Brenton Jones was probably one of the nicest, most easygoing people I knew. He was quiet, friendly, and always wore a New York Yankees baseball cap. I didn’t know much about his personal life because he was usually more of a silent observer than a vocal contributor. I had never once heard him say a bad word about anyone. I had also never once seen him shoot a dirty or disgusted look at anyone. He might not have a perpetual smile on his face, but he certainly never looked hateful.
Until that very moment.
As he steered his truck slowly past us, his focus was on the side panel of Denny’s much bigger tree truck. No matter that the parking lot was precariously full of cars—Brenton had his eyes glued to the truck, so much so that I had an urge to step forward and see what it was he was looking at, but I stayed put.
Fortunately, Denny’s back was to Brenton so he didn’t see Brenton’s evil eye, but neither Allison nor I could have missed the disgust, followed by dismay, followed by what looked like a flash of anger cross Brenton’s face. And even when Brenton noticed we were watching him, his expression didn’t soften. In fact, his mouth tightened and he jerked the steering wheel so hard in the other direction that his tires squealed.
Denny turned when he heard the noise and stepped protectively in front of us. Of course, there was no real danger, and no damage was done, because all we saw at that point was the back of Brenton’s truck. Denny had no idea who the driver was.
“Thought something might be coming this way,” Denny explained as he turned back to face us.
Neither Allison nor I commented, but I had no doubt that she’d be in search of Brenton the second she was finished here. She continued the conversation like she hadn’t noticed anything unusual. I tried to follow her lead, but I was sure I wasn’t able to hide my distraction as well.
Maybe I’d misinterpreted the entire thing. Maybe Brenton didn’t want to spit on Denny’s truck. Maybe his dog biscuits hadn’t turned out well this morning and he couldn’t let go of the frustration. Maybe he was just in a bad mood.
But Brenton was never in a bad mood. Whatever was behind his behavior must have had something to do with the delivery truck, Ridgeway Farm, Denny, or perhaps someone else who worked there. What could have caused one of the most laid-back people I’d ever known to be so visibly perturbed?
My thoughts and Denny and Allison’s conversation were interrupted by the arrival of another vehicle. This time it was a Monson police cruiser moving slowly down the same aisle Brenton had taken. The driver moved carefully and purposefully toward the small office building. There was a spot there just for him. Well, there was a spot there just for the police. It was just that this officer visited the market more than any of the others.
Sam Brion, my “most recent love interest”—this is the way he introduced himself when I told him I thought I was too old to have a “boyfriend”—exited the cruiser. At first, he didn’t notice the three of us noticing him.
“Trouble?” Denny asked Allison.
“I doubt it. He and Becca are dating.” She sighed. “Though sometimes I suppose it’s troublesome for him.”
Denny laughed. I didn’t.
Once Sam was out of the cruiser, he looked around in that intense, police officer way he did whenever he arrived somewhere. He couldn’t help himself; he always had to get the lay of the land, even if there were no imminent threats.
He was in full cop mode, his uniform perfect and his hair slicked back with something I’d yet to be introduced to. He wasn’t telling me the product’s name. He only slicked back his hair when he wore the uniform. When he wasn’t working, his brown hair curled and made him look very non-police-like.
Sam turned and reached back into the cruiser. He pulled out a bright-red box with a large green-and-red bow.
“Ah, someone’s getting an early gift,” Denny said.
The look on Sam’s face made me smile. I didn’t know what was in the box, but I knew that whatever his reason for being at Bailey’s, it had nothing to do with police work. He was on an errand that included a big box that was far too flashy for his style.
He looked up and finally saw the three of us. His eyebrows rose before he waved and then leaned back onto the cruiser. It was his way of telling me that he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation and he’d wait for my signal or for me to join him.
Just as I was about to excuse myself, Billie and Ned came back, their arms loaded with a variety of soda cans.
I was momentarily alarmed by the look on Billie’s pretty face. Her eyebrows were together in a tight knit of concern, and she looked at Denny with something akin to panic.