Merry Market Murder(9)

Reggie’s face was getting redder by the second, but he’d been able to keep his tone of voice fairly calm. Only he knew for sure whether or not he had a right to be upset, and I thought he realized that Allison was trying to do the right thing.

Before Reggie could answer, Denny said, “Reggie, if you’re supposed to be here, I’ll help you unload, okay? Let’s just give Ms. Reynolds a second or two to sort everything out.”

Denny’s reputation as a kind and generous businessman had just shown in a big way. At first Reggie’s face got a little redder, but then he calmed; his shoulders seemed to relax and his cheeks faded to something a little less red.

“Sure, sure. I’ll call my gal,” he said.

“Who did you speak with from Bailey’s? Which owner?” Allison said to Reggie.

“I’m terrible with names, but I’ll see what my notes say. It was some woman, though. What’s your fax number?”

As Allison wrote down the fax number for Reggie, it felt like a good time for the group to disband. Denny led Billie and Ned back to the other side of the parking lot. Sam gave me the cookie box and distractedly told me good-bye. I had no idea what sort of police work or investigation might be involved in what had just gone on at Bailey’s, but I knew he’d be on the case.

“Where’d Brenton go?” Allison asked as I waved at the back of the police cruiser.

“I didn’t know he was gone. I didn’t see which way he went. What’s up with him, Al?”

“Come to my office.”

Allison’s desk was unusually clear. December was normally her “spring cleaning” month. It was when she sorted through her files, dusted under her computer, and de-cluttered her desk. Other than the inclusion of the tree vendor, or vendors, as the case may turn out to be, this December probably wasn’t much different than any other.

“He wouldn’t tell me why,” she said. “He just doesn’t like the Ridgeway people.”

“Brenton likes everyone,” I said. We sat across from each other, one on each side of her desk.

“Not everyone, apparently.”

“And how in the world could anyone not like the Ridgeways? They’re so . . . nice, and Christmas-y. They’re a South Carolina tradition and legend.”

“I agree, but we might be misjudging them. I was going to ask Denny if he would tell me what his ties were to Brenton, but then Reggie Stuckey pulled in.”

“Would the owners really have offered an exclusive to both Denny and Reggie? That doesn’t sound like the way they do business. They’re pretty good at that stuff.”

As if on cue, the fax on the small, wide, file cabinet behind Allison rang and connected.

“No, never, and I know something weird is up,” Allison said. “There are no female owners. They don’t even have a female working in their office.”

“Doesn’t sound very forward thinking,” I said.

Allison laughed. “No, they’re not sexist. It just happens to be that way. They did give me this job, and I’m pretty sure I’m female. They’re good guys.”

“So, Reggie said he talked to a female owner.” I thought about his words and tone. “Al, he didn’t sound at all like he was lying. Why would he, anyway? To pack up one of those big trucks and haul around a bunch of trees? Sounds like a lot of work just to cause some sort of stir or inconvenience.”

She gathered the fax and then turned back toward me. “I have no idea.”

She spread the contract pages out on the desk. There were three pages of mostly legal jargon, what was deemed necessary in our brave new litigious world.

“Well, it’s definitely our contract,” she muttered without looking up. She ran her finger down the first page and then moved to the second page, where she stopped halfway down.

“Hang on,” she said.

She reached to her side and opened a file drawer. She pulled out another contract and set it on the desk. This one’s pages were stapled together.

“Look at this,” she continued.

I stood and peered at where she was pointing.

She flipped up the first page of the stapled contract. She put her right index finger halfway down that page while her left index finger was still on the second, loose page of the faxed contract.

“Look at the Ridgeways’ contract—I marked the ‘exclusivity clause’ with a small line, a checkmark of sorts, just for my own sake. That line that I drew is on the Stuckey contract, too. Exactly the same line, in the same spot.”

“Reggie Stuckey duplicated the contract? How? That’s not a very bright move. It took you less than five minutes to figure it out,” I said.