As enjoyable as I found the glimpse into the past, I wasn’t interested enough in any of the listings to pay them close attention. I skimmed, searching for something that might ring a relevant bell. As my eyes moved over the screen, I hoped to find the name “Stuckey” or “Ridgeway,” but nothing stood out.
I typed in “Ridgeway South Carolina 1987” and found a number of items regarding Monson and a couple of listings about the Christmas tree farm but nothing that seemed important to the murder of Reggie Stuckey, or at least nothing that I could interpret as being important.
I felt like a hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere quickly. Out of frustration, I just typed “Reggie Stuckey wife” into the browser and finally found something that might prove to be helpful—a chunk of information that might at least lead somewhere.
The first link listed was to a Wikipedia page for South Carolina state senator Evelyn Rasmussen Stuckey, who served from 1985 until 1987. The dates at the top of the page, of course, caught my attention immediately. I wasn’t politically savvy but I knew that state senators served four-year terms. I glanced at Evelyn’s picture and noted that she was an attractive blonde before I continued to read the entry.
Evelyn Rasmussen was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1958. She remained there until she’d completed her education, graduating from the University of South Carolina law school summa cum laude. Upon receiving her law degree, she escaped the city for the country life with a man she’d met at a small town gas station when she was on a road trip through the state. Evelyn married Reggie Stuckey in 1984 and settled outside the small town of Monson, South Carolina, but her ambition was bigger than any small town, and she ran for and won a local race for the state senate.
Though a seat with the state senate is usually one of the lesser-known political positions, Evelyn Stuckey was an immediate force to be reckoned with. Her intelligence, quick wit, physical height, and her loud, deep voice garnered attention from any reporter looking for something interesting and perhaps unique to cover.
And then, suddenly, in the spring of 1987, she disappeared. She stepped down from her senate seat, divorced her husband, and disappeared off the South Carolina political radar—any radar, maybe. Many have speculated why she took such a sudden turn, but no one has been able to obtain the real answer.
Following the entry, there was also a note added later, dated last December. It read: “It is believed that Evelyn Rasmussen has been living Smithfield, South Carolina. She hasn’t practiced law for some time, but there are rumors that she raises chickens and sells farm fresh eggs at area grocery stores and the local farmers’ market.”
“No!” I exclaimed when I read the additional note. Hobbit had been resting on my feet and she jumped to attention. “Sorry, girl.” I petted her head, easing her back to a reclining position.
I read the entire entry again and searched for any other sites that would shed more light on Evelyn, and then debated if I would call Mamma Maria and ask her about her potential fellow vendor tonight or wait until tomorrow.
I wanted to call someone, I wanted to jump up and down and exclaim that I’d figured it out! I’d really figured it out! But, what, really had become clear? Not much, I realized.
The 1987 egg, the state seal onion, the pretty blondeish girl doll: Were they all pointing at Evelyn Stuckey? Why? Had she killed her ex-husband? Or, maybe she just knew who the killer was. I’d wondered why I was the recipient of the ornaments, and I now thought I better understood. It was all tied together with the farmers’ market connection. If Evelyn Stuckey did work at the Smithfield Market, my secret ornament giver was trying to use the market connection to make sure I was able to find her. It was genius.
The sound of tires on my driveway pulled me off the chair and quickly over to the front door. I couldn’t wait to tell Sam everything.
But it wasn’t Sam pulling in; it was Allison, and she was alone. I was immediately concerned.
“Everything okay?” I said as I opened the door.
“Sure. Can’t one fraternal twin sister stop by and visit the other one?”
“Not when one of the twins has a family, it’s later than a normal visit, and she didn’t call first.”
Allison laughed and then pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “I brought your orders. The form you left on your table filled up quickly. I thought you should have it.”
I took the paper but continued to look at Allison. “You could have just called with a total number.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Allison said. “I was actually hoping to catch both you and Sam. Is he coming over this evening?”