“That’s how he acted.”
“Well, the Ridgeways knew where he worked; they shouldn’t have ever come to the market. I talked to my uncle and he told me that your sister would never have allowed the Ridgeways to sell their trees there if she’d known what had happened.”
I stopped walking.
“Tell me what happened and I’ll tell you how Allison would have reacted,” I said.
Stephanie just looked at me with raised eyebrows and then looked away.
“I can’t find anything juicy on the Internet, which means it was a story that was kept very quiet. I didn’t see anything about the Ridgeway patriarch, I don’t know who he was or how he died. I keep I thinking that someone had an affair,” I said. “Is there anything to that idea?”
“Yes, someone had an affair,” she said easily, as if she was glad I’d asked.
It was a start. “Who?” I said.
“See, that’s the part I can’t tell you. It would be wrong and gossipy.”
“And the affair somehow killed their father?”
“Sort of.”
I sighed. “That’s pretty frustrating to hear.”
“I know, but . . . well, I can tell you this much. I shouldn’t tell you, but I will. The affair was in the news. Nothing’s a secret anymore, Becca. Search the Internet a little deeper, you’ll find it. You have to understand that times were different. Yes, reporters wanted a scoop, a great story, but they were also a little kinder back then. The affair was reported, but when certain parties asked them to stop reporting, they listened to those certain parties’ requests.”
“It seems like the press loved Evelyn Rasmussen Stuckey. Everyone still loves the Ridgeways.”
“You’ll find it.”
“Will this lead to a killer?”
“I don’t know, but you know that Brenton didn’t kill anyone, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I hope he didn’t, but I have no way of knowing much of anything, especially since people like you are being so secretive.”
“Well, Brenton didn’t kill anyone. Trust me.”
I sighed again. “I suppose that if I sent the police out here to talk to you, you still wouldn’t answer these questions.”
Stephanie thought for a long time before she answered. “That’s the thing, Becca: the police won’t come out here to ask those questions, because there’s no reason to. The fact that I was once married to Brenton is something from a long time ago. How could our marriage possibly be relevant to a murder that just occurred? The police wouldn’t waste their time. You’re just a civilian. No one’s heard a word about what you and I have discussed today. It’s your word against mine. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
I wondered if I should break my silent promise to myself and try to persuade Sam to cross the line a little. Probably not.
“Now, tell me about the parade. I haven’t been in years. Too many people want to talk to me. I don’t like to interrupt festivities.”
It was true, I never saw Stephanie anywhere around town. Many people thought she was snooty because of her success. I might have thought that a time or two myself. I suddenly felt a little sorry for Stephanie Frugit. Her cagey non-answers still irritated me, but the thread of sympathy made me think twice. Even her minor celebrity status dictated some of her choices and decisions; I couldn’t imagine how debilitating a big dose of celebrity would be.
I described some of the trees, talked about the massive amounts of other decorations and the good-sized crowd, and promised her I’d e-mail her my jelly-filled cookie recipe.
By the time we’d returned to Elias, we were laughing about an incident that had occurred during last year’s parade and made statewide South Carolina news. A tree, one with lots of lights and strung with popcorn, had spontaneously burst into flame. No one had been hurt and the only damage done was the demise of the poor tree and its ornaments, but the reaction to the fire had been so quick and efficient that five different fire extinguishers had come quickly to the rescue. Rules against using flammable string with too many lights had been put into place for this year’s festivities.
Finally, Stephanie’s dismissal was friendly. It wasn’t that we’d become friends; we’d never meet for coffee, and she’d never have a booth at Bailey’s. In fact, she’d probably never shop there. But our short time together had changed my opinion regarding her reputation, and she knew that if she ever did want to visit Bailey’s, she’d now know a stall vendor other than her ex-husband.
Elias escorted me back to my truck on his four-wheeler, but as I hung on to him with one arm, I turned back to see Stephanie Frugit remount her horse. Once she was aboard, she sat tall in the saddle and a gentle wind blew her hair again. The sun bounced perfectly off the trees and leaves around her and she looked the part of the legendary status she’d become. We waved to each other.