Merry Market Murder(12)

“That . . . that looks like blood,” Allison said.

“Oh no,” I said.

Somehow and with no organization, suddenly the three of us were up and inside the truck. We each managed to grab a tree or two and throw them out the back. A mere few seconds later, we finally found Reggie Stuckey. He was on his back in the middle of his own tree truck, a thick stake through his chest.

Reggie Stuckey would not be selling trees from Bailey’s this year, or any year in the future, for that matter.

“Reg, oh, Reg,” Denny said from his knees. He avoided the puddle of blood as he felt Reggie’s neck for a pulse. He looked up at Allison and me. “He’s gone.”

“Becca,” Allison said as she looked at me.

I didn’t need any further prompting. I pulled out my phone and called Sam.

• • •

“It’s an outdoor tree stake,” I overheard Denny tell Sam.

I was back a bit from the two of them but I could hear their conversation. I was sure Sam knew I was eavesdropping, but he hadn’t signaled me to go away yet, so I hadn’t.

Sam and I had been through some scary—and downright horrifying—moments, but we’d been friends at the time, not a couple. My previous “as-friends” bold behavior included asking him questions about cases that were none of my business. Even then he’d answered more than he should have, but I now wondered just how much I would be able to get out of him. Would our pillow talk turn to things murderous and criminal, or would he become more protective of his information, and more protective of me knowing things?

Time would tell.

“Is it a standard stake? Something all Christmas tree vendors sell?” Sam asked.

“Well, we all sell something like it, though I’m not sure what kind exactly was used on Reggie,” Denny said. “Most natural-tree vendors would definitely sell something like it, though.”

He was saddened by his competitor’s demise; that much was obvious. The two of them hadn’t displayed congenial friendship the day before, but Denny had been completely shaken by Reggie’s murder. We all had, but there was something tender about his reaction that made me curious about their history. I’d mentioned my observation to Sam when he arrived.

“Becca,” a voice said from behind me.

“Officer Norton, hello,” I said. “Considering the circumstances, it feels strange to thank you for the cookies, but thank you. They are—well, mostly were—delicious.”

“You’re welcome. You have a minute? I’d like to ask you some questions.”

I glanced toward Sam and Denny and then looked at Officer Norton. “About the . . . about Reggie?” I said.

“Yes.”

“I thought Sam would be questioning everyone.”

“Well, considering that the two of you are a couple, it wouldn’t be prudent to have him talk to you. He sent me over.”

“Good point.”

I had warily liked Vivienne Norton when I first met her. I found her intimidating in ways that I didn’t usually find women intimidating. She wasn’t the only female officer on the small Monson police force, but she was the only one I’d ever had dealings with. Her muscular build was something she must have had to work hard to maintain, but I wasn’t aware of a gym in Monson or the surrounding areas. She probably had to be diligent about maintaining her bleached hair and thick makeup, too. She was such a boatload of contradictions that for a long time I wasn’t exactly sure how to behave around her. I’d realized, though, that she and I were much more alike than we were different. She worked the job of her dreams, she worked hard, she wanted to be the best she could be at her career, and she chose to the look the way she did, just like I chose my wardrobe of overalls and mostly forgotten makeup.

I’d been surprised by her continued enthusiasm about my and Sam’s relationship, and I liked her even more for it. Although she was thrilled that Sam and I were a couple, I had no doubt that Officer Vivienne Norton would throw me to the ground and cuff me if she ever thought I was guilty of a crime.

“Come on,” she said as she looked toward Sam and then back at me again. “Let’s go somewhere away from everyone else.”

I followed her to the edge of the Bailey’s lot, the side farthest away from the entrance and a good twenty feet back from the Ridgeway setup. Because of their big truck, Officer Norton could conduct her interview in private. We were hidden from everyone except those driving by on our side of the adjacent two-lane highway. Given close inspection, it might have looked like something unusual was going on in the parking lot, but it was typical for it to be full, so passersby didn’t even give the market a second glance.