5 Merry Market Murder (10 page)

I’d been trying to somehow tie the ornaments to Brenton, but I couldn’t detect any real connection. Nevertheless, he was on my mind, too.

“Me, either. He’s embarrassed. Sam said there was no real reason to arrest him and once he cooled down a little and Sam told Brenton that he shouldn’t behave the way he was behaving, Sam just wanted to let him go. He likes Brenton.”

“Everyone likes Brenton. I wish I understood the history between him and the Ridgeways. I thought about asking Denny, but it feels like we as a market might have already been less-than-stellar hosts, and it might just be none of my business anyway,” Allison said.

I’d thought about talking to Denny, too, but I’d been so busy that I hadn’t yet made the effort.

“Did you know Brenton was once married?” I said.

“Sure. I know his ex-wife—not well, but as well as anyone, I suppose.”

“Who is she?”

“You didn’t know that Brenton was once married to Stephanie Frugit?” Allison said.

“As in Frugit Orchard, Stephanie Frugit?” I said as I sat up straight. How did I not know this?

“It was a long time ago, but yes, the one and only Stephanie Frugit is Brenton’s ex-wife. She’s the one who told Brenton he should sell his dog biscuits here at Bailey’s. Of course, that was after she laughed at the idea of her orchard having a stall here.”

The Frugit Orchard issue had occurred about ten years earlier. I remembered Allison’s anger at the way she felt she’d been treated by Stephanie when Allison suggested that a Frugit Orchard apple stall at the then up-and-coming Bailey’s would benefit everyone involved. Stephanie Frugit had laughed at the idea and had even been quoted as saying
“
That little Monson market would never be able to handle the popularity of a Frugit Orchard apple stand”
to a newspaper reporter who was writing a story on Monson businesses.

The worst part of the entire episode was that the apples were delicious, probably some of the best I’d ever eaten. I knew that Linda only purchased Frugit Orchard apples. They were easy to find; they were sold in most South Carolina grocery stores, and they were the number-one apple brand sold by all the local produce wholesalers. They were almost everywhere, except at Bailey’s. Over the years as Bailey’s had grown, I’d sometimes wondered if Stephanie Frugit might reconsider and set up at stall at the market. But knowing what I knew of her stubborn and way-too-proud reputation, I thought it unlikely.

“No matter how hard I try to create that picture in my mind, I can’t imagine Brenton married to Stephanie Frugit. In fact, from what I know about them both, I can’t even imagine them liking each other,” I said.

“Their marriage ended badly, I hear.” Allison winced; she didn’t like to gossip.

“When Brenton was freaking out yesterday, Barry said he was going to call Brenton’s ex-wife,” I said, as I wondered if Barry truly had made that call and what the result had been.

Allison shrugged. “Sometimes time passing can help. You and Scott seemed to get along fine recently.”

The Scott she was speaking of was my second ex-husband. The other had been named Scott as well. I’d run into Scott the Second at a local fair and festival.

“Well, mostly,” I said. I sat back again. “What do you know about Reggie Stuckey?”

“Until a couple days ago, I didn’t know anything about him. His arrival was a mystery, his death a tragic mystery. I’d never heard of him or his trees until they both showed up here this week.”

I told her about my time with Gellie and the new information I’d gleaned.

“But Allison, the one big thing I came away from Gellie with was this: Remember when Reggie said he was going to call his ‘gal’ and have her fax over the contract?”

“Sure. It arrived shortly thereafter.”

“There were no ‘gals,’ no office personnel. There was Gellie and someone named Patricia Archer, who helped with the trees. Gellie didn’t know anything about sending a fax to you or anyone else, for that matter. I didn’t meet Patricia Archer, but Gellie said she’d never seen her come into the house.”

“That could mean nothing. Maybe he just used the word
gal
because it sounded right to him. Maybe he didn’t want to say that he’d have his ‘guy’ fax over the contract. Some people are funny about those sorts of things.”

“But the only guy is Patricia’s husband, Joel, and he helps with the trees, too. I doubt it, but I suppose it’s possible.” I wished I’d thought to ask Gellie if Reggie had an office in the house and if I could look at it.

