“Evelyn Rasmussen Stuckey was her married name. She went back down to Evelyn Rasmussen when she and Reggie divorced in the late eighties. She was a state senator.”
“Senator Stuckey?” Allison said. “I don’t recall the State of South Carolina electing a senator of that name.”
“Not a big senator, just a state representative senator.”
“Oh.”
“I couldn’t name a current state senator if my life depended on it,” I said. “They’re not the most well-known politicians, but I guess Evelyn was a force to be reckoned with, at least until she mysteriously stepped down from her position and she and Reggie divorced.”
“Okay?” Sam said, prompting me to continue.
“I bet that whatever it was that happened to cause her to step down, it happened around 1987.” The egg and onion ornaments were on the far counter. I picked them up and put them down in front of Sam and Allison. “Someone knows who the killer is, and I bet you a dozen of Jeannine’s eggs that they’re using these ornaments to try to tell us who it is. And somehow, Evelyn is involved, even if she isn’t the killer.”
“That’s a pretty big theory,” Sam said. “Tell me more.”
“We’ve got one more clue.” I gathered the doll, which was hidden from their view in a space next to the refrigerator. I was about the drama now. I placed the doll next to the onion and the egg. “Evelyn didn’t really look like this doll, but she was pretty and blonde.” I’d printed out a picture of her and I placed it next to the doll. “However, I think this doll is supposed to be her. I think all these are about her.”
I showed them what I’d found. They were both surprised by the fact that Evelyn now worked at the Smithfield Market, and they were only lukewarm to the idea that I was the recipient of the ornaments because I worked at a farmers’ market, too.
“But lots of us work at Bailey’s,” Allison said.
I shrugged. “I’m just the lucky one, that’s all,” I said.
Sam’s eyes were stern and thoughtful, but he didn’t agree or disagree.
“Why wouldn’t this person just tell the police who the killer is? What’s with the clues?” Allison said.
“I thought about that, too,” I said. “Sam, what do you think—the person sending the ornaments isn’t 100 percent sure?”
“I think it’s that. Partially. There’s more—maybe he or she likes the game. Maybe the killer is the one sending them to throw the investigation off track. There’s also the other option—maybe these are just gifts and have nothing at all to do with the murder.”
I looked at the strange group of ornaments and, though Sam could be correct, I strongly sensed that these were clues to something, hopefully that would lead to the killer.
“You know,” Sam said, “the doll reminds me more of your friend, the one at the Smithfield Market who sells pies, than the Internet picture of Evelyn Rasmussen Stuckey.”
“Mamma Maria?” I asked as I picked up the doll again. He was right. There was something overdone about the doll—well, as overdone as a cornhusk doll could be.
“She’s coming to Bailey’s,” Allison said. “I mean, she’s going to have a stall at Bailey’s, at least part-time.”
“I heard,” I said distractedly. I’d fallen into thought, but was jolted out again by both Sam’s and Allison’s chuckles.
“You are so transparent, little sister.”
“What?”
“You’re going to Smithfield tomorrow, right? You’d go tonight if the market were open,” Sam added.
I smiled. They knew me too well.
Thirteen
The evening ended with me sharing the details of my visit with Stephanie Frugit, but neither Sam nor Allison thought that part of my day was nearly as interesting as the other parts. Allison had known that Brenton was once married to Stephanie, and Sam didn’t think the long-ago marriage mattered, though he would stop by and talk to Stephanie himself just to see if there might be something pertinent to the current murder.
In case my concern about Hobbit being home alone had been rekindled because of the appearance of the doll ornament, Allison said she’d take Hobbit while I ventured to the Smithfield Market. Sam offered to let her stay at his house, though he had to work. I also knew that both Ian and George would welcome her at the lavender farm. It was wonderful to have options.
Ultimately, I knew she’d be happiest at home for the few hours I would be away, so I instructed her once again on the ins and outs of the doggie door. She seemed just fine with the solution and happily sent me away as she curled up on the porch. She liked her routine, and I’d switched it up enough the day before.