“It’s from a long time ago,” he continued, “but I’ll be 100 percent honest with you, my dear; I’m certain that Brenton had nothing to do with Reggie Stuckey’s murder. I think we have an odd and surprising coincidence regarding Brenton’s behavior and Reggie’s death.”
I wasn’t even going to go there, but I thought his journey from point A to point B was interesting.
“Do you know Brenton’s ex-wife?”
“Stephanie Frugit? Yes.”
He hadn’t missed a beat. I hadn’t meant to be tricky. It was just a question, but he’d answered so quickly. Somehow, some way, he and Brenton’s pasts were tied together much more tightly than he wanted to indicate. They’d known each other, and very well, if I was reading him right.
“I see,” I said.
Denny smiled and his eyes found their twinkle again. “You know, sometimes we say things on accident, but sometimes they’re on purpose.”
“You wanted me to know that you and Brenton had a close connection in your pasts? You didn’t want to say anything in front of your sister, though?”
Denny shrugged.
“Then why won’t you just tell me what the connection is? She can’t hear us over here.”
“Not my place, Becca, not my place. Excuse me, I have work to do. If people want pretty places to put all those ornaments”—he pointed to the tree I still held—“then I’d better make sure all the branches are in good condition.”
As Denny disappeared into his man-made copse of trees, I turned back toward the market. That was one of the most frustrating conversations I could remember having in a long time—at least since the one with the Archers earlier that morning. I debated going over to talk to Billie, but I looked back to see that Denny was still watching me. I was sure he shook his head ever so slightly. If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have to find a way to catch her alone. I smiled and she and I waved at each other as I hurried away.
How was I going to find the connection? Denny said that he was sure that Brenton wasn’t the killer. Great, so then give up the rest of the information. Not his place, not his place. I didn’t think anyone had taken Brenton’s angry parking lot accusation that Denny had killed Reggie seriously, but despite that, it seemed Denny wasn’t retaliating. In fact, he seemed protective of Brenton’s reputation.
He was keeping the secret, whatever it was. Brenton wasn’t telling. His ex-wife wasn’t telling. Maybe I could get someone else to give it up. Who?
My head was swimming from questions and looking for clues, but I still wanted to talk to Barry before he left for the day.
Barry of Barry Good Corn had been growing and selling corn for longer than I’d been alive. He’d been in the corn business for almost forty years, and he often told stories from the “old days.” Those stories frequently mentioned fellow market workers, but at that moment I couldn’t remember one story he’d told that included Brenton. I wished I could.
“Becca, what’s new?” Barry said as I approached his stall. His bulk put a strain on the plastic folding chair he was sitting in. He held a magazine with a picture of a tractor on the cover, but I didn’t catch the name before he placed it on his knee.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Sure.” Barry stood and moved the chair. “Here, have a seat.”
“No, thanks, I’m okay. I’ll just be a minute.”
Barry had had a successful marriage for almost fifty years, and a good amount of its success was probably due to the fact that he wasn’t home all the time, even when he didn’t have much more to do than sit in his market stall and read a magazine just in case someone wanted to buy a cornhusk.
“All righty.”
“Stephanie Frugit’s your niece?” I jumped in.
“Yes, ma’am. I had an older brother who’s left this world now, but Stephanie is his little girl. She’s amazing.”
“I know. I met her.”
“You know her reputation and her level of fame, right?”
“Sure.”
“Everyone knows who she is. We’re very proud of all she’s accomplished.”
“No wonder you know Brenton so well.”
“Yes, but they haven’t been married for a long, long time.”
“When did they divorce?”
“Oh, shoot, they were still pretty young. Let’s see, they were both about twenty-five, so 1989 or so. I can’t remember exactly.”
Well, it wasn’t 1987. “This is personal, but do you know why they divorced?”
“That is personal, Becca, but I think they just decided that neither of them wanted the life the other wanted.”