Merry Market Murder(34)

“You must have known each other a little, being in the same business and all.”

“We did. We hadn’t had many dealings for the last few years, but there was a time . . . oh, I suppose that’s not important now.”

“You were close?”

Denny waved off the question.

“Well,” I said, “then I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Anyone’s death creates a loss, and one that was so brutal . . . well, it’s tragic, just tragic.”

The December sunlight was tinged with gray; I liked December sunlight and its subtle promise of the season. It was comforting, but today it only seemed to discolor Denny’s normally ruddy skin. I wondered if it was my imagination.

“Denny, can I ask you another question? It’s one of those none-of-my-business questions, but I’d really like to ask.”

Denny crossed his arms in front of himself. I didn’t think he was aware of how loudly his body language spoke. He briefly glanced over at Billie and Ned, who pretended not to be interested in Denny and me, and said, “Sure. Can’t promise I can answer, but ask away.”

“What’s between you and your family”—I looked at Billie and Ned and then back at Denny—“and Brenton Jones?”

“I don’t guess I know what you mean. I don’t even know who you mean.”

I looked at him a long moment. He might have been lying, but it was hard to tell. He was stoic, and I sensed that the wall he’d put up with his crossed arms was impenetrable because he’d had practice building it before. On the other hand, he emanated such a natural honesty that he was either truly honest, or really, really good at lying.

I continued, “I’ve known Brenton for as long as I’ve worked at Bailey’s, which is just about eight years. He’s never once been anything but friendly and kind. When he pulled into the parking lot the other day, I thought his eyes might burn right out of their sockets with the look he was giving your truck. He’s been agitated since the day you arrived. There’s something between you all. I know it’s no one’s business but yours, but I’m curious, very curious, and I was hoping you’d tell me at least a little something about your issues.”

“I think you’re asking the wrong person, Becca. I don’t have a problem with this fella you’re talking about. You might want to ask him.”

“I have.”

“What does he say?”

“Nothing.”

It was Denny’s turn to study me. He did, his eyes suddenly focused and slanted. It never occurred to me that the mere act of me asking these questions could somehow make him suspicious of me, but that’s what I was sensing—he suddenly didn’t trust me.

Instantly, I wanted to do or say something trustworthy. My “want to be liked” part wanted to be stroked. Had I just done or said something that might make Denny like me less? Denny Ridgeway and I didn’t really know each other. Just because we’d had a couple friendly conversations in the parking lot and had found a dead body together didn’t give either of us the right to expect full disclosure—in either direction. It was an interesting, eye-opening moment.

But maybe it was okay not to be trusted. I’d ride it and see where it went. I let him study me without saying anything. I wasn’t demure; I probably couldn’t do that one even if I tried, and I wasn’t as stoic as he was, either. The corner of my mouth wanted to twitch, but I think I held it still.

Finally, his features relaxed a bit, he looked away, and he said, “I wish I could help you, Becca, but I can’t.”

“What about Billie and Ned?” I looked their direction.

“What about them?”

“That day I met all of you, Billie was just as upset as Brenton when she came out of the market after rounding up some drinks.”

“She was?”

I nodded.

“Let’s go ask her.”

Denny stepped over the low rope and took long strides toward his siblings. They both stood and smiled and I was struck by Denny’s position of power within the family. I’d briefly noticed it the first time I’d met the three of them. Denny was in charge, and they “snapped to” when he approached.

“Billie, Ned, you both remember Becca?” Denny said.

They both muttered, “Sure,” as they smiled and nodded.

“Billie, Becca says you were upset a couple days ago, the day we all met. When you came out of the market with our drinks?”

“I was?”

“Yes,” I said. “You went into the market to get some soft drinks and seemed . . . shaken when you came back out.”