Officer Norton noticed me noticing Brenton, so she turned and watched what I was watching. He was a good fifty feet away and he wore the ever-present Yankees cap, but there was no mistaking his changing expressions.
“What’s his name?” Officer Norton asked as she raised her notebook, but didn’t take her eyes off Brenton.
“Brenton Jones. He makes homemade dog biscuits.”
“Hmm. I’ve heard of him. I think I need to have a chat with him. You won’t be leaving town or anything anytime soon?”
I laughed, but then cleared my throat again when I saw she wasn’t joking. “No, ma’am.”
“Good.”
I watched her advance toward Brenton, and I followed right behind. Brenton’s behavior had garnered my full attention, and if he wasn’t going to tell Allison what was bugging him, maybe I could just overhear the problem. However, there was no real place to hide. Though we were in the parking lot, it didn’t seem wise to dart around the parked vehicles. Besides, attempting to hide while the police were investigating a murder would not only irritate the police, but Allison, too. I moved toward Officer Norton and Brenton, but tried to look casual.
Brenton’s truck had been moving slowly, and with a lift of her hand, Officer Norton stopped him completely. She moved the notebook back into writing position as the two of them spoke through his open driver’s-side window.
I stopped beside an old blue Volkswagen Bug. Thinking that my faded overalls would blend in with the equally faded paint job, I crossed my arms and stood very still. If all was going according to plan, I was hiding in plain sight.
And I didn’t hear a thing. I couldn’t read their lips, either. I would have to move closer, and then I would be caught and dismissed by Officer Norton. Nonetheless, I decided I needed to take the risk.
As I moved one foot forward, though, Brenton put an end to any secrecy. He threw the truck into park and then cannoned himself out of it.
“Denny Ridgeway is the killer,” he yelled to Officer Norton as he pointed at the still-living tree vendor.
If it had been any other person, or perhaps at any place other than the Bailey’s parking lot in Monson, South Carolina, Officer Vivienne Norton would likely have pulled out her gun and done whatever it took to subdue Brenton and his sudden raging anger.
Instead, she kept her stance firm and her gun in its holster.
“Back off,” she said, loudly enough that I heard it from my spot beside the car.
“I’m telling you, Denny Ridgeway’s the killer. Reggie Stuckey was killed by Denny Ridgeway!” Brenton said, as he stomped his foot way too far in Officer Norton’s space. He hadn’t backed off.
“That’s enough,” Officer Norton said. I hadn’t noticed when the notebook had disappeared, but I saw her hand had finally moved to the still-holstered gun.
“No, no, it’s not enough! He’s the killer. Arrest him!”
I’d seen Sam shoot people before. In fact, he’d once aimed a gun my direction, though it had been hard to hold that against him since I’d been cradling a bloody ax. But I’d never seen him use the force that he worked hard to build in his body. He was in amazing shape—he worked out almost every morning in his own basement gym. And though I knew it must have had something to do with being the best police officer ever, I’d never seen the need for such effort—until now.
Somehow, Sam came from wherever he’d been and moved behind Brenton. With movements that were so fluid and quick it was difficult to understand exactly what I was seeing, he had Brenton up against his own truck and then the man’s wrists cuffed behind his back. If Brenton tried to resist, I didn’t see it. Sam had manhandled him as though Brenton had no strength whatsoever. Sam wasn’t gentle but he wasn’t rough either, just confidently forceful.
He glanced in my direction, his mouth and eyes tight. He wasn’t happy about what he’d had to do, but he was trying to let me know that it was necessary. Not that he needed to explain anything to me.
I liked that he wanted to, though.
“You’ll get the details to me later?” Allison said. As stealthily as Sam had darted to Brenton, Allison had moved to my side.
I nodded.
“I can’t understand what’s happening with Brenton. It’s like he’s a completely different person than the one who has been working at Bailey’s for all these years,” she said.
I nodded. I didn’t have any idea, either. I could speculate, but if I’d learned anything at all, it was that too much speculation without substance could sometimes drive you down the wrong path, and it would definitely drive you at least a little crazy.