that you’re innocent?” I asked.
His smile faded. “No. Not yet.”
“He’s out on bail,” his wife explained. “Because of his age and his health problems.”
“My bad heart is finally good for something.” Mr. Nagy tried to inject his words with humor, but fell short.
“He’s on house arrest,” Mrs. Nagy added.
Her husband tugged up one pant leg to reveal an ankle monitor.
“I had to pledge all of our savings,” she continued. “And my cousin had to help out by putting her house on the line.”
They exchanged a worried glance, and my excitement fizzled away. I sank down onto the sofa while Mrs. Nagy brought me a cup of tea. Her husband already had one, and hers sat on the coffee table, half empty.
“The detective was questioning me like I’m a suspect, so when I saw you here, I thought surely…” I trailed off, confused as to what Detective Callahan might be thinking.
“You’re a suspect?” Mrs. Nagy asked, shocked. She perched on the sofa next to me.
“An imbecile, that’s what the detective must be,” Mr. Nagy declared. “You’re such a nice young lady. You’d never harm anyone.”
I thanked him, not bothering to mention that I’d nearly clobbered a diner with a cocktail glass on my last day on the job at the restaurant.
“Maybe he has his doubts about you though,” I said to Mr. Nagy. “Otherwise, why treat me like a suspect?”
“There is some doubt,” he said.
“That’s what our lawyer tells us,” Mrs. Nagy added.
Their words gave me a double dose of relief. “I’m glad you’ve got a lawyer.”
Mr. Nagy took a sip of his tea. “A public defender. We can’t afford anything else.”
“Leona gave us the contact information for a friend of hers,” Mrs. Nagy said. “But we never called him.”
“He’s a lawyer?” I asked, wondering if I might need to retain his services.
Mrs. Nagy was only partially successful at stifling a smile. “No, but years ago he played one on television.”
That got a smile out of me too.
“Do you know why the police now have doubts about your guilt, Mr. Nagy?” I asked after sampling my tea. Creamy and sweet, just the way I liked it.
“They determined that Freddie was struck by a right-handed assailant,” he replied.
“And you’re left-handed?”
“Right-handed,” he said, causing me some confusion.
“But Zoltán’s had weakness on his right side ever since he had a stroke three years ago,” Mrs. Nagy explained. “The police are no longer so sure he had the strength to inflict Freddie’s head wound.”
“That’s good news,” I said, though that was likely why Detective Callahan was now looking at another suspect—me.
