Merry Market Murder(73)

Neither rain nor snow was in the forecast, but the clouds made me wonder if we might end up with a little weather anyway. South Carolina didn’t see much snow, but we sometimes got a little in Monson. And, sometimes the white stuff would actually accumulate in the higher elevations. I’d even heard of a few incidents of blinding snow up toward the Ridgeway Farm. A light dusting would be a welcome addition to the evening’s event, but the paper tablecloths would quickly become soggy if there was too much moisture.

Mom, using her Mom superpower and her sometimes achy-with-a-storm-on-the-way knee, predicted that nothing would fall from the sky until at least the next day. I’d never known her to be wrong.

The setup duty from the day before had been the biggest chunk of work, so today’s labors were somewhat lighter, but I was glad I’d come along to help at least a little.

Once Mom okayed that we were done until the festivities began, or until a strong wind caused a disaster that we’d have to clean up, I convinced them to walk around the corner for a break at the local Maytabee’s Coffee Shop. My jams, preserves, and syrups had a good chunk of shelf space at the chain’s five South Carolina shops. The Monson location had just acquired a new manager and she didn’t know that I was one of their suppliers. I could shop them and my inventory anonymously. Today, I was startled to see that my product supply was low—I didn’t know if I’d missed an e-mail requesting more or if the new manager hadn’t figured out all the ins and outs of her job yet. I bought three coffees, and as I carried them to a table in the back I made a mental note to call or e-mail the owner for an update before Monday.

“We spoke with Allison briefly last night, but we haven’t had much time. Is she okay—I mean, after the terrible murder at Bailey’s?” Mom said after she took her first sip.

“I think she’s okay. It was bad, though,” I said.

“I can only imagine. Does Sam have any good leads?” Mom asked.

Both she and Dad had taken to Sam easily. They’d done the same with Ian and my two ex-husbands. Had they suspected I was facing something more challenging or dangerous than flakiness from my husbands, they would have jumped in and battled to defend me. And I was certain they felt a kindred connection to Ian, with his long hair and his seven tattoos, but they hadn’t squawked when he and I had parted romantic ways. They seemed to be very fond of Sam.

“I think he has a bunch of weak answers. Hopefully, something will lead somewhere.” I took a gulp of hot coffee. “You two have always been interested in the South Carolina political scene, right?”

“Sure,” they both said.

“Do you remember a state senator from the late eighties named Evelyn Rasmussen Stuckey?”

Mom and Dad both laughed.

“Of course,” Mom said. “We both worked on her campaign.”

I should have known that Mom and Dad would either have worked for a politician or against them. It hadn’t even occurred to me to ask them earlier. I needed to use my connections better.

“She was married to the guy who was killed, Reggie Stuckey.”

“That’s right! It’s been so long that I forgot about all that,” Mom said.

Dad said, “Evelyn’s husband was so behind the scenes that he didn’t have much to do with her work. I don’t think I ever even met him, but I knew he had a Christmas tree farm. I think he supported her career aspirations just fine, but then after his alleged affair—well, things were bound to go south from there.”

I blinked. “So it was Reggie who had the . . . an affair?”

“Well, we think that’s what happened. It was the best conclusion we could come up with at the time. Reggie had an affair. Evelyn was so embarrassed and horrified by the infidelity that she just quit. She didn’t want her personal life to become public.”

“The best conclusion?” I said. “You don’t know for sure that that’s what happened?”

“No,” Dad said. “Times were different back then, Becca. Affairs and scandals are the common stuff of today’s politics, and even though the same things went on back then, it was truly cause for a politician’s ruin. Something happened that saddened Evelyn or humiliated her to the point that she gave up on her ambitions. We all suspected that there was an affair, and I think someone had some pictures or something. Do you remember, Polly?” Dad said.

“Kind of.”

I took a sip of coffee and pondered the fact that in today’s world, a politician or one of their family members could exhibit unacceptable behavior and still remain in politics. “Was she maybe being blackmailed with the pictures?”