Merry Market Murder(33)

“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.





Ten





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.