Merry Market Murder(17)

“That’s a wonderful place,” I said.

“It is. And when we have some sort of soiree to celebrate our ‘next step,’ you and Sam will, of course, be invited.”

“Thank you! I look forward to it. We’ll be there.”

“Good. I’m off to talk to Allison about getting my own stall.”

“What!? You buried the lead! You’re moving to Bailey’s?”

Mamma laughed. “I think so. Part-time, at least. My Smithfield customer list is too big to abandon completely, but I think I can make it work at both places.”

“That’s even better news than your good news.” I smiled.

In another life and time, I doubted that Mamma Maria and I would have become friends, only because I doubted we would have ever met. The farmers’ market way of life attracts a diverse crowd. People can have little in common except for the fact that they work together outside, but that becomes enough to create some tight, lasting farmers’ market friendships.

Okay, so Ian and I, and Mamma Maria, all had the best jobs in the world.

“I’m looking forward to being around here more,” she said. “Maybe I can help keep you out of trouble.”

“I doubt it,” I said.

There wasn’t time to chat further. Mamma waved and winked as she backed away from the table to make room for a small group of eager customers who’d heard about the jalapeño-mint jelly from “a lady in a big, crazy hat.”

The day turned out to be even busier than I thought it would be. I sold out a couple hours too soon. I had to write up orders for both the jalapeño-mint jelly and more strawberry preserves. I had a supply at home, but between the jams, jellies, and the remaining cookies I’d committed to baking, it looked like I had a busy couple evenings ahead. Since there was literally nothing more I could sell and I had plenty to do at home, I decided to leave early. I put a “Sold Out” sign on my front table and left a piece of paper for people to fill out if they wanted to place an order, then threw my empty inventory boxes into the back of my truck.

The aisles of the market weren’t packed, but they were busy enough that I had to weave through the crowd a little bit as I sought out my sister. Before I left, I thought I should make sure she was okay. One curve in the flow of traffic led me toward Brenton’s stall. I was surprised to see him there, crouched to the ground and looking through a box of his dog biscuits.

I hesitated, but only briefly. “Brenton?”

He looked up and then grimaced slightly. “Hi, Becca.” He stood and stepped toward me. “Look, I’ve apologized to Allison, but I’m truly sorry for my behavior these last couple days. Really sorry.”

“Sure,” I said. I knew Sam had cuffed him and taken him away, but there had been no reason to arrest him. He’d been disruptive, but no real harm had been done—unless, of course, Brenton was somehow responsible for Reggie’s death. But if Sam had thought as much, Brenton wouldn’t be back at Bailey’s. “You okay?”

“I’m embarrassed, but I’m fine. I reacted to something that I shouldn’t have reacted to and I behaved in a way I didn’t even know I had in me. I don’t have any evidence that Denny Ridgeway killed anyone. I should never have made such an accusation. I should never have lost my cool. Again, I’m sorry.”

“’S’okay. You want to talk about it?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

I couldn’t think of one thing to say that would make him spill the beans. I wanted to, but I bit back my curiosity. “If you need to talk, call me, find me, whatever.”

“I appreciate it. Sam said the same thing. He’s a good guy, Becca.”

“I agree.”

Brenton looked away and down at the box on the ground. It was an obvious dismissal, but I wasn’t offended. Whatever he’d been going through, it had been rough. I understood how he felt, but I reluctantly stepped away from his stall. Maybe in time he’d be able to talk about it. Maybe Sam would tell me what he’d learned.

As I continued down the aisle, I was distracted by Jeannine, the egg lady. She wore an off-kilter Santa hat as she stood with her back to the aisle. She was looking at the small stack of egg boxes behind her. There wasn’t much left to sell. She’d had a busy day, too.

“Everything okay?” I asked her.

She turned and glared at me in the way that she glares at everyone. Jeannine was short and strong, and leaned more toward paranoid than friendly. Though we usually wore about the same amount of makeup—none—her closely cropped hair was dark and unruly and she was older than me, but I didn’t know her exact age. We’d all thought the Santa hat was a strange addition to her cranky attitude, but we’d become used to it.