“The mystery of Reggie Stuckey only continues to grow,” Allison said.

I sighed, but had nothing more to add, so Hobbit, the onion, and I headed back to my stall and watched for suspicious-looking people bearing strange homemade farmers’ market ornaments.

No one stood out.

Mid-afternoon, I put my again-empty boxes and Hobbit into the truck and rode the bumpy back load/unload path out of the market and toward the highway. There had been no new ornaments to add to the collection, either in my stall or my truck. Linda said she didn’t think she had seen anyone acting strangely or suspiciously around my stall, though it had been so busy she couldn’t be certain.

I pulled the truck around to the front parking lot and stopped on the edge of the lot between Allison’s office and the Ridgeway setup. The Stuckey truck had been removed earlier though I hadn’t witnessed its departure.

Denny was tending to some of his corralled trees—it looked like he was fanning their limbs and making sure none of them were being unduly crushed. His tree adjustments reminded me of my pumpkin adjustments. It was important to move growing pumpkins and their vines every now and then so the gourds wouldn’t end up with a flat side or some other misshape.

Billie and Ned were closer to the truck than the tree corral and were sitting in facing chairs, but they acted as if they weren’t aware of each other. Billie concentrated on one of her fingernails and Ned was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he thumbed something on his phone.

“Stay here, girl,” I said to Hobbit as I put the truck into park and turned off the engine. I had a sudden desire to see if I could get some questions answered.

“Becca, hello!” Denny said happily as I walked toward the corral. The two seated siblings sat up a little straighter and returned my smile and wave.

“Hi,” I said as Denny remained behind the low rope of the corral. “How are you all doing? Comfortable?”

“I think we’re fine. We’ve already sold more trees than I anticipated,” Denny said. “The Stuckey tragedy didn’t disrupt Bailey’s business much, if at all.”

Gone was the tenderness I thought I’d witnessed when we found Reggie’s body and shortly thereafter, but Denny was correct. Bailey’s business hadn’t suffered. Briefly, I wondered what would have happened if the legendary Denny had been the murder victim instead of the much- lesser-known Reggie.

“No, it didn’t. I didn’t know much about Reggie. Did he have a family?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Denny said, but a twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. I knew this because the twitch stretched through his beard.

“You must have known each other a little, being in the same business and all.”

“We did. We hadn’t had many dealings for the last few years, but there was a time . . . oh, I suppose that’s not important now.”

“You were close?”

Denny waved off the question.

“Well,” I said, “then I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Anyone’s death creates a loss, and one that was so brutal . . . well, it’s tragic, just tragic.”

The December sunlight was tinged with gray; I liked December sunlight and its subtle promise of the season. It was comforting, but today it only seemed to discolor Denny’s normally ruddy skin. I wondered if it was my imagination.

“Denny, can I ask you another question? It’s one of those none-of-my-business questions, but I’d really like to ask.”

Denny crossed his arms in front of himself. I didn’t think he was aware of how loudly his body language spoke. He briefly glanced over at Billie and Ned, who pretended not to be interested in Denny and me, and said, “Sure. Can’t promise I can answer, but ask away.”

“What’s between you and your family”—I looked at Billie and Ned and then back at Denny—“and Brenton Jones?”

“I don’t guess I know what you mean. I don’t even know who you mean.”

I looked at him a long moment. He might have been lying, but it was hard to tell. He was stoic, and I sensed that the wall he’d put up with his crossed arms was impenetrable because he’d had practice building it before. On the other hand, he emanated such a natural honesty that he was either truly honest, or really, really good at lying.

I continued, “I’ve known Brenton for as long as I’ve worked at Bailey’s, which is just about eight years. He’s never once been anything but friendly and kind. When he pulled into the parking lot the other day, I thought his eyes might burn right out of their sockets with the look he was giving your truck. He’s been agitated since the day you arrived. There’s something between you all. I know it’s no one’s business but yours, but I’m curious, very curious, and I was hoping you’d tell me at least a little something about your issues.”

“I think you’re asking the wrong person, Becca. I don’t have a problem with this fella you’re talking about. You might want to ask him.”

“I have.”

“What does he say?”

