“But you did. And you garnered a lot of attention. And I’ve seen an idiot or two get elected.”
“This might surprise you, but I had a big mouth.”
“And you were . . . are smart.”
“Yes.”
“And, correct me if I’m wrong, you played it very well. You used your height, your loud voice, and your smarts, and people paid attention. A number of articles from that time mention that you were destined to go places.”
“And look where I ended up.” But there was no bitterness or sadness in her voice, just a calm acceptance.
“But you’re here because of decisions only you made. You stepped down. Why?”
“I didn’t want to do it anymore.”
Clearly, that was her oft-used answer. “How did it go from something you thrived at to something you didn’t want to do any longer?”
“Things happened.”
“What things?” It was like pulling teeth, but I was willing to keep trying.
“Life.”
“Reggie did something to you,” I said. I had no idea why I said it. Perhaps I wanted to say something that would cause her to react enough that she’d quit giving me rehearsed answers.
“No.”
But her eyes flashed this time. I’d hit a nerve. It was a deep nerve, one she’d buried, but I’d grazed it a little.
“Yes, he did! Reggie hurt you in some way, so you left politics. That’s what it was. Was he physically abusive?”
“No, he never laid a hand on me. He was a gentle man, though he might not have been considered a gentleman.”
She liked puzzles.
“The only other reason would be an affair. Reggie had an affair—no, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would you quit politics if your husband had an affair? That probably happens all the time. You must have had the affair.”
For a long instant, I thought she was going to confirm my suspicion. I could see the affirmation flash in her eyes and pull at the corners of her mouth. But, instead, she said, “Look, Becca, I’m not going to tell you what happened in my marriage. It’s none of your business. I quit politics. Why does the reason have to be something big? Maybe I just didn’t like it. Maybe I just didn’t like Reggie so I divorced him. Reasons don’t always have to be big and ugly.”
“They why don’t you want to talk about them? Why the mystery?”
“You must have missed the part where I said it was none of your business. But the other part is that it was a long, long time ago. A different life, a different time. Who gives a hoo-haw what happened back then anyway?”
“Well, since Reggie was murdered, don’t you think it’s natural to look at his past? And when someone finds someone like you and your interesting history in that past . . . well, how could it not be explored?”
“By Becca who works at a farmers’ market? Or by the police?”
I sipped my coffee. “Good point.”
Evie smiled, genuinely this time. “What you don’t realize is that I’ve talked more to you about my past than I have to anyone in a long time. I would probably tell the police to . . . well, to leave me alone, and I promise I wouldn’t talk to anyone here.”
“Okay. Then why me?”
“I’m not really sure. You’re kind of obnoxious, but in a persistent, confident, and cute way.” She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you remind me of someone, though you’re awful teeny. Your nosiness would work well on someone tall.” She sat up straight.
“Don’t I wish.”
Evie laughed.
“Hey, can I ask about the ornaments? The eggshells in your stall?”
Evie shrugged. “I just enjoy crafting them. No one buys many of my eggs anymore. I don’t have many to sell. It’s something to do to pass the time in December.”
“You enjoy being at the market, don’t you?”
Evie looked around and then leaned forward. “I do, but don’t tell anyone. No one here knows who I am—or if they do, they keep it to themselves. I hope they never find out. I can be here, be outside—that was one of my favorite parts about the tree farm, all the time outside—be around people, but I don’t have to talk to many if I don’t want to. It’s a good spot for me.”
I made a mental note to ask Mamma not to spread the word that Evie used to be Evelyn. I’d ask her to talk to Addy about it, too, but something told me he wasn’t telling anyone.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t outside most of the time,” I said.
“Tell me about your market business.”
I told Evie about my farm and my products. She was fascinated, mostly by the strawberries. She’d never been able to grow a successful crop. I gave her a few pointers, which she seemed to appreciate.