Merry Market Murder(70)

“Coffee will be ready in a second. Can I get you anything else? You hungry? I have some people food around here somewhere.” He smiled.

“No, thanks,” I said as I smiled, too. This was not the same moody Brenton I’d recently met; this was more like my friend Brenton, the one I’d known for a long time. I hoped he was back for good.

He sat in the chair and took off his Yankees cap.

I smiled again. “I hardly ever see you without that cap.”

He looked at it before he dropped it on the coffee table. “Well, it’s not just one cap, you know. I have a few and I do buy more. My customers have gotten to know me with it. It’s become part of my business. I didn’t plan it that way, but it’s good to have a trademark of sorts.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t a plan,” I said.

“Yeah, Linda has her old-fashioned clothes, you’ve got your overalls, and I’ve got the cap.”

I laughed. “Believe it or not, these weren’t a plan, either. They’re comfortable and I’m not a very creative dresser. I still don’t really think about them much, but I suppose my customers would be surprised to see me in anything else.”

Brenton laughed, too. “Lucky accidents.”

His short, brownish, curlyish hair that I hadn’t seen all that much of was crushed a little, and I noticed that the cap also make him look a little younger than his fiftysomething years. I didn’t voice that observation.

After a brief lull, Brenton said, “What can I do for you, Becca? Sam said you’d be stopping by.”

“He did?”

“Yes, he was just here a little bit ago. He told me you probably wouldn’t be far behind.”

“Hmm,” I said. No wonder Brenton was being friendly. He’d been warned.

“Yeah, I think he knows you pretty well. You two are good together.”

I blushed. No matter that I was well over the age at which these sorts of comments should bother me—they still did. As usual, I chalked it up to the fact that I’d been through two divorces. I was still embarrassed by the failed marriages; I’d probably never feel deserving of someone thinking I’d made a positive contribution to a romantic relationship.

“So, you know then that I know you used to be Brenton Ridgeway?”

“Yeah, I know. But as I told Sam, I wasn’t really ever trying to hide it. Honestly, I thought everyone knew. It’s part of my reality. As I told him when he came by today, the day he took me down to the station I was angry enough not to want to discuss it with him or anyone, but . . . well, it’s been a long time since I was that person. I even thought Allison understood why I was so upset. When she wanted me to explain it to her, I was surprised she didn’t get it. I guess what I mean is that when I became aware that I was the one making my past a big deal because I’d done such a good job of keeping my secret, I was caught off guard and I behaved terribly. I’m taking some time off from the market. I’m going to have a good conversation with your sister after the New Year, after the Ridgeways are long gone, and after I’ve had time to get over my anger as well as my behavior. I was so angry—angrier than I’d ever been—when I saw my old family at Bailey’s. I left that existence, Becca, and I saw them being at Bailey’s as an invasion of my life. We’ve coexisted in the same area for a long time without needing to cross paths.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. Allison will be fine, Brenton. You don’t need to worry about any of that.”

“I hope not.”

“You haven’t gotten along with the Ridgeways for a long time?”

Brenton shook his head and half smiled. “Yeah, and here’s the crazy part—Billie and I had a chance to talk last night at the parade. We might have made up if I’d just stretched my comfort zone a little. I’ve never wanted to before, but when I saw her last night, I had a small urge to want to try to make things better. Isn’t that strange and ironic? All that anger, and them being at Bailey’s and me being forced to see them might mean I’ll be able to . . . well, to at least be civil to my siblings again. I would never, ever have guessed that would happen. Never.”

“That’s great. Family’s important.”

He waved away the comment.

“What in the world happened to cause such a falling-out?” It was the bottom-line question, and the answer to which may lead to the other answers that we all needed. I had to ask.

“I can’t tell you, Becca. It’s none of your business. I didn’t tell Sam, either. I’m not under arrest; he can’t hold it against me that I won’t tell him.” Some of that angry, defensive Brenton was showing, but just a little.