“Nothing.”

It was Denny’s turn to study me. He did, his eyes suddenly focused and slanted. It never occurred to me that the mere act of me asking these questions could somehow make him suspicious of me, but that’s what I was sensing—he suddenly didn’t trust me.

Instantly, I wanted to do or say something trustworthy. My “want to be liked” part wanted to be stroked. Had I just done or said something that might make Denny like me less? Denny Ridgeway and I didn’t really know each other. Just because we’d had a couple friendly conversations in the parking lot and had found a dead body together didn’t give either of us the right to expect full disclosure—in either direction. It was an interesting, eye-opening moment.

But maybe it was okay not to be trusted. I’d ride it and see where it went. I let him study me without saying anything. I wasn’t demure; I probably couldn’t do that one even if I tried, and I wasn’t as stoic as he was, either. The corner of my mouth wanted to twitch, but I think I held it still.

Finally, his features relaxed a bit, he looked away, and he said, “I wish I could help you, Becca, but I can’t.”

“What about Billie and Ned?” I looked their direction.

“What about them?”

“That day I met all of you, Billie was just as upset as Brenton when she came out of the market after rounding up some drinks.”

“She was?”

I nodded.

“Let’s go ask her.”

Denny stepped over the low rope and took long strides toward his siblings. They both stood and smiled and I was struck by Denny’s position of power within the family. I’d briefly noticed it the first time I’d met the three of them. Denny was in charge, and they “snapped to” when he approached.

“Billie, Ned, you both remember Becca?” Denny said.

They both muttered, “Sure,” as they smiled and nodded.

“Billie, Becca says you were upset a couple days ago, the day we all met. When you came out of the market with our drinks?”

“I was?”

“Yes,” I said. “You went into the market to get some soft drinks and seemed . . . shaken when you came back out.”

Billie shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. No, I don’t remember being upset.”

Unlike Denny, Billie wasn’t gifted with either an honest aura or the ability to lie well. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and rubbed her finger under her nose as she avoided eye contact with everyone.

“There you have it. She wasn’t upset,” Denny said.

I squinted at him, but he hid any indication that he was seeing the same act I was seeing. He was good.

“Well, that’s good to hear. I’m glad,” I said. “Of course, if anything isn’t up to par, let Allison know. She always wants to make sure all vendors are well taken care of.”

“Thank you for that, Becca. Thank you,” Denny said. “And now, you’ll have to excuse us, but we need to get back to work.”

They had no immediate customers, but I just smiled, thanked them for their time, and made my way back to Hobbit.

“I don’t know if they’re killers,” I said to her as she greeted me with a friendly nose nudge to my thigh, “but I bet you a pound of Brenton’s dog biscuits they’re keeping secrets. I bet you ten more that those secrets just might lead us to Reggie’s killer.” I thought a moment. “Okay, well, I can’t be sure of the last part, of course, but I’d really like to know their secrets.”

She sniffed as if to tell me she’d like to know, too.

I opened the glove box and searched for something to write a note with. I found an old receipt and a nubby pencil and wrote:

1. Why did Reggie have so much money? Textiles? Politics?

2. Why did Brenton dislike the Ridgeways?

3. What happened in South Carolina in 1987?

4. How in the world was Brenton married to Stephanie Frugit???

5. What are the Ridgeways hiding?

“I know it’s been a long day, girl, but I have one more stop before we go home. You okay with that?”

Of course she was. I stuffed the list into one of my overalls pockets and turned the truck around. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I happened to glance back toward the market; more specifically, toward the back of the Ridgeway truck. When I’d been writing the note, this area had been hidden from my view, and it turned out to be the area in which the three Ridgeway siblings had congregated. They didn’t see that I was watching what looked to be a heated discussion, or perhaps just a heated lecture from Denny. His face was back to a ruddy red and he was emphasizing his words with air-pounding hands.

I was moving the truck so slowly that someone behind me honked, which caused the Ridgeways to look my direction.

“Shoot,” I said, not because I was caught, but rather because I wished I were better at understanding what I’d done or asked to cause the ruckus.

Maybe I’d have to find a way to spy . . . I mean, investigate, later.